committed, and that the scene of the atrocity was the Elysian Fields. But there the poHce and the papers aHke stopped, baffled. Then Poe, changing the scene from the Hudson to the Seine, and hiding the name of Mary Rogers under a transparent French equivalent, wrote one of his most marvellous tales, the Mystery of Marie Roget. One by one he took up the clues; with an astuteness that seemed almost inspired he worked out the history of the murder. Every one at that day read the story, and to the popular mind the Mystery of Marie Roget fully elucidated the grewsome fate of Mary Rogers. There was a story current, impossible now to verify, that fifteen or twenty years afterwards, a sailor, dying in a hospital, confessed to the murder, giving details which substantially agreed with Poe's narrative. All the river front has changed, almost beyond recognition. A large part of it at Weehawken is taken up with coal and oil depots and the West Shore terminals. A trolley line connects with the Forty-second Street Ferry and carries the passengers to the top of the bluff and beyond. But there are still, between this point and Fort Lee, unoccupied and wooded acres lying back of the shore along the heights that are still among the finest points of ^4ew in the neighbourhood of New York. More than half a century ago Fitz-Greene Halleck wrote, in praise of this locality: Weehawken ! In thy mountain scenery yet All we adore of nature in her wild