were the words in print:

[Illustration:
From
GEO. H. JOHNSON'S
Pioneer Gallery,
645 and 649 Clay street,
SAN FRANCISCO.]

As I took up the package I remarked that this must come from
Rulofson;--no, I immediately added, Rulofson has nothing to do with
the Pioneer Gallery. It then occurred to me that it might be a present
for my wife, recollecting at the moment that the mail came by the
steamer which sailed from San Francisco about Christmas time. It may
be, I said to myself, a Christmas present for my wife. I will open it
just far enough to see, and, if it be intended for her, I will
close it and forward it to New York, where she was at the time. I
accordingly tore off the covering and raised the lid just far enough
to enable me to look inside. I was at once struck with the black
appearance of the inside. "What is this, Lake?" I said, addressing
myself to my friend. Judge Lake looked over my shoulder into the box,
as I held it in my hand, and at once exclaimed, "It is a torpedo.
Don't open it." I was startled by the suggestion, for the idea of a
torpedo was the last thing in the world to occur to me. I immediately
laid the package on the sill of the window, where it was subjected to
a careful inspection by us both, so far as it could be made with the
lid only an eighth of an inch open.

Soon afterwards Judge Lake took the package to the Capitol, which was
directly opposite to my rooms, and to the office of the Clerk of the