body will be the wiser. Will you swear to it?" "No," answered the other, " I won't." The two men had evidently been drinking before coming into the room, and this belief was confirmed in my mind by Taylor's next remark, — "Oh, well, then if you won't, let 's take a drink." I heard the pouring of liquor, the clinking of the glasses; and then the conversation turned 111 a general way upon the people they both knew in Rockport. After a sec ond drink Taylor began upon his former clerk again. "Say, Bill, I Ml tell you what I 'll do. If you will testify for me in court to-morrow, I 'll give you a hundred dollars when it 's finished; no one will know anything about it, and you will do your old friend a favor." "Well," said Bill, hesitatingly, as if he had had too much whiskey, " is there any danger of our being found out?" "Found out? Lord bless your soul, no! I 've got my diary, and it says it was a pleasant day the 4th of March, although there was snow on the ground and it was cloudy. Now, you understand I 'm going to say that I had the money all saved up the 15th of February, and it was in the snuffjar in the back office where we kept our money. Say, will you do it?" "Well, yes, I will do it if you say we won't be found out." "All right! " rejoined Taylor; "we'll take some more whiskey. We 'll have to have our heads clear to-morrow, for it's a smart lawyer that 's on the other side." I heard the pouring of more liquor, the opening of the window, and the smashing of the bottle on the pavements below. The gas was turned down, and I heard the hall door shut, as the two men, who were to perjure themselves for money the following day, passed out into the corridor. For me to sleep with this upon my mind was impos sible; and at last I arose, and lighting the gas, hunted for a pencil, and not finding
one, I lighted a card of matches, and with the burnt ends wrote memoranda of the names, dates, etc., on the fly-leaf of a book. Having relieved my mind, I turned out the gas, retired once more, and slept. In the morning it all seemed like a dream, until I looked on the page on which I had made the memoranda the night before. About nine o'clock I entered the office of the gentleman who had the papers which I was to witness. After the papers were signed and passed and we were left alone, I inquired where the court-house was sit uated. He told me it was within two blocks of his office, and asked why I wished to know. Upon his promising not to di vulge, I repeated to him what I had heard the night before. Although much interested in my story, he was unable to leave his office that morning, but made me promise that I would tell him all that occurred in the court. When I reached the court-room it was just after ten o'clock, and the case in which I was so deeply interested had just been called up. Fully one hundred and fifty people from Rockport were assembled on the floor and in the gallery. They were the queerest lot I had ever seen. I took a back seat, and looking across the rail, easily picked out old Deacon Sanborn, with his gray hair falling on his shoulders and two black shepherd-crooked canes lying on the table before him. On the bench near him sat his daughter. Deacon Sanborn was the first witness called. He testified that he was eighty-four years of age, and had never been in a court before. He said that James Taylor, the apothecary, had paid him $800 in cash, and given him his note for $1,200, due the 4th of March this year. "When the day it was due came," said he, " I went into the drug store at about eleven o'clock in the morning. Taylor told me he had been unfortunate in collecting money, and that he would not be able to pay the note then. Knowing him to be a Rockport man, and thinking of my son, who often found it difficult to collect money,
