FOR many years there lived near the town
of Gallipolis, O., an old man named Herman
Deluse. Very little was known of his history, for
he would neither speak of it himself nor suf-
fer others. It was a common belief among his
neighbors that he had been a pirate -- if upon any
better evidence than his collection of boarding
pikes, cutlasses, and ancient flint-lock pistols, I do
not know. He lived entirely alone, in a small
house of four rooms falling rapidly into decay,
and never repaired further than was required by
the imperative mandates of the weather. It stood
on a slight elevation in the midst of a large
stony field overgrown with brambles and culti-
vated in patches, and that in the most primitive
way. It was his only visible property, but could
hardly have yielded him a living, simple and few as
were his wants. He seemed always to have ready
money, and paid cash for all his purchases at the
village stores roundabout, seldom buying more
than two or three times at the same place until

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