Spectres and Hobgoblins.
Poor Helen Jewett’s ghost appeared to James Gordon Bennett last night, and he leaped from his bed, (a la Richard from his tent,) and sweat terribly, and his jaws clattered, and his frame trembled, and he screamed for Grinnell and others to come to his relief. But they could not respond, because they were long since bled to death in the rear of the City Hospital, and are at the High Court of God, awaiting the speedy arrival of Bennett’s soul, which they will convict of crimes that will consign his wicked spirit to wasteless fires!
