Sunday Edition. Feb. 10.
L Chfe strong voice of public opinion. They can
effect nothing, nor can mere governmental
measures. The sensible repression of crime
can only be accomplished by the dispersion of
Che criminal class through the earnest and con
tinuous action of the whole community. When
the public mind shall be aroused to a sense of
the magnitude of the evil and its menacing as
pect, we may hope for its abatement; and the
associations which abound for the moral ad
vancement of the depraved will then become
frea’dy and useful instrumentalities to fulfill the
of their benevolent founders.
Among the societies formed for the repres
sion of crime, it is proper to mention, in terms
-of commendation, the Prison Association of the
<fitate of New York. It has, for one of its chief
objects, the welfire of the discharged convict,
and the amount of good it every year accom
plishes in winning to the paths of honesty
-ehose for whom there is no sympathy, except
bv the members of that association is worthy of
&11 praise.
.1; WORKHOUSE.
'SDlibre were in the Workhouse on
January 1, 1866 1,259
deceived during the yearl2,4ll
|rr 13,670
discharged.l2,3oo
Died 235
. 12,558
Remaining.... 1,835
p The only effective mode of correcting vagran
cy, and the sloth that produces poverty, is by
Compulsory labor, and by the severe discipline
of a convict prison, without its degrading asso
ciations.
The workhouse fulfills these conditions.
*■ .There the vagrant, the slothful, and the drunk
ard, are taught, by forcible lessons in hard
the folly of their past conduct. The
t?rm of service is brief, rarely exceeding three
months:; but it is a term of sharp discipline, and
inspires among the males a whole-
Wbme dread of its repetition. On the female
prisoners, however, this effect is not produced.
They are subjected to the same rules as the
men, but neither the sense of confinement, or
their laborious employment, have much effect
on their conduct. They are generally commit
ted for intoxication. They are impatient for
the end of their terms of committal, but it is
only that they may indulge their craving for
liquor, and in a few days they are again inmates
of the Workhouse. In many instances women
have been committed thirty and forty times,
and in some cases one hundred times.
ALMSHOUSE.
There were in the Almshouse on Jan-
. uary 1 1866 1,562
Deceived during the yearß,ol4
I * 4,646
Discharged 2,633
Died 733
' Remainingl,274
The proportion of paupers to the whole pop
ulation is nearly uniformly the same for a se
.fries of years. The general prosperity of the
Community does not diminish, nor does adver
sity increase it. The uniformity of rate is
in part, due to the larger contribu
tions of the benevolent to the poor in times of
distress, and in part to the rigor of the rules
Established bv tae Board, and the inflexibility
With which they are executed by the able Su
perintendent, Mr, Kellock. The inmates of the
Almshouses are the old and infirm. The able
bodied destitute, if deserving, are granted tem
porary relief, while those whose poverty is the
result of indolence or dissipation, are sent to
the Workhouse, and a full day’s labor is each
Jday exacted of them.
y NURSERIES ON RANDALL’S ISLAND.
All children over two years of age committed
to the Department are transferred to the Nur
series on Randall’s Island, where they are
placed at school until their parents or guard
ians are able to provide for them. If not
■aimed, they are indentured, at a suitable age.
K) respectable citizens to learn some useful
Kursuit. There are now in the Nurseries 642
Bkys and 821 girls.
r""The Hospitals of the Island and Asylum for
jjdiot Children have been placed in charge of
the Resident Physician, and
relieved from duties, in some de
cree anomalous, and which interfered with* the
aischarge of others of equal or greater impor
tance.
V There has been constructed on the island,
tinder the direction of A. W. Craven, Esq.,
Chief Engineer of the Croton Aqueduct, a res
ervoir 127 feet m diameter and 14 feet deep,
Capable of holding 525,000 gallons of water, for
i the supply of the several Nurseries.
L SCHOOL FOR IDIOTS.
" During the past ten years a large number of
idiot children have been thrown on the chari
. ties of the city. Filthy in their habits, and re
garded as hopeless of any mental or moral im
provement, they were herded together without
’•further care than to feed and clothe them.
.) The distinguished success which has attend
ed Dr. Wilbur, in the education of the idiots at
ihe State Asylum, induced the Commissioners
io open a school for those on Randall’s Island.
At the request of the Board, Dr. Wilbur visited
the Island, and made various suggestions,
Which were adopted, and on His kind invita
tion, the teacher selected resided at the State
Asylum till she had acquired the principles and
rules which govern the education oi the idiots
ait tb.i inn! Hution. Ao-will b« .eon by lici re
iport, which is annexed, the progress which the
p pupils have made affords gratifying assurance
that the condition of this unfortunate class will
I be greatly alleviated.
INEEBIATE ASYLUM.
, of the Act of 1861, the Inebriate
«isylum, has been commenced. Contracts for
its erection on Ward’s Island have been made
Jen favorable terms, and the building will be
■fedy for occupancy in the Spring of 1868. The
BWther sum ot one hundred thousand dollars
Will be required to complete it. A substantial
flock has been erected, and the Croton water
has been conducted to the Asylum by an iron
pipe six inches in diameter, laid on the bod of
|he East river, from the foot of One Hundred
a.nd Fourteenth street. It is respectfully sug
gested that a portion of the excise money, re
ceived for license to sell liquor in the county of
New York;, may be assigned for the support of
, this institution. It seems proper that some
portion of the revenues derived from convert
ing men into drunkards should be appropriated
for thespurpose of reforming them at the place
Of their degradation.
( CITY CEMBTEEY.
i The number of burials in the Public Ceme
tery during the past year was two thousand
■and forty-three.
» Tho Cemetery is on Ward’s Island, in the im
mediate vicinity of the hospitals of the Com
, missiopers of Emigration, and but a short dis
tance from Harlem and Astoria. The popula
tion of these places is rapidly increasing, and
the burial-grounds, now regarded as very ob-
J oction able, will soon become a serious public
evil. The Inebriate Asylum is in the course of
erection on the island, and the whole area will
pe required in a few years for institutions in
charge of this Board and the Commissioners of
flVoigration. It is respectfully recommended
piat the Board may be authorized to purchase
Kyids elsewhere for a public cemetery.
SUPEIIINTENDBNT OF THE POOR.
report of the Superintendent of Out
door Poor is annexed. That officer is charged
■dth the relief of the poor living in the city,
assisted by six visitors, who make every
■application tor relief the subject for special in
!vestigation. They report in writing the condi
tion of the applicant, the number of his family,
and the causes of destitution. It there bo sat
isfactory evidence that the applicant is in
■ actuaHieod, such assistance is afforded by the
as in his opinion is necessary.
Beside the general charge of the poor, the Su
fcrintendent receives and distributes the sick
the several hospitals of the Department,
commits destitute and friendless children to
the Nurseries, the old and infirm to the Alms
houses, and directs the burial of the dead.
! Hitherto, it has been the practice of the De-
I *partment, to employ a largo number of visitors
during the Winter months. Inexperienced in
their peculiar duties, and conscious that their
term of employment would be brief, they were of
ten careless in the examination cases referred to
thorn. The Board during the past year Lave divi
ded the city into six districts, and assigned to
each a permanent visitor, whoso duty it is to be
come thoroughly acquainted with the condition
■of the poor in his district,and so be able to detect
■With facility the fraudulent applications for as
-Bistance that are constantly made, as well as to
relievo such cases of suffering and destitution,
as may not be presented at the General Office.
Kir. Kellock, the Superintendent, continues to
■ischarge, to the eutire satisfaction of the
■card, his multifarious and important duties.
houseless room
■■ ■ ■ Legislature has delegated to the Commis-
ample power to relieve every class of
except to provide temporary
shelter for the houseless poor. The Board can-
Ider the Act of its creation, lease or erect
ng for that purpose. In this groat city,
ly passes without the ejection of famL
n their houses at nightfall, because of
ability to pay their weekly rent, and they
>n compelled to find shelter in the police
•houses, with vagrants, or to pass the
i the streets. There are also many per
riving in the city, strangers and friend-
Sss, without means to procure lodgings for the
ght. ° °
'• The Commissioners, believing that much suf
fering was caused by the want of a tompory re
fuge, assigned a building they had leased for
Abe confinement of disorderly persons, as a
Bdgmg-house for the destitute, until the sea
son permitted them to make the alterations
far the purpose for which the building was
teased.
4 The 'house was opened on the 28th of Jan-
Jaary. Between that date and the first of April,
Mien it was closed, there were admitted :
, Males. 1,999
' Females 125
Children of both sexes 2
Each applicant was closely questioned as to
mo cause of his destitution, and none were ad
mitted who were intoxicated, or who did not
■L™ satlala ctory evidence that they were com-
ky sudden misfortune, to make applica
on*y , a few instances was the same
P® 1 ?? 14163 tc? oceu Py a ljeJ tile second
AA t AY 0111111 ”, they aro provided with
a break.ast of rye collee and bread. The ex
pense of feeding them was 1108 81 or 5 2-10th
cents for each person.
? man \Bod by an association
(Jlgß-d.gent and benoyomnt ladies, under the
supervision of the Commissioners. I t
combines tSa double purposes of an almhouse
and hospital for the colored population of tn is
city. Tho expenses of the Home are defrayed,
in part, by an allowance from this Board of 15
cents per dav for pauper inmates, and 26 cents
per day for hospital patients, and in part by
voluntary subscriptions of citizens. The man
agers have been embarrassed by the high prices
of provisions, clothing, and fuel, and it has only
been by their unwearied devotion that this im
portant charity has been sustained. Their re
port for the past year is herewith submitted.
MAGDALEN ASYLUM.
The Legislature, at its last session, author
ized the Corporation of the City of New York to
pay to the Magdalen Asylum tho sum of $3,000,
on the approval of the Commissioners of Public
Charities and Correction. The Commissioners
carefully examined-the manner in which the in
stitution is conducted; and, satisfied of the
fidelity and economy in which its affairs are ad
ministered, so certified to the Controller of the
city, who paid thereon to the Commissioners
the sum authorized, and which the Commis
sioners have paid to tho asylum at the rate of
SSOO per month.
COMMISSIONERS OF EMIGRATION.
There has been for many years a controversy
with tho Commissioners of Emigration for tho
support of emigrants in the institutions of this
department. The sum claimed by the Board
amounts to about $140,000. The Commission
ers of Emigration presented a counter-claim
for the support of infants born at their hospital
on Ward’s Island, amounting to $146,000.
During the past year, both Commissioners
agreed to refer the question to arbitrators, and
abide by their decision. The arbitrators se
lected were Thurlow Weed, Esq., and William
F. Havemeyer, Esq. After a careful and delib
erate examination of the question at issue, they
allowed the claims of this commission, and dis
allowed tho offset of the Commissioners of Em
igration, A copy of the able opinion of the
arbitrators is annexed to this report.
JAMES BOWEN,
JAMES B. NICHOLSON,
ISAAC BELL,
OWEN W. BRENNAN,
Commissioners.
[Original.!
BROKEH-HEARTED.
By Kitty Van V.
Little Lulie enya her heart is broken,
And bends her brow into a fair whJtto frown;
O’er soft blue eyes white rose leaf lids drop down.
And from rod lips escaped love’s first sweet token—
A sigh, that stirs no thread in ail those rings of
brown.
Full well she knows that with tho coming morrow
Her lover fond will kiss tho clouds away.
Faint heart, enduring not for one short day
Companionship with gentle, pale-faced sorrow,
Whose robes are bioidered o’er with hope’s bright
ray.
Wait! wait until long years have swept theo on
ward—
Long years of wretchedness and black despair;
The cold neglect thy weary soul must boar,
Crushing thy faith and hope forever downward.
Tearing away the trust that was so fair.
Wait I while thy woman’s heart within is crying
For some slight boon to which its love may cling;
Thou canet thy mem’ry’s bitter ashes bring,
And o’er them, on thy life’s cold altar lying,
Perhaps a few more tears thy grief will wring.
And when the prayers thy burning lips have spoken
Fall back unanswered, Ihou wilt long to sleep
All calm and quiet, and tho grave will keep
Tho secrets of thy heart, at last all broken,
And o’er thy woes tho pitying flowers will weep.
THE HAUNTED CHANCEL;
08,
THE WIDER.
Tho inhabitants of Peytonstone, a village in
Kent about a dozen miles wo it of Maidstone,
had a shrewd suspicion that Robert Batten,
who lived in tho ivy-covered cottage at tho tap
of the High Street, was a miser.
He had been in business as a hatter; and his
brother, a farmer, had at his death, left him a
handsome legacy, in return for taking care of
his only daughter Fanny. But Robert Batten
was never known to spend a farthing more than
was absolutely necessary.
His wife had been dead many years, and the
task of educating the bov s'ue left devolved
upon him. This he accomplished satisfactorily,
as iar as ho himself was concerned; but as he
refused to send him to school the lad acquired
wayward habits, and fretted at tho slightest
restraint. -
The time came when it was necessary for
Matthew Batten to go into tho world and get
his own living.
He did not hesitate to seize the first oppor
tunity, as the penury of his homo was anything
lint pleasing to a high-spirited and generous
young man.
A situation as clerk in a wholesale clothing
manufactory at Maidstone offered itself, lie
accented it, and leaving Peytonstono took up
his abode in me county town.
Ho was much attached to his cousin, and ex
perienced considerable regret at leaving her;
but the necessity was imperative, and they
were not so very iar apart after all.
The liberty ho had enjoyed at Peytonstone
unfitted him in some degree for the sedentary
life and the discipline of his now occupation.
Adam Aquilar, tho foreman, was a man of
ill-temper and a strict disciplinarian; with him
Matthew Batten was m perpetual conflict, and
the quarrels between them sometimes assumed
a most serious aspect.
Old Robert Batten missed his son, though
Fanny did her best to amuse him during the
evening. Generally, Anthony Best, the parish
clerk, dropped in to enjoy a game at cribbage;
and wli .n that was the case, Fanny retired to
the chimney corner, to read, for the tenth time,
the last letter she had received from Matthew.
It happened, eno Sabbath day, that the
clergyman had administered the sacrament in
tho morning, and tho communion plate had
been allowed to remain on the table during the
aiternoon and evening services.
The plate was neither very massive, very
costly, nor very extensive; but, such as it was,
the parishioners wore proud of it, and Tony
Best humored their weakness by displaying it
as much as possible.
After evensong, when ho had unrobed the
parson and seen him out of the church, as well
as tho last parishioner, Tony put out tho lights,
only leaving the candles on the altar burning,
in addition to his lantern.
Then ho opened the iron-clampod chest in
the vestry, so as to have it ready for tho recep
tion of the plate.
Having accomplished this to his satisfaction,
and taken his time over it all, too, he looked at
his old-fashioned silver watch, and found that
it w s, as nearly as possible, half-past nine.
“Bless me, how late it’s gottin!” he exclaimed.
“ Parson must have been longer than usual to
night I”
Taking up his antiquated horn lantern, he
went back to the church, and on entering the
chancel was surprised beyond measure at see
ing it occupied by a man.
This was the more perplexing because he was
certain he had seen every one go out, and ho
knew that he had locked the door and put tho
key in his pocket.
To make sure of this fact, old Tony Best put
his hand in his pocket, and felt the key resting
there.
Who, then, was tho intruder ?
And how could he have obtained admission
to the church ?
Only by hiding himself under a seat, or drop
ping down from the belfry—a task not very easy
of accomplishment.
Nevertheless, mysterious as the affair was,
there in the chancel, erect and silent, was the
figure of a man.
Tony’s first impression was that some villain
wished to lay his sacrilegious hands upon the
plate.
Recovering from the alarm to which this
strange and inexplicable circumstance had
given rise, he approached tho intruder.
When sufficiently near to distinguish his fea
tures, his alarm vanished, for ho recognized
the well-known physiognomy of Robert Batten.
He seemed a little more solemn than usual,
and his back was not quite so bent, nor had he
his stick with him.
Yet it was Robert Batten, beyond the shadow
of a doubt.
“ Why, Robert, old man I” exclaimed Anthony
Best, in a cheery tone; “ who would have
thought of seeing you here ? How did you get
in, and what do you want, now you are here ?”
Robert Batten made no reply, but pointed
with his outstretched hand in the direction of
the High Street, at the top of which bis cottage
was situated.
“Have you lost your tongue, Robert?” con
tinued Tony, trembling just a little, as he said
afterward.
Batten remained obstinately silent. When
Tony Best began to speak he dropped his hand,
but when he had finished ho raised it again.
“ I—l say, Robert, what—what’s the matter ?”
asked the parish clerk, in a vague state of ter
ror.
Batten’s hand rose and fell like the finger of
a signal-post on a railway. Casting his eves,
which wore dull and lustreless, upon the clerk,
ho walked slowly along the chancel, and disap
peared through the open door in the vestry.
Wiping the perspiration from his brow 'with
his disengaged hand, Tony Best said, half
aloud, “If this is what ho calls a iprlt, I don’t
like it, and I shan’t hesitate about telling him
so!”
Thinking ho was waiting for him in the ves
try lie went thither, but found it o npty.
The key was in the door, but the door had
not been unlocked.
This was beyond a joke.
Tony began to think that there was some
thing fearluliy supernatural about this appari
tion, ana his knees knocked together: for
though a brave man in the daylight, he was a
terrible coward in the darkness and solitude of
a churchyard.
“ Oh, nonsense!” ho said, endeavoring to re
assure himself; “ I must pull myself together.
It’s nothing more than an attempt to impose on
me, and it I show the white feather,' they’ll
have a hearty laugh at mo over their beer "at
the ‘ Chequers.’ Robert ’ Batten is about the
last man 1 should have thought would have
done such a thing!”
The process of pulling himself together was
accomplished after sundry nervous twinges,
and, with rather more than his usual speed—he
resembling the tortoise more than the hare—
ho put away tho communion plate, and locked
the oaken cheat.
This done, he let himself out of the church.
“I’m bound to give Robert a bit of my mind,”
he muttered, “andl’ll go to his house at once,
while my temper’s up!”
The walk from the Peytonstone Church to
Robert Batton’s ivy-covered cottage was not a
long one. Tony hobbled, rather than walked,
the distance in something over three minutes.
“ He hasn’t got much the start of mo,” was
Tony's reflection, as he knocked with his knuck
les against the door.
“ Who’s there?”asked Fanny,in a subdued
tone.
“ Tony Best, the parish clerk I” was tho con
sequentialcoply.
Then the door was opened, and Tony went in.
The sitting-room was empty, with the exception
of Fanny and himself.
“ Why, where’s Robert ?” he asked.
“Gone to bod,” replied Fanny.
“Howlong since ?”
“ Oh, this ever so long ! iHe said he didn’t
feel well, and took hie candle about eight. He
told me not to come and bother him, as he did
not want anything, so not feeling tired, I sat up,
reading * Bunyan.’ ”
“Are you sure you’re not making any mis
take ?” slowly exclaimed Tony Bost.
“ Positive,” replied Fanny.
Ho fancied she was a conspirator, and had
been told to say what she just uttered.
“ 'That’s mortal odd,” ho continued, musing
ly.
“ Why odd, Tony!”
“Because, I saw Robert Batten not a quarter
of an hour ago I”
“Impossible !”
“ I tell you I did 1” he persisted.
“ Whore i” asked Fanny.
“In tho church—there he stood, in the chan
cel, as large as fife !”
“ Well, 1 never!” ejaculated Fanny, holding
up her hands in amazement.
“ I couldn’t bring myself to believe it at first,”
Tony went on. “ When I spoke, he made no
answer,and looked as solemn as if he’d been to a
funeral; and all ho did was to point to his
house. Are you sure your uncle’s in bed?” ho
added, his suspicions returning with redoubled
force.
“ If you have any doubt, you shall come with
me and sec," answered Fanny,
“Don’t think I’m unkind or rude to you, my
dear, if I agree to that,” said Tony. “ But it’s
my impression that some of them have been
amusing themselves at my expense, and 1
should like to go and see.”
“ By all moans ; but don’t make a noise—not
to wake him, I mean!”
“ I’ll be silent as the grave,” replied Tony.
Taking tho candle which stood on the table,
Fanny gathered up her dress, and led the way
up-stairs, to her uncle’s bed-room.
Opening the door with care, she shaded tho
light with her hand, and allowed Tony to see
Robert Batten lying in bed—lus head and one
hand above the clothes—to all appearances fast
asleep.
“ How quiet he is!” said Tony.
“ Ho was always a gentle sleeper I” remarked
Fanny.
“ A corpse couldn’t be more silent!” muttered
Tony.
“ Are you satisfied?” asked Fanny.
“ Yes, my dear. He couldn’t have had time
to come home, get into bed, and sleep like a
humming-top. Let’s go down stairs again. I’m
perplexed, and don’t know what to think 1”
“You must have been mist ikon, Mr. Best,”
said Fanny, as they were descending the stairs
together.
“ No,” returned Tony, steadily ; I saw Rob
ert Batten standing in the chancel! I’ve said it
before, and I’ll say it again—ay, I’d repeat it, if
I knew I was to be torn to pieces by wild horses
the next moment for saying it I”
“ Then, you’ve seen his ghost, for I give you
my word that he has not been outside this house
the whole evening!” rejoined Fanny, emphat
ically.
There was a loud knock at the door.
“ This is a nice time of night for any one to
make visits I” grumbled Fanny, as she went to
the door.
Tony Best sat down near tho fire ; for it was
the end of September, and a bit ot lire was
comfortable, more especially after the sun had
gone down.
Presently, Fanny returned, radiant with
smiles, followed by a young man.
“ It’s Matt 1” she exclaimed.
“Why, Matt, my lad, how fares it with
thee?” cried Tony Best, rising, and shaking
him cordially by the hand.
“I’m well enough in body, Tony,” replied
Matthew Batten, “and glad to see you’re tho
same. Has my father gone for the night,
Fanny?”
“ Yes; ho did not feel very well. Shall I wake
him ?”
“ Not for the world. I have walked over from
Maidstone, and shall return to-night. I have
only half an hour to spare.”
“ Why did you not come earlier ?” inquired
Fanny.
“I did not intend to come at all to-day, as
Mr. Aquilar was busy, auditing the accounts,
and wanted my help.”
“On Sunday?” .
“ Oh, yes; that’s nothing to him. He would
treat ns like dogs if ho had his way!” replied
the young man, bitterly.
“I hope you have not quarreled with him
again, Matthew ?” said Fanny, anxiously.
“Bui I have, though.”
“When?”
“To-night. I told him what I thought of
him, in the presence of half-a-dozen others.
He to tell me I falsified tho accounts, whoa ho
can’t prove a word of what he says ! I should
like ”
“Hush!” cried Fanny. “It is very provok
ing, Matthew ; but it would be better to leave
altogether than have perpetual differences of
opinion.”
“ I won’t leave, Fanny. That’s what he
wants me to do,” said Matthew Batten. “ He’d
like that. If I went, he would say all sorts of
malicious things about mo; and my having
gone would give a color to his slanders.”
• “Heis in a higher position than yourself, my
lad,” exclaimed Tony Best. “You must think
of that; and you’re always ready with a sharp
answer when it would best become you to give
a soft one.”
“ When I want your advice I’ll ask for it,”
said Matthew, angrily.
“ I meant no harm, but I’ll take care how I
throw my pearls before swine another time,”
retorted Tony Best.
Ho spoke severely, for old people like a lit
tle deference from those younger than them
selves.
“ Forgive me, Tony!” cried Matthew, coming
up to him, and seizing his hand. “ You are
too old a friend, I know, to bo offended at a
hasty word. The fact is, Adam Aquilar has
worried me, and I’m not myself to-night. I
came out to calm myself by a'long walk, and it
seems I have not succeeded in doing it.”
“ I’m not one to refuse to meec anybody half
way,” answered Tony Best, returning his cor
dial grasp of the hand.
“That’s right!” said Fanny, smiling. “Do
you know, Matt, what brought Tony here to
night?”
“ How should I ?” he exclaimed.
“ Well, I’ll toll you. He’s soon a glioat.”
“ Ha! ha I” laughed Matthew.
“ It’s true as I sit here,” said the old man.
“ I should bo sorry to think you were turning
silly in your old age, Tony,” exclaimed Mat
thew. “ Who’s ghost was it ?”
“Your father’s I”
He then proceeded to tell him what ho had
seen in the chancel, much to Matthew’s aston
ishment. He was incredulous, but he did not
openly express his skepticism.
“ What’s the time by you, Tony?” he asked.
“Just eleven.”
“ Then my half-hour’s up.”
“You’ll be at Maidstone by when?” inquired
Tony.
“ One or thereabouts, I suppose,” he replied.
“It doesn’t matter; I’ve got a key.”
“ Won’t you stop here to-night, Matt?” asked
Fanny.
“ I’d rather not, thank you,” he answered,
kissing her.
Putting on his hat, he wished them “ Good
bye,” ana started off on the homeward track.
It was a fine, moonlight night, and there was
every promise of his having an enjoyable walk.
After saying % few words mo y e about the
ghost, and lamenting the impetuosity of
Matthew’s temper, I'ony Best took his leave,
and Fanny retired to rest,
Tony was not about very early the next day.
His nerves had been a little shattered by the
remarkable event of the preceding night.
His first visit was to tho “ Chequers not
necessarily for the purpose of drinking, though
he generally did have a glass or two when he
arrived.
All the news was to be picked up there, and
he liked to give his opinion on things in gen
eral. Being the parish clerk, his remarks were
treated with a certain amount of reverence.
“Here comes the oracle 1” exclaimed Plews,
the landlord, as Tony entered tho bar.
Tony bowed toward no one in particular;
and looking upon it as a comprehensive bow,
every one nodded to him.
“ What’s it to be, sir ?” continued the land*
lord.
“We’ll have the nows first, if you please.”
“You’ve heard about Robert Batten, I sup
pose?”
“ Robert Batten!” repeated Tony Best, turn
ing very white. “No ; wnat of him ?”
“He was found dead in his bed this morn
ing.”
“ Lord bless and save us !” ejaculated Tony.
“You’re not well, Mr. Best,” said Plews, no
ticing his pallor and tremulousness.
“ Get me a chair. It’s given me a sudden
turn.”
He was accommodated with a chair; and a
glass of brandy, taken neat, strengthened him
a little.
“ That’s a frightful murder you were telling
us about at Maidstone,” said Piper, the barber.
“ Murder at Maidstone! What’s that ?” cried
Tony, quite snappishly.
“ Why, you see s r, I can’t be quite sure
about my facts,” returned Plews, “as I only
gathered the intelligence in a hasty manner
from the carrie , as he stopped to bait his
horses.”
“ What did he say ?”
“That Adam Aquilar, the foreman of the
out-fitting factory, was shot dead between ten
and o.cven last night—half-past ten, I think,
was tho hour.”
NEW YORK DISPATCH.
“ Adam Aquilar killed!”
“So he said. Did you know him, Mr. Best ?”
asked tho landlord, surprised at his vehem
ence.
“ I’ve heard of him ; go on.” ,
“They’ve arrested some one, I suppose,”
said Piper.
“ Oh, yes.. They’ve got on suspicion young
Matt Batten, who used to live here. He and
Adam, poor man, had words that night, and
Matt was heard to threaten him cruelly."
“It’s false!” vociferated Tony Best, rising
from his chair.
“ What’s false, Mr. Best?”
“All that they say about Matthew Batten.
Ho was here, in this village, at half-past ten
last night, and in my company fill eleven."
The men looked at one another and then at
Tony. If that could be proved it would turn
out a very important alibi for Matt.
Quitting tho public house, he walked to
Robert Batten’s, for tho purpose of condoling
with Fanny. She was sitting in a chair, crying.
Mrs. Elderway, a neighbor, had come in to
comfort her; but her affliction was so sudden,
and withal so green, that it defied consolation
at present.
“ This is a sore trial for you, my dear,” ex
claimed Tony Best; “but ye must bear up
against it, and pray for Divine help. Maybo
you’ve not heard tho worst yet.”
“ My cup of bitterness is full enough,” she
replied, sadly. “I have lost a kind friend and
benefactor.”
“You’ve not heard about Matthew?”
“ Matthew I” she cried, hastily, one grief
being swallowed up in tho anticipation of
another: “has anything happened to him?
Tell mo quickly. I can bear anything but sus
pense!”
“ Adam Aquilar is dead!”
“ Killed, you mean. I can see it in your
eyes!” Fanny rose and seized him by tho arm.
“ Tell me all now 1” she exclaimed. “ I will
have no concealment. You should not have
said a word if you had wished to keep, what I
am sure has happened, a secret from me 1”
“ Well, Adam Aquilar is dead, and Matthew;
Batten has been arrested on suspicion of hav
ing killed him.”
“ When did this take place ?’’ she asked.
If the answer to this question had been un
satisfactory, she would have had no further
strength; she must have succumbed, and
achieved forgetfulness in a swoon.
“ That is the strong point in his case,” said
Tony.
“ What time?” she cried, stamping her foot
on the floor in impatience at the old man’s
prolixity.
“ A half after ten, they say.”
“Thank Heaven, he was here ; he is saved I”
she exclaimed, .sinking back into the chair, and
sobbing with mingled joy and grief.”
Joy for the absent, suffering durance, but
having hope glimmering in tho far off; grief
for tho cold clay up stairs, which should move
again no more on earth.
It appeared that a little past eight, Matthew
Batten had left the factory, after having had a
violent quarrel with Adam Aquilar, who also
quitted the house a quarter of an hour later
than did Matthew.
They were neither of them soon until half
past ten, when Adam Aquilar, while walking up
one of the principal streets of Maidstone, was
fired at.
A bullet went through his heart.
The assassin escaped; but it was generally
thought that Matthew Batten was the criminal.
He was tried at the assizes ; but in the face
of the alibi set up by Fanny and Anthony Best,
it was found impossible to convict him.
The jury acquitted him.
The calamity of being tried at all made itself
apparent in his case. Though his employer
treated him with kindness, and offered to re
instate him in the position of trust he formerly
held, those in the same department refused to
work with a man who had been tried for his
life on so foul a charge as that of murder.
He retired to Peytonstone. Fortunately his
father had left him sufficient upon which to
live comfortably.
Many an evening he passed with Tony Best,
who was never tired of relating the story of the
apparition, which, undoubtedly, had a great
deal to do with the saving of Matthew’s life.
Had not Tony Best been at the cottage when
he came, Fanny’s evidence would have been re
garded suspiciously, if not discredited.
It was very remarkable, to say the least of it.
There were many people who refused to sit
in the same room with Matthew, and he felt tho
ban under which he labored to bo intolerable.
Thinking that in a new country he would find
the peace which was denied him in his own, he
offered his hand to Fanny, proposing to emi
grate as soon as she was his wife.
To his astonishment, she steadily refused.
“But you love me,” he cried; “you have
told me so.”
“ That is very true ; but I will not bo your
wife until you wipo away tho fancied stain "that
rests upon you,” she said.
“How is that to be done?” he asked.
“ There is away of accomplishing every
thing.”
“But think, Fanny; think to what misery
you are dooming both of us. I may seek for
the scoundrel for years, and not find him,”
urged Matthew.
“It must be done,” she replied, shaking her
head, sadly. “I could never be happy while
people had the power to say anything dispar
aging about you.”
“ 1 was acquitted,” he said, sullenly.
“Yea.” ’
“ And you know me to be innocent ?”
“ Yes.”
“ Why your obstinate refusal, then?”
“ I cannot help it,” answered Fanny, with the
teal's in her eyes. “ Call it caprice—call it what
you like, but do not attempt to destroy it, be
cause yours would be labor in vain.”
Matthew went away very disconsolate, and
determined to follow Funny’s advice. That she
was right there could not be a doubt. The only
way to remove the prejudice existing against
him wks to discover the actual culprit.
He took up his abode at Maidstone, telling
Fanny he would not again see her face unless
he could come with a reputation as white as
snow.
Many months passed away, and he could dis
cover nothing. The town in which his trial had
taken place was anything but a pleasant resi
dence for him.
He was frequently annoyed.
If in a public room, some one would leave, or
some covert remark be made, which would
bring the hot blood to his cheeks with a sudden
rush.
The man most resolute in insulting him was
Kershaw. This individual had been in the fac
tory for a long time, and when Matthew left,
ana Aquilar was killed, he became manager.
Kershaw redoubled his insults when it be
came known that Matthew was trying to run
the real culprit to earth.
It appeared as if he were desirous, either of
utterly annihilating Matthew, or that he wished
to send him out of tho country.
At length existence became intolerable to
him.
His only friend was Anthony Bost.
Walking from Maidstone to Peytonstono, he
sought him, in order to ask his advice.
The moon shone as brightly as it did on a
former occasion when ho traversed the same
ground.
Then, his reflections were bitter; now, they
were a thousand times worse.
Inquiring at Best’s house, he was informed
that the clerk was in the vostry, attending to
some'duty which would not occupy him long;
but, feeling impatient, he set off ior tho
church.
Finding the vestry door unlocked, he pushed
it open, and saw Bost engaged in polishing tho
communion plate, in which, as already related,
he took great pride.
“Ah I is it you ?” ho exclaimed, rubbing away
with the chamois-leather as hard as he could,
“I’m glad you have come.”
“Why are you glad, Tony?” inquired Mat
thew.
“ I’ll show you the exact spot where the ghost
appeared.”
“ So you shall.”
“ Wait half a tick, then. That will do,” ho
said, placing a handsome cup in the chost, and
locking it up. “ That’s tho last.”
A tremor ran through Matthew’s frame as ho
stood in the old church, which was so quiet, so
still, so desorted.
Surely it was hero that disembodied spirits
would walk, if allowed to appear to mortal eyos
after their earthly course is run.
“ Was it hero that my father appeared to
you ?” asked Matthew.
“Here on this spo Ha!” cried Tony,
springing back, his hr .r on end, his teeth chat
tering, his limbs tree bling.
Robert Batten stood on tho spot he had bent
forward to indicate.
“My father!” exclaimed Matthew, aghast,
trembling in every limb.
After standing motionless for a brief space,
as if to give tuom time to recover from their
consternation, the shade advanced.
It passed by them, and halted on the thres
hold of the vestry door; then it turned round
and beckoned them.
“See, it beckons us!” said Matthew, in a
whisper.
“Ye-e-es!” replied the clerk, as well as his
chattering teeth would let him.
“ We must follow.”
Tony Best shook his head.
Finding that the- man was too much over
come with fear to bo Ilf any service to him, Mat
thew rushed after the apparition, which seemed
to smile approval of this course, and at once
glided into the night.
Whether Tony was ashamed of himself, or
not, or whether his courage returned, it is dif
ficult to say; but he snatched up his lantern
and ran after Matthew, whom ho overtook in
the middle of the high-road.
“ Where is it ?” he asked.
“ There, before us,” replied Matlhow.
“ I can see nothing,” said Tony.
Nor could he. The apparition was visible,
after his want of faith, to Matthew alone.
On, on thoy walked, the ghost leading tho
way, until they got witiiin a mile or two of
Maidstone.
Tony began to grow tired.
“Where are you going?” he said, testily.
“Wherever it loads,” answered Matthew,
who was wildly excited.
“ Where in tho world will that bo ?”
“ Soo, it enters that field 1”
“See! I can see nothing; and it’s my be
lief ”
“Never mind your belief; be content to fol
low with me,” returned Matthew.
The ghoft passed through tbs gate, lending
into a field on the. left, and, after conducting
them to the centre, diverged toward a hedge. -
Suddenly it stopped, and pointing down
ward three times with its right hand, vanished.
“ What does that mean ?” asked Tony.
Matthew, instead of replying fell on his knees,
and began to search the ground.
“ Hold a light, Tony!” he exclaimed.
Tony Best approached with his lantern.
“ The earth has been newly disturbed here,”
cried Matthew.
“Where ?”
“Why, under my hand. The grass has not
had time to grow.”
“ You’re right. Dig away; we’re on the eve
of some great discovery,” replied Tony, rub
bing his hands together, gleefully.
Matthew drew a clasp-knife from his pocket,
and began to remove the earth to the depth of
a foot and a half.
His knife struck against something hard.
The next instant ho uncovered the barrel of
a pistol, sadly rusty, but well preserved.
It was of modern construction, and bore the
name of a Maidstone maker.
Scrutinizing it closely, Matthew uttered a
cry of mingled joy and surprise.
“ What is it ?’’ said Tony.
“Kershaw 1” ejaculated Matthew.
“ What’s that ? You’ve no call to talk French,
or any other foreign lingo, see I don’t under
stand such gibberish 1” exclaimed Tony, as if
much hurt.
“Bead for yourself,” said Matthew.
Tony took'the pistol, and saw engraved on
the handle “ Kershaw.”
“Oh, it’s a name 1 I see now I” he muttered.
Ho farther examined it, and moved the ham
mers up and down, for it was a double-barreled
pistol.
“Ono’s loaded!” he cried. “I’ll fire it off.”
“ No, no I For heaven’s sake, don’t!” shouted
Matthew.
“ Why not ?”
“ Give it me, and I’ll show you.”
When he had possession of the pistol again
ho put it in his pocket, and said, “Wo can do no
more to-night. As we are near Maidstone, we
had better sleep there. Wo must be up and
doing early to-morrow.”
Tony made no opposition.
They put up at an inn, and rose betimes in
the morning.
Their first visit was to the police-station.
From there they went, accompanied by a local
detective, to the gunsmith whose name was on
the barrel of the pistol.
“Is this your make?” asked Matthew.
“Yes, sir,” replied the tradesman.
“Be good enough to refer to your books and
see to whom you sold it.”
The man turned over tho leaves of a ledger,
and said:
“ On the 15th of August last year we sold
this to Mr. Kershaw."
“Very well. Now, if you please, draw the
charge of the loaded barrel, and be very careful
with the wadding.”
Procuring a ramrod with a screw at the end,
the gunsmith drew the charge.
The wads were made Out of a directed enve
lope : and when tho two pieces were placed to
gether by Matthew’s trembling fingers, they
made “ W. Ker ”on one piece, and “shaw,
Esq.,” on tho other.
“Thank you; that will do,” said Matthew,
handing the pistol and the pieces to the .U
--toctive. ■ ■
In his mind it was proof-presumptive that
Kershaw, to obtain promotion in the olfice, had
shot Adam Aqailar, thinking that the guilt
would be sure to fix itself upon Matthew Bat
ten so soon after a quarrel.
An hour afterward the detective called upon
Kershaw, and exhibited the pistol, ■; '■
At the sight of it the wretched man turned
pale, and showed himself the coward ho was.
“You will scarcely deny that this is your pis
tol, Mr. Kershaw ?” said the detective, drily.
“ What right have you to question ‘me ?” re
plied Kershaw, assuming a boldness of demean
or he was far from feeling. •
“ Tho right of a detective police officer, who
knows that he is on the track of a murderer 1”
shouted the detective.
Turning sharply round, Kershaw hid his livid
features for a moment, and diving his hand into
a desk, took out a small phial.
Drawing the cork, he placed it to his lips.
Before the detective could interfere to pre
vent him, ho had swallowed its contents.
His face became contorted, death flitted
around him, and he fell on tho floor a victim to
prussic acid.
When this was known, and the discovery of
the pistol taken in conjunction with it and the
detective’s visit, popular opinion veered round,
and Matthew Batten was admitted within the
pale of decent society again.
Fanny made no further objection to Mat
thew’s propositions.
They were married; and though both Tony
Bost and Matthew were staunch believers in
ghosts, she remained sceptical, though she
could not explain tho extraordinary puenom
enon which led to the discovery of the pistol.
Incredulous as she was, sho yet was gencrons
enough to own herself much indebted to tho
ghost in the chancel.
A CONJUGAL MYSTERY.
A WIFE DISAPPEARS, AND THE HUS
BAND SHOOTS A FRIEND ON SUSPI
CION OF HIS BEING THE ABDUCTOR.
A Paris correspondent relates the following
piece of scandal, which is singularly charac
teristic of the gay capital:
The affa’r oi most importance brought before
the law tribunals is that of Martin Mailhac.
who shot his friend to avenge his conjugal
honor, under singular circumstances, about
three months ago. Mailhac is a glove mer
chant, and lives in the Faubourg Montmare.
Ho married, some years ago, a lady who bad
previously had a misfortune in the shape of a
little boy, registered as belonging to ajpere in
connu, but of who-.o existence Mailhac had pre
viously been made aware, and, therefore, could
not object to. But, once married, Mailhac was
prone to suspect the pere inconnu in every
man who ventured to speak to his wife; -and
his continual jealousy rendered the poor wo
man’s existence unbearable. Last year, Mail
hac, who was filled to tho very brim with aris
tocratic instincts, repaired to the country on a
sporting exhibition, but ho was soon sum
moned back to Paris by his foreman, who was
commissioned to announce to him the disap
pearance of his wife from the conjugal roof,
and-this not for a time, but forever ! Mailhac,
who had found much pleasure in tormenting
his wife while she lived with him, was now filled
with despair at her loss. He made up his mind
at once that she had tied with a certain Dan
john, who, though himself a middle-aged, bald,
and married man, had always professed such
unbounded admiration for Mailhac, that the
husband had often expressed his suspicion that
he was the pere inconnu mentioned in tho regis
ter on the birth of madame’s little boy. Fired
with this impression, the injured husband
rushed to Danjohn’s dwelling. He there found
the same desolation and distress which had in
vaded his own. His tears and lamentations
were reproduced by Madame Danjohn; for, as
Mailhacrs wife had disappeared from her home,
SO had Aladame Danjohn’s husband takon hia
departure likewise 1 Circumstances did look
queer, certainly ; and, what is more, do look so
still, for nothing certain is discovered, even
yet : and coincidences do happen with such
fatal eccentricity, that no verdict of guilt can
possibly be returned on circumstantial evidence
alone. But, at the end of seven month, Mail
hac is apprised of Danjohn’s return to his
domicile.
The wife, forgiving and kind as all women are,
receives him with soft words, soothes his weary
spirit, receives his cock and bull story as gos
pel truth, makes him change his socks, gets
him his slipoers, and puts the savory soup of
the upon tne table. The penitent
husband Irad just seated himself before the
tempting meal, irresistible to every individual
born on French soil. Ho was just in the act of
raising the first spoonful of the amber-colored
liquid to his lips, wondering all the time how
he could ever have been such a fool as to have
abandoned all ths home, this comfort, this love
and cherishing, for the uncertain, shiftless life
of the wanderer in a foreign clime, when the
door burst open, and vengeance, in the black
c.oth paletot, white cravat, and ch- eked trous
ers of the dreadful glovemaker, armed with a
revolver in each hand, stalked in, and standing
before the guilty Danjohn, who was armed witn
nothing but his spoon, deliberately fired, taking
such steadfast aim, however, that he missed,
and failed to kill the guilty betrayer, as, accord
ing to his own admission, he had intended to
have done. Mailhac walked quietly down stairs
after this feat, and was only arrested at the end
of the street. His confession rendered his in
quiries useless, and he submitted to take his
trial in order to be legally acquitted, according
to the usual course of the law now-a-days. The
most terrible impression left upon the mind by
the whole affair is the utter ignorance ex
pressed by every one of the witnesses as re
gards the fate of Aladame Mailhac. Danjohn,
of course, denies all knowledge of her retreat.
Neither her husband nor her brother has he rd
a word concerning her. She has taken her lit
tle boy, and the sentence of eternal separation
pronounced on her departure seems irrevoca
ble.
[From the Cairo Democrat, Jan. 11. |
ROMANCE IN REAL LIFE.
A MOTHER RECOVERS A LONG-LOST SON.
A scene occurred at the Virginia Hotel, yes
terday, of a more touching character than we
remember to have witnessed for many years.
Years ago, there lived in the neighborhood of
Atchison, Kansas, a family of the name of
Bryant, consisting of the husband, wife and
one child, a boy about eight years old. The
father was a drunken, worthless character, who
treated his wife in a most brutal manner, never
providing anything for tho family, which was
supporte 1 entirely by the exertions of the wife.
Mrs. Bryant sometimes employed a certain
young woman to assist her about the house,
and in tho course of time she observed that the
husband paid this girl such marked attention
as no wife should allow a husband to bestow on
any woman, and she immediately called him
to task about it. A quarrel ensued, and sopa
xfttfoßWas the Tho father aia-
appoarod suddenly from tho neighborhood,
stealing the child away with him,.and although
the half distracted mother made every effort to
discover his whereabouts in order to recover
her child, no news concerning him could be
obtained other than that he had started down
the Missouri Biver. At the time of separation,
the poor wife was in almost destitute circum
stances. but, laboring faithfully and persever
ingly, sue enlarged her worldly store slowly,
but surely, and now she appears upon tho
scene a lady worth $60,000. But through all
these years she has never given up the hopes
of finding her lost child, or relaxed net efforts,
and the scene witnessed yesterday was the
crowning of those efforts with a tearful, happy
success.
It appears that the father, after taking the
child, buried himself in the wilds of Arkansas,
where he remained until 1861 or 1862, when he
died, and the boy, having been taught that his
mother was dead, wandered about through the
lower country, enduring all manner of hard
ships and privations, until he arrived at Clarks
ville, Texas.
This was at a time when tho Confederates
were m possession of the place and compelling
all men old enough to join the army, ana those
under age to join the military academy at that
{flace. A Confederate disbursing officer, who
ived in the neighborhood of the family before
the war, met the lad at Clarksville, ana recog
nizing the name, sent word to a friend of his in
Montana, Dr. Pickard, who was aeqauinted
with the family, that he believed this boy must
be the one so long lost. The news, of course,
was a long time gett ng through, but upon its
reception, tho doctor started for Clarks
ville. When he arrived, the college had been
broken up, tho lad was gone, and tho doctor’s
trip a failure. So matters stood until last De
cember, when, by a train of circumstanses
which seemed almost miraculous, and which we
have no.room to enumerate, traces of the wan
derer were again obtained. The doctor again
started after him, and the boy was found in the
neighborhood of the town mentioned.
But here a new difficulty arose. The lad, be
lieving his mother long since dead, refused to
believe the joyful news related to him by the
doctor, and on being urged to accompany his
new-found friend to New Orleans, by sea, ut
terly refused to do so, and expressed his be
lief that the whole history was but a plot to in
veigle him into the imperial army in Alcxico.
After a long time he was induced to agree to
come to Memphis-by the overland route. Still
incredulous, but believing that by this route he
would be in no danger of abductron, and know
ing that when he reached Alemphis he could
not be in a worse pecuniary condition than
where ho was then residing, as his wagos were
but a mere pittance. On reaching Memphis,
his mother was notified by telegraph, and she
immediately started for this city, where all the
parties to this romance of real life arrived safe
ly yesterday, and tho boy was convinced of his
good fortune.
We open our Gossip department, this week,
With O lii+lrt “ ou>lCl IO liaVß 00-
curred in Madison, Wisconsin—at all events,
that delicate specimen of newspaper nicety, the
Aladison Union, is responsible for it; and we
republish it at the request of a friend, who says
he can’t see any point to it, and ho don’t believe
any one can. We haven’t studied on it much
yet; but, however well the point may be con
cealed, wo are sure there is a joke somewhere,
so we leave our readers to find it out, merely
putting it down under its original heading:
THE BRIDAL CHAMBER.
Not many weeks ago, a newly-married couple visited
our city, and stopping at a first-class hotel, the bride
groom, in a manner showing his newly-acquired im
portance in life, called for a room—the best the house
afforded. He didn’t want any common fare, but the
best they had, and he had tho money to foot the bill.
The landlord very pleasantly inquired if he was not
from the country, and just married ? Yes, he was
from the country, and just married, and he wanted
the best room in the house, and he didn’t care a darn
for the expenses. “ Then/’ said the landlord, “ you
want tho bridal chamber! ” ’‘Why, yes,” says the
countryman, rot exactly comprehending the matter,
“ I guess so—at any rate, send it up; if I don’t want
it, Sal will.”
Changing the. subject as expeditiously as pos
sible, we have a good story from the Lacon
(111.) Home Journal, entitled
A FORGETFUL CLERGYMAN.
Brother B Is one of our city pastors, and an
earnest disciple of the church militant, beloved and
respected by all. One Sabbath not long sin e, an un
usually busy week having prevented a duo prepara
tion of his Sunday sermon, he arose in the morning
and fell vigorously at work upon it. Breakfast and
the labors of the toilet wore dispatched mechanically,
his mind still intent upon the labor in hand, and
when the hour of service approached ho came down
stairs properly arrayed as ho supposed for the oc
casion, meeting his wife at the door, who asked his
destination.
“ Wny, to church, of course,” was the reply.
“Wohl” said she, “I think von had hq<ii rnt on
your breeoues mtsu
In his seli-forgelfulness tho good brother was
actually going to tho house of God minus his inex
pressibles.
Speaking of church matters, we were-once at
a certain Conference Class meeting where
brethren and sisters were relating their ex
perience, giving their views etc. And a re
freshing season was manifested; after the
brethren had all spoken, one of tho sisters got
up and remarked that she had enjoyed the
meeting exceedingly, and was pleased at all
that had been said and done; she felt some
diffidence at being the first female to speak,
but as the male adults had all spoken she was
very desirous of hearing from the adulteresses'.
Of course at such a place a becoming serious
ness was observed, but not a few studied their
dictionaries that evening. In this connection
wo have a little anecdote of an old gentleman
who once found himself.
IN A TIGHT PLACE.
At L ,on Sunday evening, fatigued by his long
joura. y, a wagoner and his son John drove the team
into a good, range, and determined to pass the Sab
bath enjoying a season of worship with the good folks
of the village. When the time tor worship arrived,
John was set to watch the team, while the wagoner
wont in with the crowd. Tho preacher had hardly
announced his subject, before the old man fell asleep.
He sat against the partition iu the centre of the body
slip, while just against him, separated only by the
very low partition, sat a fleshy lady, who seemed all
absorbed in the sermon. Sho struggled hard with
her feelings, until unable to control them any longer,
she burst out with a loud scream, and shouted at the
top of her voice, rousing the old man half awake, who
thrust his arm around her waist, and cried very
soothingly:
“Wo, Nance! wo, Nance! Here, John, cut the
belly-band, and loose the breeching, quick,, or she'll
tear everything to pieces!”
It was all the work of a moment, but the sister for
got to shout, the preacher lost the thread of his dis
course, and the mpttfing camo prematurely to an
end, while deeply mortified the old man skulked
away, determined not to go to meeting again until he
could manage to keep his senses by remaining awake.
We don’t think it was exactly safe for him to
eit under the “drippings of the sanctuary”
though speaking of safes, wo have just hoard
A GOOD THING.
A California man has been reading in a scientific
journal an account of a curious 21 id recent invention
designed to catch safe burglars. The depredator no
sooner commences, in perfect ignorance of the secret
arrangements, to force open the door, drill the lock,
or move the safe, than by so doing he sends a tele
graphic dispatch to the nearest police office, exhibit
ing the number, registered in the police books, of the
house in which the robbery is being effected.
Tho California man observes: That’s nothing to a
safe which we are credibly assured has been recently
perfected in thia place. As soon as a burglar tackles
this safe, an instantaneous photograph of hia phiz is
taken and transmi’ted to the owner of the safe,
wherever ho* may be. The burglar’s name is also
registered hi Hawes’ Great Register, and a complete
description df him forwarded to the police headquar
ters. In addition, a copy of Bunyan’s Pilgrim’s
Progress is extended toward the burglarious individ
ual, and at the same time a double-barreled shot-gun
shoots him dead in his tracks.
If anybody can beat that “safe,” we would
like to have him show us the documents. In
the meantime, wo will amuse the Gossipers
with an illustration of
PROFESSIONAL ETIQUETTE.
Dr. Joel Lewis, an eminent physician, who flour
ished in this city some thirty years ago, had a valua
ble cow, which became sick, and seemed likely to die.
He asked an Irish servant who lived with him if he
knew anybody who followed cow doctoring.
“ It’s meself diz that same,” said the man; “ there’s
Jemmy Lafferty can cure any cow in the world, bar
ring she’s at the left.”
“Well, then,” replied the doctor, “go for Laf
ferty.”
The cow doctor accordingly came, drenched and
physicked the brute for four or five days, on the lapse
of which time ho waited on Doctor Lewis and pro
nounced her cured. The doctor, greatly delighted,
put his hand to his pocket-book.
“ Well, Lafferty, what do I owe you.”
“ Owe me!” cried Jemmy, drawing himself up with
great dignity; “sorra the haporth! We doctors
never take money from one another.”
“My first impulse,” said the doctor, while telling
the story, “ was to kick the fellow out of the house,
and throw his fee after him, but on second thought
the whole affair seemed so ridiculous, that I bowed
him my acknowledgments with as much gravity as I
could assume, and as soon as he had left the house
lay down on the carpet, rolling over and over to in
dulge the fit of laughter which I must give way to or
burst.”
The local editor of the Danville (Va.) Times
thus explains the reason of his
GROWING RECKLESSNESS.
Wo are happy in being no more miserable—no
wood —no money—snow three inches deep, and more,
we fear, coming—ink frozen—roller ditto—the devil
with a bad cold, and our heels frost-bitten. We don’t
care a constitutional for tho country; it may sink or
swim; the probability now is it will freeze. Fact v,
we’ve been out so long in the cold, we are indifferent,
and don’t know that we’d “ stand treat” it Uncle Sam
would offer to take us in. We are pretty much in the
temper of the obstinate urchin who had kicked the
cover off, and woke his “mammy” in the night, cry
ing out, “he was cold.” “Well, pull the cover on
you, Johnny,” said she. “ Thau’t do it,/ replied the
youth, “ dumed if I don’t freeth furtht.”
The “Fat Contributor,” who is pretty well
posted on most subjects, and talks about
“ women’s rights” or “accidental insurance,”
with equal fluency, has just given to the world
the following bit of authentic “ Injun” history
concerning
CAPTAIN JOHN SMITH.
The celebrated Captain John Smith, the saving of
whose life by Pocahontas is a historic event of no lit
tle interest—especially to Smith at that time—was the
earliest settler in Virginia (Grant being the latest
settler they have had in that State), and stands at the
head of a Smith family in this country. We are in
formed that there is a John Smith living in one of the
Western States, but ho couldn’t be tho same man that
settled Virginia, because he would have been toe
young at that time (1607) to settle anything. He
couldn’t have settled for his board, even. Captain
Smith founded Jamestown, which was totally tin*
founded (like many of the anecdotes about him) up to
that period. Beside giving Jamestown a start, he
started a number of Indian villages, so Chat thejl
never came back again. It is said that he could slari
a village of that description Quicker than any white
man living tnat time. He started so many that
the red men, hearing of it through the daily papers
(the Indians were well red in those days), determined
to check his enterprise.
Smith speculated a good deal in corn, purchasing it
in the interior and shipping it to Jamestown, which
was tho great grain centre at that time, Chicago not
having yet been discovered. In one of his trips in
search of corn he trespassed upon the dominions of
King Powhatan, a powerful chief, who, from his en
trenchments on the James, had long threatened
Washington. Smith being somewhat overloaded with
“corn,” fell into an ambuscade, and was captured by
Powhatan’s savages and taken before their chiet
After a brief hearing, in which no witnesses were ex
amined for the defence (Smith demanded a jury trial,
but it was refused), he was condemned to die. He
was asked if "he had anything to say why the sen
tence of death should not ba passed upon him. He
said nothing in particular, only his death would seri
ously interfere with the settlement of Virginia, and
might retard her readmission into the Union. This
had no effect whatever, and ho was marched to the
place of execution. There was a boulder on which to
place his head, while a savage, painted in the most
hideous manner, was swinging* a sluffed club, and
uttering diabolical cries, impatient to mash him-
John gazed upon tho preparations undismayed, for
he belonged to one of the first families of Virginia
(the second families had not arrived from England
yet), and he didn’t scare worth a continental. Pow
hatan, with a generosity that one would hardly look
for in a savage, asked him if there was any mossage
he would like to send to his family, and even offered
to take charge of any little mementoes he desired to
leave for them. Ho immediately bethought him of
an “Accident Insurance” policy, which would expire
about the same time he did, aud a ticket in a gift
enterprise (only 30,000 unsold), both of which ho de
sired to havo sent to his betrothed. Powhatan prom
ised to send them by the next steamer. Captain
Smith then walked firmly to the block without the aid
of crutches, placed his head upon it, and bade the
masher to mash! At this moment the forest rang
with a wild scream, and a beautiful Indian maiden
darted, into the midst of the throng.
Raising her parasol to protect the head of Smith
from tho impending club, she exclaimed:
“ Hold! Red man, stay thy hand! (She couldn’t
stay it herself, because she didn’t wear any stays).
Slay him, and Virginia remains a h-o-w-l-ing wilder
ness. [Prolonged howls from the savages.] Spare
him and ratify the constitutional amendment, and
Virginia resumes her place in the Union 1”
Some reconstructed secesh savages shouted: “Nev
er!” and rushed on Smith with their carving knives,
but Powhatan interfered.
lUo 110 • aroal Spirit wills it.
(This put Smith in great spirits at once.) I commute
his sentence to the obloquy of founding the first fam
ilies of Virginia. Smith, git up aud git! ”
And Smith got.
Ho lived to found the first families of Virginia, ft
race that is mostly run out—of the State of Virginie.
Pocahontas went across the water as a commissioner
to the Paris Exposition, and Powhatan run an Injun
Exhibition for years after with great success.
A pleasant communication from our genial
correspondent J. W. 8., has just reached us. It
is a little long and somewhat thick, besides be
ing reasonably broad; but we publish it not
withstanding, feeling certain that our readers
will not object to hearing all about
THE GOOD GIRL AND THE AUBURN HAIRED
BOY,
Angelina was a sweet girl; she lived in Brooklyn,
where she was horned. Week days she visited New
York, with a lot of geographys under one arm, and a
roll of music under tho other, because this looked like
she might be a school-teacher; but the roll of mush)
contained a corned beef sandwich, and her peculiar
avocation was making straw bonnets. Still she was not
proud, but simply virtuous. She never told a lie like
most other gals, but when asked by her mother who
cut the cake ? like George Washington, she answered,
“ ’Twas I ma, I did it with my hatchet.” If this brave
girl had lived until she died, she might have been
George Washington—who can cuss to tho contrary?
Her age was fifteen, pious,but still respectable, with a
wart upon her upper nose, and sadly addicted to tem
perance. Thus time rolled on, and she grew no bet
ter fast, until her friends actually began to ask, why
is this thus ? As a last resort, sho took to drumming
up scholars for a sunday-school, she drummed, in one
bright auburn-haired boy, whom she found eating
peanuts in broad daylight; his countenance was as
open as the seat of his pantaloons, and her womanly
instincts drew her to him. “Little boy?” “Well,
old gal 1” “ Will you go with mo where children sing
and worship?” “Phew, here is a go, bully for you,
old gal, got a check?” . So she took him; the Superin
tendent was making a few remarks, when he was in
terrupted by shouts from red-head, of “Hi, hi, bully,'•
&c. He thought he was in a theatre, and bunged the
eye of the well-dressed boy next to him for telling him
f<-> a!op. Dub tlxu xxvw boy, xuoro oixen. With
and mortification Angelina’s friends saw that early
piety was gradually but surely undermining Let vir
tue; as sho grew older she began to look at the big
boys more and more, until forbearance ceased to be a
virtue, about which time she broke Sabbath after Sab
bath, to the amount of many Sabbaths, telling those
big boys who Genesis was, aud who he begat, and iu
a singularly mild, manner she would relate the sad
story of the persecution of Acts of the Apostles, and
how, one day, he up and died, until her hearers were
melted to tears, and resorted to chowing-gum. Her
boys were so well posted, that when the superintend
ent put the question, “ Where is St. Paul now?” ona
of them exclaimed (with a heavenly smile on his face
and sixpence for the missionary in his hand), “ Next
to the Astor House;” after which ho was taken be
hind the organ for further instruction. Angelina’s
mind kept dwelling upon religious subjects ; she
couldn’t help thinking how wonderful was the crea
tion of man, and what a handy thing he was to have
in tho house, until she saw a heaven in every rose
bud, and a h—l on every match. Her appetite be
come morbid; she ate nothing but brown-buked tea,
and drank hard-boiled codfish balls. Sho took a big
boy to see “ The Black Crook,” and concluded to ac
cept the first offer of marriage. The fatal day came;
she had an attack of Accident Insurance Agent; hard
to get one; he told her how poor she would be if. ixj
the full enjoyment of health, she should up and die j
and all about a man who broke his nock trying to
look at a pimple on the back of his head—he died in
stantly, and his wife received twenty-five dollars a
week as long as the poor man lived. He asked her, if
she was dead, if she wouldn’t feel happy to know he®
widow was receiving that amount as long as she staid
dead ? He spoke of how many died in the bloom ot
youth without money enough to mark the spot where
a marble monument should stand, with their virtual
chiseled on it; he examined her chest, and she sub
scribed, their eyes mot, their chests heaved, their
bosoms throbbed, their cheeks flushed, their breath
camo quick—it is—no, it cannot be—yes, tis ;
the fact of it is, they both told a lie, for it
was, and thus the lovely Sunday School teacher, and
her red-headed scholar, after long years of separation,
met. His lace was bronzed, he had visitM every
clime between Brooklyn and Fortress Monroe. By in
dustry and perseverance he had arisen until ho had
become first steerer to an oyster sloop. Reality
proved funnier than romance, and they were married
—they prospered, and had twenty-three young. Sha
made a good wife, and when her husband had’ an at
tack of whisky-skin, which he was subject to, she
never went near him, but girded up her loins and
went to work, and it was then this Christian woman’s
virtues shone like a coal of fire on a milking-stool.
She went deliberately on board the ferry-boat Bone
set (Somerset) stood over the chain, when one of tha
deck-hands, seeing her delicate position, kindly
jerked tho end of it, and the chain coming up between
her feet, she turned a double somersault, her head
struck in a basket of eggs, and she wont to sleep for
her husband’s sake; sponged her, and she
awoke and gently inquired if she’d get her insurance.
The boat was on a winter passage, and staid out so
long that she only got home in time to prevent her
husband marrying another woman, and thus waft
virtue rewarded. She has left off teaching Sunday
Schools, and is beginning to gain the respect of all
her neighbors. She says she will never be a widow aa
long as her husband lives, and hand in hand they go
down life’s pathway as happpy as two doVes.
P. S.—Her husband told her ho wouldn’t have at
tempted to get married so quick, only he wanted
somebody to take care of the children, and constantly
remind him of his dear departed; and sho said shft
was glad of it. J. W. B.
LINES TO A BOTTLE.
’Tis very strange that you and I
Together cannot pull;
For you aro full when I am dry,
And dry when I am full.
Judge , who is now a very
able Judge of the Supreme Court of one of the great
States of this Union, when he first came to the bar,*
was a very blundering speaker. On one occasion,
when he was trying a case of replevin, involving thft
right of property to a lot of hogs, he addressed tna
jury as follows: “ Gentlemen of tho jury—there was
just twenty-four hogs in that drove; just twenty-four,
gentlemen; exactly twice as many as arc in that jury
box !” The effect can be imagined.
An urchin leading a small dog
along the streets some days ago, was accosted by a
gentleman as follows: “ Well, iuy son, wh'at’jj ySilt'*’
dog’s name ?” “ Hain’t got any name yet.” “ Well,
why don’t you name him ? Give him some good
name. Call him General Butler.” “I don’t like to
do that—’twould bo disrespectful to the General.'*
“Well, then, name him Andy Johnson.” “I won't
do that, neither, for that would be disrespectful to tho 1
dog.”
“ Will you run away with me to
morrow night, Kate, dear ?” said Phil, to his charm
ing rustic belle, who had just arrived at the years of
indiscretion. “ Ah, no, my dear Phil,” replied tho
young lady, with great sense of prudence. “ I won’t
do such an act as that; but I’ll tell you what I will
do—l’ll run away without you, and then you can run
after me, and so we will meet at my aunt’s the samft
evening.”
A quaint old Methodist preacher
of Texas, years ago, used to announce his text
thus: “ You will find my text in the eighth chapter of
Isaiah, ninth verse. And ef you hunt the Book
through from Ginnesis to Revelations; and ef you
don’t find it then, you will find a great meny things
which will do you a power of good.”
A bad boy in Ohio came home
after a long spree, and his father observed to his
mother, “ Kill the fatted prodigal, the calf has re
turned.”
A young man in Wheeling, twenty
years of ago, married a woman of sixty. Lora
—of course.
A negro in Richmond, slipped on
the ice, and, strange to say, hurt his head.
7