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A "MAMMY'S" LAMENT,
•INCIDENT OF THE YELLOW FEVER EPIDEMIC. *Yes, sar, dat is my little b#y, de onliest one I had— De fever touk him yestidday, he had it mighty bad Nothin' didn't do no good, he died at break ob day *I had four odder chil'en, sar, an' los' 'em all dat "way. Las year de (ever took all dem, an' lef me jus' dis one, Ky youngest, too, de baby, sar.—an' now, oh! Lord, heyx gone. "What make I didn't portde case? AtfusI thought I would But doctors all is hurried so' dey couldn't do no good. Dey' mighty kind an' siderate, and does all dat dey know But when dis fever gits a-holt it nebber does let go. It ain't no good a-fighten it—'tis useless for to try, When yaller fever gits you down you jus' is bound to die. "I know ef I should 'port de case dey'd take de child away. An' I hoped de Lord would call me, too, befo' de close ob day. You see he is little, sar, he'll miss his mammy so— Hebben's such a great big place he won't know whar to go. I thought ef I could die to-day it wouldn't be too late To obertake his little soul an' tote it to de gate. "He'll be so skeered all by hissef, my blessed little lam', An' cry so pitiful for me to come ketch hold his han'. I feel dat well an' strong I'se feered I isn't gwine to die— An' oh! it breaks my heart to think dat may be he will cry, An' hang about outside de gate widout a bit or sup— Awaitin' an' a-longin' for his mammy to ketch up. "De onliest thing dat I kin do is jus' to beg an' pray De angels up above to take an' kar him on de way To dat bright place de preachers say is up above the skies, Whar God Hissef shall wipe away de tears from tired eyes An' let him stay along wid dem in dat lubly home So safe an' free from ebbery pain, unt' will his mammy come." "OLD NEWGATE." The Ancient Copper-Mine Prison in Connect icut. The infamous Black Hole of Calcutta, or the dungeons of the Middle Ages, scarcely rivaled in their horrors the "Old Newgate" of Connecticut. And this, but half a century ago. was the living hell to which prisoners fr®m the State courts were consigned. It w&s aban doned in deference to a strong public sentiment created against it by exposes of the wretchedness of the prisoners, and the cruelties which could be only too readily practised upon them under the pretense of insuring their safe-keeping. Philanthropists were met with the fa miliar cry of the jailers of to-day, that criminals area desperate set and means must be adopted for restraining them but the'sentiment of the people, once aroused, reiagated the underground Bastile to its original uses. About 1830 the prisoners were removed to the new prison at Whethersfield, neat this city. THE ANTE-REVOLUTIONARY HISTORY. In the present town of East Granby, formerly Sunsbury, traces of copper ore were discovered alout the year 1700. The place was Copper Hill, a high, rocky range, and seven years later a company was formed to develop the mine. No thing was done, however, until some years later, when Jonathan Belcher, ot Boston,(afterward Governor), and others opened the mine, and removed more or less ore annually for a quarter of a cen tuiy. Financially, Belcher and his part ners didn't reap a harvest. The grasping British Government watched all the min ing enterprises of the colonists, and made regulations caululated to repress them, or at least to ensure to home merchants the profits. In the case of this mine, it was ordered that the ore should be ship ped to England for smelting. The route was by wagons over a rough country twenty miles to the Conneticut liver at Hartford, thence by sloops to New York, and by ship to England. However, con siderable copper was surreptitiously smelted by German workmen in the vicin ity, and in 1737 a Mr. Higby manufac tured a large number of the Granby cop pers, which became current throughout the Colony. Specie being scarce, the coin age of the embryo mint established by Higby, who was only a local blacksmith, was regarded with great tavor. Single specimens of these coins now command from $15 to $25, but, as they are stamped from unalloyed copper, few perfect ones are to be had.' Five designs were made, one ot which had on the obverse the mod est suggestion, "Value me as you please," and on the reverse, "Good copper, 1737." The work at the mine was carried on at various periods until 1773, more than seventy Years, through wars and rumors of wars, by private enterprise and by chartered companies. In that year the Colony of Connecticut purchased the pro perty and fortified it for use as a perma nent prison. THE MINE PRISON. After an exploration of the caverns a legislative committee reported that by a small expenditure it would be next to impossible for any person to escape. The Puritans of that day were hard-minded men. Having selected for a prison the worst place that could be conceived of, they passed laws authorizing the keeper to employ the convicts at hard labor, to use the whip, shackles and fetters, and extended terms of imprisonment were imposed tor nearly all offenses. At this time two shafts led down into the cavern, but, escapes being frequent, a block-house was built over one, and the other was closed with stone and iron. But few prisoners were confined until the opening year of the Revolutionary War, when several Tories were consigned to its cav erns, and at a later period it v» as found a convenient and safe place for the keep ing of British soldiers captured in Con necticut. In the winter of 1775 Wash ington wrote from his headquarters at Cambridge to the Committee of Safety at Lewisburg, consigning to them several "FLAGRANT AND ATROCIOUS VILLAINS." and at his request they were long confined in the caverns. After the close of the War the State established the mine as a permanent prison. A palisade was built, inclosing half an acre, with the shaft of the mine near the centre of the inclosure, and twelve years later this palisade was replaced by a high stone wall. A brick guard-house was built in the center, and just to the rear of this was a stone apart ment directly over the mam shaft, lead ing to the caverns 100 feet below. At later dates workshops were erected, in which the convicts labored by day, and at night were driven by aimed guards down the shaft ladders to their miserable beds below, in pitchy darkness, damp ness, and foul odors. A visitor in 1807 gave an interesting account of the wretchedness of life in the prison. The employment consisted in making nails, barrels, shoes, and wagons, and farming on land near the prison. When the convicts came up from the shaft, by threes they crossed the yard to the workshop, before the cocked and leveled muskets of the guards. All were heavily ironed, both with handcufls and fetters, and. could walk only with a sort of hopping motion. On entering the shop collars, dependent by iron chains from the beams above, were fastened about their necks others were chained to wheel barrows. In distributing the pork for the dinner of the convicts employed at the forges, pieces were thrown on the floor and left to be washed and boiled in the water-trough used for cooling the iron. Punishments were hanging by the heels, severe flogging, confinement in the stocks on a bread-and-water diet, double irons, and solitary confinement. Convicts were allowed to swap rations for cider, and often got too tipsy lor work. Rum was bought by the gallon by an aged negro convict, who was allowed to go to the village, and^liquor could always be bought at a tavern near the prison, the convict being accompanied by a guard, whom he treated for his trouble. "OLD NEWGATE" AT PRESENT. The Tribune correspondent visited Old Newgate recently, and found everything fast going to ruin. It is on the east slope ol Copper Hill, approached by an easy roadway, and from a distance, with its towered building, dismantled walls, and broken roots, is as picturesque as a ruined castle of the Rhine. The lottv stone wall on the front abuts on the highway, and the entrance is through a massive stone gateway the keystone of which bears the inscription, "Newgate 1801." The visitor is at liberty to wander around the inclosure, but at the time ot my visit a "Halloo there!'' summoned a guide from the ancient guard-house, on whose step a towheaded boy or two rolled around in the sunshine. A few steps bring one to the first shaft, descending 100 feet into the caverns. Over its mouth are the weather-beaten remains of the windlass and rope used for hoisting ore years and years ago. The inclosure is nearly square and off to the left hand is a long range of the dilapidated workshops. The roofs are warpeil and shrunken, and in places broken through. Within is dust and confusion. The plastering has fall en from walls and ceiling, and upon patches remaining are scrawled the names of visitors. The solidity of construction is noticeable. The partition walls are of stone, and the floor is planked and sup ported by huge hewn logs, in some of the upright beams strengthening the floor remain the rings to which the prisoners were chained, and the flooring beneath is worn with their impatient tread. At the entrance end of the range of work shops is a high building of composite construction of brick and stone suiround ed by a lookout and bell tower. This commands a view of the roadways for miles, and the bell often notified to the residents of the valley below the escape of convicts, and sent them from their houses to sceur the woods and fields in pursuit. From the lower floor of this building, steps lead to an underground dungeon with small, heavily barred win dows, in which a few of the best disposed prisoners spent their nights instead of be ing driven like dogs to the caverns of the mines. On the other side of the enclos ure, is a building containing the remains of a tread-mill, where convicts wearily trod the boards of. a thirty-foot wheel and ground the corn for the farmers in the neighborhood. FAREWELL TO SUNLIGHT. The prison enclosure was the heaven of the convicts the caverns below their hell. At daylight the call to labor resounded through the passage of the mine, and the convicts, hastening to the shaft, climbed up the long ladder to the guard-house. Only three came up at a time, and then the trap was slammed down upon the others until the armed'guard had march ed the trio oft to the work-shop. To have permitted a general exodus meant insur rection and bloodshed, for men treated like brutes were nerved to desperate deeas, and only awaited their opportu nity. Work being suspended at sunset, the prisoners were again sent down the shaft, the massive trap-door was closed and bolted: and armed guards sat beside it through the night. Accompanied by the guide, your cor respondent made an extensive exploration of the caverns. Coarse outer clothing and candles were furnished, and the shaft was descended by the ponderous ladder whose rungs are half worn through by convict feet. At the foot was a narrow passage-way sloping away downward at an angle of 30 degrees, agreeing with the natural din of the strata of rock. Fifty feet away a rude chamber is hollowed out, and at one side were remnants of a plattorm of planks, which had been one of the sleeping places of the convicts. From this chamber small passages branched off in various directions, all with a downward slope, and so IOJI that it was necessary to proceed in a half bent attitude to escape contact with the dripping and slimy roof. Traces of cop per were everywhere visible—in the green slime on the solid walls and in the discolored fragments of stone underfoot. Several of the larger passages were ex plored for a distance of 300 feet, progress being checked by the filling of the lower ends with water from insufficient drain age. At that point the guide remarked: "BLOW OUT THE CANDLES IP YOU WANT A QUEER SENSATION." Out they went, and we were left in the blackness of Egypt. The darkness could almost be felt, and was terribly oppress ive. Over head 200 feet of solid rock was between us and daylight. The hand stretched o.ut at either side touched slimy, cold, pitiless stone. Sound there was none other than that of suppressed breath ing and the occasional fall of a drop of water from the roof. The scratching ot a match was the first relief, and the fee ble gleam of the tallow dip a blessed sensation of which we did net again wish to deprive ©urselvc s. One of the shortest passages terminated in a circular chamber, scarce ten feet across, and at one side a huge iron ring was made fast to the solid floor of rock. This was the solitary confinement cell. Chained to the ring net a sound was heard, not a ray of light visible, ncr a face excepting when the keeper brought the pannikin of bread. Near the ring a cavity the size of a drinking-cup, scooped in the rock, is filled with water which trickles, drop by drop, from the rock overhead. Thus it fell a century ago, when some wretched being hammered at the solid rock with fragments of stone until he wore this cavity, and thereafter had fresh cool water by the quantity, in stead of lapping it with his tongue as it trickled down the side of his dungeon. It is related that one convict died this horrible place from mortification result ing from the iron manacles eating into his legs. This was always denied by the prison authorities, but convicts in the prison at that time, and who were cog nizant of the affair, persist that the story is true. HALF THE KORRORS OP THE PLACE have never been told. The authorities were autocrats, amenable to no one. Star vation, the lash and chains had full sway in those terrible caverns, and so secret and so distant were the chambers of torture that might be chosen, that even the other convicts might never know by sight or sound the inhumanities that were prac ticed. The guide was an unusually intelligent fellow, and, in the course of our wander ings through the caverns, related a host of interesting incidents in the history of the prison. To kim the solitude and darkness were not unpleasant, and formed an impressive surrounding for his facts and fictions. But the visitors longed for daylight, and ascending the steep ladder, welcomed the blue sky, the trees, and all nature, as only one can who has felt their deprivation. Beneath, the impenetrable vastness supporting the awful mass absve, impending as if to crush one to atoms, the water trickliug like tears from its sides, and the unearthly echoes respond ing to the voice, inspire the visitor with feelings almost indescribable. PLOTS AND ESCAPES. The history ot old Newgate is replete with interesting stories of the attempts of prisoners to gain their liberty. Some of them are ot thrilling interest. It might be supposed that escapes would be impossible, but sharp-witted and des perate convicts frequently succeeded. The first general escape was during the Revolutionary War, when the prison had been but recently occupied. The small number ot prisoners were shut in a chamber, and it was the custom of the Warden to carry them their meals. There was an anteroom or passage through which to pass before reaching their cell, and the Warden looked through the grates into this passage to observe4wheth er the convicts were near the door. If not he entered and locked it after him. The convicts one day managed to unbar the cell-door, huddled themselves togeth er in a corner behind the door in the pas sage, and, when the Warden opened it, fhey captured him, went out, locked the door upon him, and in a few minutes were beyond the walls. However, an alarm was speedily raised, and nearly all were recaptured by the people in the ad jacent country. It was somewhat sin gular the first convict in "Old Newgate" escaped. He was committed in Decem ber, 1773, and escaped eighteen days lat er by being drawn up by the mining shaft assisted, it is said, by a woman to whom he was paying his addresses. A level had been opened during the mining operations from the bottom of the mine out to the open air on the hill side for purposes cf drainage. This was closed by a heavy wooden door, and in the spring of 1776 the prisoners built a fire against this one night, but, instead of escaping, were nearly suffocated by the smoke that spread through the caverns. One was found dead, and five others were taken out senseless. A few months later the convicts were taken from the caverns and confined in a block house within the enclosure. This they set on fire, and nearly all escaped. The spring of 1781 found in confinement thirty Tor ies committed by order of the American army officers. They were desperate men, and for their greater security a guard was appointed equalling them in num ber. While two of the guards were ad mitting a relative of one of the Tories to the shaft leading into the caverns, sever al who had climbed up the ladder made a rush when the trap was opened. The guards were overpowered, and the other prisoners rushed up, and, seizing the inuskets in the guard house, had a des perate fight: Several of the guards were locked up in the caverns, and others fled for their lives. A DESPERATE ENCOUNTER. In July, 1802, forty prisoners were left with but a single guard, the officers and other guards being sick. He was a stal wart six footer and full of fight. The prisoners were passing through the guard house down into the shaft at the close of work, and had all passed down on the ladder excepting ten or a dozen. They sprang^ upon the guard who, instead of retreating, dashed in among them and dealing with one at a time, flung him headlong, down the shaft upon those who had now begun to surge upward to join their comrades. The uproar summoned assistance from beyond the walls but the guard was master of the situation, had caged his rats, and closed the door. Four years later the convicts, in the nail-shop, having unlocked the fetters which they wore even at work with keys made from the pewter buttons on their clothing, at tacked the guards, but a musket-ball through the head ef the ringleader quell ed the mutiny in short order. One con vict succeeded in a most ingenious plan for escaping. A fellow-convict's body was removed from a coffin and secreted. Then the daring fellow stretched himse !f in the coffin, and, on reaching the place of burial beyond the walls put the guards to flight by a series of sepulchral groans. He was never recaptured. AN AWKAWARD DILEMMA. The drain above mentioned, the door of which the convicts attempted to de stroy by fire, eventually afforded a way to liberty for several prisoners. The outer end was left unprotected, but the inner was closed with heavy iron bars. One of these was removed by a conviet, and, after nights of weary toil in enlarg ing the partly-choked and unused drain he found himself near the outer office. When at labor one night far within the drain he gave himself up for lost. A stone overhead which he had loosened fell into the djain behind him. This closed the passage to his return, while the way forward was impracticable. A lingering horrible death by starvation stared him in the face, but, a lucky im pulse, he kicked desperately at the stone and found that it could be moved. By superhuman efforts, continned through long hours, he worked the great stone backward until it reached a wider place in the drain, where he passed around it and rejoined his comrades. A few nights latter a dozen or more made their way to liberty through this dangerous passage and the plucky fellow who had cleared the road for them escaped recapture and reached England A story is tola of another pris oner who, some years later, while attempt a similar enterprise, became wedged in the drain and died there, but this is not supported by the prison records. It is merely a neighborhood story, and tells that the prisoner, a thin, wiry chap, reached and became fixed in a space so narrow that no one could get near him, and that the drain was clogged untill his body decomposed and passed away. Many other stories, some of them high ly improbable, are related to visitors. And they have their value, in one re spect at least, that they keep up the in terest in Newgate and its history. It is daily visited by parties from an area of many miles in the vicinity, and occasion al tourists from New York and Boston. In historical interest it is scarcely second to any other place in New England, and especially as it remains in very much the same condition as it was when oecupied for prison purposes, more than half a century ago. Within the past few years some attempts were made to develop the mile but the results were unprofit able, and it is doubtful that it will ever be worked again. Six Miles to School* One of Dickens' characters, Mark Tapley, was noted for being jolly under difficulties. How many school-boys would imitate the remarkable Mark and be jolly if they had to walk six miles to school and back every day? Yet Sir Titus Salt, the founder of the model manufacturing town, Saltaire, used to do it when a boy of 9 years. The village in which this young Salt lived could boast of no better educator than a woman who kept a dame school. As the parents of a number of boys wished to give them a classical and com mercial education, they sent their sons to a school six miles distant, kept by a clergyman. The boys started early in the morn ing, carrying their dinners with them, Titus' being an oatmeal cake and a kettle of milk. In winter he often had to go in the dark mornings and milk the cow himself for his daily supply. But the lads never thought of com plaining of the length of the journey. It was a bracing "constitutional," and they made the road ring with their cheery voices. They would rendez vous at an appointed time and a certain spot. Those who were in time wrote their names on a piece of slate. This was put in a well-known hole in a wall, that the late-comers might see who had been punctual and gone on their way. So far from doing them any harm, fhia daily journey strengthened the boys' constitutions and developed their bodies. When Titus became a man he had a working-power which enabled him to do a large amount of labor with but slight fatigue. The destruction of crops by squirrels is not confined to California. The loss of corn in Overton county, Tennessee from this cause last season was estimated at «ne-tenth of the crop. One farmer re ported that they were "swimming across the Cumoerland by thousands." The equilibrium between these lower links in the chain of animal life is seriously-dis turbed by man's arbitrary interference with the natural course of production, and he must pay the penalty or modify it if he can. AT NIGHT. TRANSLATED FROM "JUSTE OLIVIER.'' At night, when work is done, 'mid shadowB gray that darken And cling about the window, where once the sim was bright, Sweet sounds come back again to which we used to hearken Sley At night! At night, though we are cold, and the gray shadows clinging Presage to us that shore where there is more light, Sometimes there come again sweet airs of childhood singinsr, At night! At night we two may sit in shadow open hearted .Long since the time is passed when hope was insight! Softly we sing the songs of happy days de parted, At night! At night the cricket's voice sounds through the shadows dreary: Our songs, alas, like his, have neither charm nor weight We only rest and sing, hushed hopes and voices weary, At night! LITTLE RED NOSES. BY M. QUAD. How the north wind whistled and stung the other day! It was the first signal of a long, dreary winter, and even men in overcoats turned sharp corners to get out of the biting blast. Two children, a boy and girl, neither of them over nine years old, stood shivering in a door-way, wish ing to go on to their lowly home, but dreading the wind. They crept closer and closer to each other, and their chins uivered and their noses grew red as grew colder. Hundreds of men and women passed by without care, but by and-by along came a whistling, jovial lad of fourteen, who was swinging his bootblack's kit by a strap, and picking up the steps of some clog dance. He saw the shivering bits of humanity, while others were blind, and, halting before them with a "clig-jigger-rigger" of his heels, and a toss of his box, he called out: "Kin I borry them 'ere chins o' yours about an hour?" "Yes, ma'am demurelyjreplied the girl "I kin eh?—ho! ho! ho! That's a give away on me! Be you chickens cold?" "Yes, ma'am," she answered. "And that ere cub is your brother, I s'pose? Well, when I'm cold, I git warm. What do you do—freeze?" "Yes, ma'am, if you please," she re plied. "If I please—ha! ha! ha!—'nother give-away on me! Well, you autumn leaves, come along with me. I hain't got no influence on the weather, but I kin smell a hot stove as fur off as the next shiner in this town. Come right over to this store. He led the way across the street and into an office where there was a fire. He had placed chairs for them, when a man came in from a back room and said: "What do you children want here?" "Want some o' this waste hotness," bluntly replied the shiner. "These 'ere cubs is nigh froze to death, and IJbrought 'em here to thaw out." "And we won't even look at you, nor cough, nor sneeze!" added the little girl, as she saw a frown on the man's face. "That's richness there's innocence!" laughed the shiner and the man's face cleared, and he poked up the fire and said they could sit nearer. "S'pose me'n you chip in and buy 'em sumthin' to stay their stomachs?" sug gested shiner, all of a sudden. "Tell you what, some of the children in this town don't have a square meal any more'n you'n me wear diamonds. Little gal, are ye hungry?" "Yes, ma'am, if you won't be mad at us," she replied. The man stood irresolute, but shiner went down into his pocket, rattled around, and said: "Here's ten cents that says they are hungry!" "Well, I'll give as much," replied the man. "You go-land buy something, and they can sit here and eat it." Shiner bought crackers and cheese, and the children ate until he felt obliged to say "Now, you chbs, go a leetle bit slow, and save the rest for supper. Kin ye find the way home alone?" "Yes, ma'am." "All right, then. We're dead to rights obliged to this man, and I'll black his boots beside. You'd better run along home now. What ye goin' to tell yer mother?" '•I'll tell her we ceme awful near go ing to Heaven and my little brother he thanks you, too and now we'll go, and— and thank you, ma'am, ever so many times—good-bye!" The man looked after them through the window with softer lines in his face than had been there for months. The boy stood outside on the walk and watched until they had turned a corner, and then exclaimed: "Phew! but I almost feel that I was ingaiged to that gal!" Woman Smokers* Tobacco has some distinguished fe male devotees in Europe. Emily Faith ful, it is declared, smokes like a Michi gan tugboat the Duchess of Edinburgh tofrpn a quiet puff now and then, and the Princess of Wales keeps a little cigarette case, which she hides pro foundly from the smoke-abhorring nose of her royal mother-in-law, while the list might be extended by naming Elizabeth Thompson, the artist, Ma dame Batazzi, of Italy, andothers. MORE things are wrought by prayer than the world dreams of.—Tennyson.