a good moral character, and always referring to the box. This
individual's name I have never been able to learn. No two letters ever
bore the same signature, but the identity of their contents convinced me
they were all from the same person. That mysterious box I have preserved
to the present day.

It will be remembered by the reader that I confided the papers, taken
from Mrs. B., with a man by the name of Watkins. This individual died
with the cholera, in 1832. I called upon his wife for the package, who
returned the same to me at Cincinnati, in 1833. I found every thing as I
had left it, excepting the blank parchments. They were gone. Here was a
mystery I could not solve. How should a part be missing and not the
whole? I never gained any satisfactory information until last summer.
While travelling through the state of New York, I had occasion to visit
the state's prison, where I met with a certain convict who passed by the
name of Wyatt, but whose real name was Robert H. North. He gave me
information about a certain "FLASH," or comprehensive language used
among professional gamblers and blacklegs. Many of the phrases were
familiar, but I never could ascertain their origin. He was soon
convinced of my ignorance, and then informed me of the society whence
they originated. He likewise explained the reason why I was so
persecuted by the notorious Goodrich. "It is known," said he, "wherever
the fraternity exist, that you obtained the package; but they are
satisfied you destroyed the same, and it is well you did, or else you
would have been put out of the way long before this."

I told him I had taken the package, but there was nothing in it save
letters and a few blank parchments.

He laughed and said: