TK3 BEDFORD GAZETTE IS PUBLISHED EVERY FRIDAT MOSMNO BY IS. I\ MEYERS, \t the following terms, to wit: $2 00 jer annum, if paid strictly in advance. $.2.50 if paid within G months ; $3.00 if not paid within 6 months. subscription taken for less than six months C?-No paper discontinued until all arrearages are paid unless at the option of the publisher. It has been' decided by the United States Courts that the stoppage of a newspaper without the payment of arrearages, is prima facie evidence of fra.ud and is E criminal offence. [£7"The courts have decided tlfat persons are ac countable for the subscription price of newspapers, if they take them from the post office, whether they •übscribe for them, or not. Sel££t*|io-£trri. • THE MOTHERS RRXYB^ BY MES. HELEN RICH. It cime from the lips that had pressed the first kiss On the brow of young innocence, sleeping in blis3, And soft as the sigh of the evening's sweet air Sank into the bosom— a mother's prayer. It was murmured in accents soft, tender and meek, Tho' the eyes kindled brightly, pale was the cheek ; An angel she seemed, as she lowly knelt there, For her child sottly breathing—a mother's pure prayer. It asked for the loved on e, not riches or power, beauty that lades as the glow from the flower, But virtue aud genius—gifts deathless as fair— For these she was breathing a mother's pure prayer. It is past, and her child is away on the tide Of a life ever changing with passion and pride— Tho' temptation may lure him, it whispers beware, And the iast thing to fade s—a mother's dear prayer. It may not be slighted—it cannot be vaia— it will cling to its memory thro' pleasure or pain, Though his sky frowceth darkly, what saves from despair ? lis the thought of his home, and his mother's last prayer. It has breathed a deep spell o'er the soul in its mom, A charm from all evil, by memory worn, A gem whose clear rays never pale 'neath the glare Of the false lights alluring from her and from prayer. It may seem but a trifle, yet do not withhold, l'oung mother, that boon far more precious than gold— Your child may lack tinsel of fashion to wear, But strengthen his'soul with a mother's fond prayer. It was breathed to a God who can teel for our woes, A Father in whom all believers repose, And lost is the spirit which madly would dare To scoif at the truth of a mother's first prayer. THE PUBLIC DE3T. On the 31st of March an authorized state ment from the Treasury Department was made partially exhibiting the debt of the nation.— The items given are these: Aint bearing interest in coin $1,100,361,241 SO Amount bearing interest in currency 751,055,128 20 Amount on which interest has ceased 349,420 09 j Amount bearing no interest 515,180,287 10 Legal tender notes 69,522,350 00 La States notes, old issue 492,101 00 " " " new issue 432.068,465 00 Compound interest notes 156,477,650 00 Fractional currency 24,255,094 00 Unpaid requisitions 114,256,649 00 §3,164,626,280 34 No very agreeable picture for tax-payers to behold. A debt of over 53,000,000,000 to be paid when butter is down to 12 cents a pound, oats 30 cents, and wheat less lhan a dollar a bushel. To properly manage our finances will; require more skill than our present rulers pos The A forth American does not take the most hopeful view of the currency question. It says: "In some respects it (the exhibit of Mr. Mc- Cullocfc) is not 30 favorable as had been pre dicted. The unpaid requisitions have not been extinguished, no less than yi 14,250,5400f them being still afloat, and with only means in the; Treasury to meet some i-i 7,000,000. The state- j merit put in circulation that the receipts from the seven-thirty loan had enabled the Secretary to wipe out the unpaid requisitions was there fore an error. Nor is the exhibit of the legal tender issues any more favorable. Taking into the account the interest bearing notes, the whole aggregate is <5683,558,074, which added to § 104,000,000 of National banknotes, gives us a currency reaching $757,559,074, exclusive of State bauk issues. There does not appear to have been any effort to reduce this vast volume of currency, whatever the opinions of the Sec retary may have been in favor of ..such reduc tion." All talk, therefore, of returning to the specie basis on such a currency is simply a mat ter of moonshine. The first step toward redu cing the paper currency has not yet been taken by the Treasury Department, and hence the changes witnessed in the financial world are to be traced to other causes. We, of course, do not expect that the Secre tary can or should take any step in that direc-! tion while there continues to be such a mass of j unpaid requisition, or in plain terms, unhonor- 5 e l obligations. m m ***** \ To have any portion of our national debt bearing compound interest reflects no credit up on the country, and is well calculated to diffuse abroad an erroneous impression respecting our resources and willingness to meet its obligations regularly." fcS-A Yankee auctioneer lately indulged in the following little bit of the pathetic: "Gentlemen, if my father and mother stood where you do, and didn't buy these boots, these elegant boots, when they were going for one dol lar, I should feel it my duty as a son, to tell both of them that they were false to themselves and false to their country." IJ3TA good wife is the greatest of blessings. She always attends to things generally, and gets no in the morning and makes the fire in partic ular ; besides slipping down "to the market, over to the grocer's, up to the baker's and seeing to the breakfast all around. The husband of such an invention has little to do but. to enjoy the luxuries of life, wear well starched shirts, whole breeches, exchange winks with the girls oppo site, and go down town about 11 A. M. ©arThe best exercise is that in general that we most like to do. • J ' jjj 'j l * ' I I VOLUME 60. NEW SERIES. ul t£l)riiling Stovn. . A NIGrHT OF PERIL. A DETECTIVE'S STOP.V. Of course it i-> to bo expected that in a life like mine I should often be exposed to danger of a personal character: it is the lot " nil de tective officers, and I have been no exception to the rule. In the course of my life I have '..ceil subjected several (ime3 to extreme peril, in the following story I am about to give an instance of such peril to the reader. One day 1 was snt for by the President of the Hank of Commerce. When I arrived there i found the whole bank in a state of consterna tion. The safe bad been broken into during the night, and all the specie abstracted. _ I im mediately proct led to examine the safe, and found that the locks bad been forced; but a single glance was sufficient to show me that the locks had been forced after it had been opened, or in other words whoever had taken the mon ey had wished to convey the impression that it had been forced open from the outside. Oi course I at once came to the conclusion that some one connected with the establishment had tab n the money. While examining the spot, I found on the ground a single leaf of a white Provence rose. It is the observation of small things that makes a good detective, for it is of ten lije most trivial circumstance which sup plies the first link it. the chain. I did not pick up this rose leaf nor indeed.appose to notice it. After the scrutiny was over, I weut to the Pres ident's, Mr. Cameron's apartment. "Well, Brampton," said he, ''what do you make out of it 1" "Do vou suspect anybody connected with tL? bank I asked. "Certainly not! It is impossible that anybody connected with the bank could have committed the robbery: it must have been the work of burglars. Did you visit where the robbers entered?" "Yes, and found that the bare had been filed from the inside." "Indeed ! —but what do you make out about the safe ?" "That the lock was forced after the safe was opened." "That some one connected with the bank is guilty of the robbery; and he has endeavored to make it appear that it is the work of profes sional burglars. But he has done his work very bunglingly." "You must he mistaken," replied the Presi dent. "1 would answer for all in the employ of the bank with my life." "I am afraid you would lose it,'" I replied, with a smile, "for there can be no doubt about j .he truth of my assertion." "But bow will you prove it?" "That remains to be seen. How many have ; yon in the employ of the bank ?" "Twelve, including the porter." "Who has care of the safe?" "Mr. Charles Munsel." "Have any of your clerks a special fondness ( for flowers?" "That is a strange question. But since you ask it, I remember that Munsel generally has a flower in his buttonhole." "Who is this Munsel?" "A very worthy young man. You surely do not suspect him ?" j "I shall be very much surprised if he does not prove to be the robber." "But you astonish me ! He has the reputa tion of being very pious." "Very well, we shall see. Where does he ! live?" "No. East Broadway." "What time does he go to dinner?" "At two o'clock." "Just point him out to rac as I go through the bank, and I will see you again to-morrow | morning." Mr. Cameron did as I requested. The young man I suspected was about twenty-five years oi age. He was quite handsome, it might have ' been my fancy, but I thought there was a hyp ocritical look about his face. I glanced earnest ly at him, So that 1 might engrave his counte nance in my memory, and then passed into the street. i I directed my steps at once to East Broad way, and calling at the clerk's residence, I found ! that it was furnished in gorgeous style, far he- , yond his means. The dour was opened by a shrewd old woman. I asked to see Mr. Mun sel, but was of course told that he was not at home. But my purpose was answered by my visit, fur in the hall, I saw a quantity of choice flowers in pots, and among them a fine Provence rose. I employed the rest of the day in making inquiries as to the private life of Mr. Munsel, and found that he was very extravagant in his habits, and also discovered that on that very day he had deposited a large sum of money un der a false name in the Manhattan Savings Bank. The next morning I went to the bank for the purpose of reporting my progress to the President, and to advise the immediate arrest of young Munsel. "Well, you were right about that young man said Mr. Cameron to inc, the moment! entered his private room. "You have come to that conclusion, have you?" I replied. "Yes, after you had gone yesterday, I caused his accounts to be examined, and found a terri ble deficit, amounting to $30,000. I called him into the room, and asked him for an explana tion—" "The worst thing you could have done," I interrupted. "You are right—he has escaped." "I expected as much. And where has he gone ?" "He left last night by the southern train—at least so we suspected. He ha an uncle living about fifteen miles from Augusta, Ga., and it is very likely he has gone there. Now, Mr- Brampton, you must follow him." Freedom of Thought and Opinion. BEDFORD, PA., FRIDAY MORNING, MAY 12,1565. j "If you had left the matter in my hands, he j should have been arrested without any trouble." j j "1 acknowledge lam in fault, and lam the i more anxious to have him captured. Come, I ! will pay you well. Say you will go." | It was the middle of summer, decidedly not! the be: * time to travel in. But the affair was imperative, and I was obliged to undertake the journey. The same afternoon at 5 o'clock, I started on my expedition. Railway traveling in July! Who is there that has experienced it, that does not vividly remember its discomforts. The hot glaring sun, the dint, the intolerable thirst, and the warm '. water in the coolers, are all evils of such mag nitude, that they make an indelible impression on the mind. Why, at the very thought of it at this moment, my throat feels choked up, and 1 foci the pricking of the flinty dust in my skin. And then the view from the car window; how hot and glaring every thing looks. The poor cows are panting in the meadows, the dogs at the stations appear to be on the verge of hy drophobia, everybody and everything is lazy, excepting the flies; and it appears to be their particular province to keep passengers from dozing, so that liiey (the passengers) may not lose any of the beauties of the scenery, j The longest journey must eventually come to an end, and after three days of really hard work, I reached the pleasing town of Augusta, in Ga. I was, however, in a very bad humor. I was annoyed at the banker's want of thought in al lowing his dishonest clerk to escape. Now, when a man is in a bad humor with a journey he is about to take, he is very apt to consider the town at which he is compelled to stay us the most odious place in the world. I was no exception to this general rule. I hated Augus i ta, I detested it, 1 abominated it, I—but 1 can ' not '"ust now think of any other work to ex i crn city, I went to .'he b?si hotel in the city, and entered my name in the .most savage manner, j actually blotting the book 111 tnd aa h nrjch to 1 the disgust of a precise looking clerk, TVil? stood looking at me while I made the entry. At last I partook of supper, and I must con j fess after that genial meal "a change came over the spirit of ray dream." After all, Augusta was not such a very bad place. I actually be t gau to think that it possessed some very fine streets aud elegant houses. A cup of tea will sometimes work a marvel. I determined I would go and explore the city till bed time, and make ! inquiry after the absconding bank robber. This young man's fondness for flowers seem j ed to he the greatest misfortune that could be j fall him. I have mentioned that a single bud 1 remained on the rosebush in his hall. During my investigations this bud had blossomed. When { lie absconded from Now York, he took thisflow ier with him. By means of it I had no diificul ity in tracing him to Augusta. There was some ; thing peculiar about the rose; it was a large j white one, and fortunately attracted She atten j tiors of all the conductors on the route. My I business was now to visit all the hotels in the I city, to see if he had been there. The "first one I entered immediately settled the question in my ' mind that Munsel had left Augusta, and this ! too before I made a single inquiry. I entered the bar room, and the first thing I 1 noticed was a faded Provence rose on a chair, j On the back of this chair was a newspaper. I took it up, and my eyes at once fell on a par j agraph containing an account of the bankrob bery in New York; but I was immediately i struck with the tact that where the person of the defaulter was described, the paper was mu tilated, seemingly accidentally, but sufficiently :soas to mar the description. This paper was the New York Herald, and from its date I knew it had only been delivered in Augusta that morn ing. I walked up to the bar and called for something to drink. While the barkeeper was ' preparing it, I said to him carelessly: "There was a young man here this morning ! with very black hair and (lark eyes; he was of medium height, but stooped a little." "I suppose you saw him here," replied the 1 barkeeper. "lie did not stay long, however, but loft with Mr. Theodore Munsel, of Park- < j ville." "You know Mr. Theodore Munsel, of Park -1 ville, then'?" j "Yes, indeed." "What sort of a man is he ?" i "A very rough customer." "How do you rough ?" "He's been tried for his life twice, but man aged to escape." "You say he lives at Park ville?" "No. that's his post town; but he lives in the woods five miles from the village." "How can I get there ?" ■ "You had better drive to Parkvillo, which is twelve miles ofl, and then inquire your way — his house is rather hard io find." The next day I got f. horse and buggy and drove to Parkville; the horse, however, fell ' dead lame just as I entered the village, and , could proceed no further. I drove up to the tavern, and determined to proceed the rest of the way on foot. After making particular in ! quiries as to my road, I set off on my five miles ' walk. I did not suppose that I was known to j Munsel, and my intention was to verify his ac tual presence, and then return the next day with' the proper officers to arrest him. j It was a beautiful July evening, just cool c nough to render walking a pleasant exercise. It was dark when I started, and I had not walked a mile before it became quite dark. But I had informed myself so well as to the right road, that I thought I could not mistake it. It soon, however, became apparent to me that j a great change had taken place in the scenery I around rae. Instead of the road being clear : and open, as it was when I first set out, large i trees loomed up on each side of me, and the . j road became very bad—entirely different from ; ! the smooth,-gravelled surface I had first passed i ! over. —But I still pressed on, not even suspect j ing that I had mistaken my way. I now began to get tired. I must have walked at least two hours before any doubt entered my bead. By this time the broad road had degenerated into a narrow path. I knew, then, that there must be something wrong, for the people of the town, of whom I had inquired, hud informed me that the road to Mr. Theodore Munsel's house w;t- pretty good all the way. I paused for a moment irresolute, and did not know whether to retrace my steps or press forward. It had now become pitch dark, and 1 determined to go on, well assured that I could not fir.d my my way buck. I had not proceeded many steps before I became convinced that 1 -was wander ing about in a forest. The underbrush began now to seriously impede my progress, and I Found great difficulty in keeping on my feet. My position was anything but agreoable —in the midst of a forest on a dark night. I can not tell how I passed the three ensuing hours — they appeared three centuries to me. I suppose I iuu.it have walked the same path over and over again. T was at last completely overcome by phy Lai fatigue, and sank exhausted on the stump of a tree. I rested my head upon my hands, and deter v mined to pass the night there,-being now cer tain that it was perfectly futile endeavoring to find my way till morning. While in this Stooping position, 1 thought I saw a light glimmer through the trees. 1 looked earnestly, and became con vinced that such was really the fact. I im mediately determined to make for it, hoping to find shelter for the night. I advanced in that direction, and soon reached a dilapidated house built entirely of wood, it was a miserable look ing abode, and had it not been for ray tired condition, I should have hesitated in seeking its shelter. But anything was better than spend ing the night in the forest, so I resolutely knock ed at the door. My summons was for some time unheeded, and it was not till I had knock ed again and again, that the door opened and a gruff voice asked what I wanted. "Can vou give tue lodging for the night?" I replied. } was told to come in, and found myself in a rudni of ni9d erato size, miserably furnished. A log tire was u" rn ' n o on l ' ,e hearth, and two persons occupied the apartment. Hie one that opened the door io me was man about fifty years of age, very stoutly built, and possessed of a very sinister expression of countenance. The second occupant was none other lhan the ; absconding clerk. I then knew that I was it) ' Mr. Munsel's house, and I congratulated my self cn my good fortune. I noticed that as I ■ entered he cast a scrutinizing glance at me, but ' as I felt assured he did not know me personally, j I experienced no alarm. "I have lost ray way in the forest," said I, in answer to their looks of interrogation, "and if you will afford me shelter for the night, I shall be happy to repay you for your hospitali ty-" "Be good enough to sit down," said Theo dore Munsel; his eyes sparkling when the word "repay" was used. "Where are you going ?" asked his nephew, and then fixing another searching look on my face. "I am going to Centreville. I left Parkville at six o'clock, but I suppose I mistook the road, for I have been wandering about the woods ev er since." "You are fifteen miles from Centreville," said the uncle with a kind of leer. "You do not belong to tins part of the coun try ?" said the banker's clerk. "No," I replied, "I am from the State of Virginia." "What is your business?" "I am collector for a houaein Richmond." "I should have taken you for a Yankee," said the young man. "No, indeed," I replied, with an attempt to The uncle and nephew now left the room, and I could hear them whispering together in the next apartment. Still I did not feel any uneasiness, for I relied on the fact that I was unknown to the absconding clerk.— l iiey soon returned to the apartment where I sat. "We have only one room in the house," said the uncle as he entered ; "if you will not mind sleeping with a son of mine, you can liave a part of his bed " I, of course, immediately consented, glad enough to find any place where I could rest my weary limbs. After a pause of a few minutes I pulled out my watch, and said I should like to go to bed. f noticed at the time significant looks pass be tween the uncle and nephew when they saw my watch. It was a line one—a real Cooper —and had been presented to me by an impor ter of watches for services which 1 had ren dered. "You will find ray son next to tho wall," said the uncle. "You will have the goodness not to awaken him, for he lias been sick lately, and lias to get up early." I replied that I would certainly avoid wak ing him. The uncle took up a candle, and • showed rue to a room up stairs; it was the on ly habitable sleeping room in the bouse, and was situated over that in which we had been seated. Cautioning me to put out the light as soon as I was in bed, he left me. 1 found myself in a room the exact counter part of the one below excepting that this one contained a bedstead. Snoring ou the bed next to the wall was a man some years younger than myself. I cautiously brought the light to bear on his foeo. The first thing that struck me was, that the man below had deceived me when iic had told me his son was sick. lie was un dressed, and wore on his head a night cap.— A vague sensation of uneasiness crept over me. I regretted having entered the house, and looked round the room for means of exit.— There was only one door in the room, that by which I had entered. Opposite to the door 1 was a window. I walked up to it, and endeav ored to peer through the outside darkness, hut could distinguish nothing. I tried to reason a- WHOLE NUIffBER, SJO9 way my forebodings, and succeeded in doing so to some extent. I began to prepare for bed, and had already taken off my coat and waistcoat, when I fan* i cied I heard a step on the stairs. I immediate ly extinguished the light, and waited with hroath : less anxiety ; the door gently opened, and the ■ uncle cautiously thrust forward his head. In | the gloom of the chamber he could not perceive ; me; and finding the light extinguished, I I suppose he thought f was in bed, for lie clos ed the door very softly and descended the stairs again. I was now worked up to the highest pitch of ! excitement, L felt certain that something was going to happen. I remembered my loneiy situ ation —the inquisitive questions of the men be low. There was no possible means for me to escape, except going through the room in which they were seated—and such a course I knew would be perfect madness. 1 summoned up all my philosophy, and determined to wait the de nouement, and tried to persuade myself my fears were groundless. Hut when 1 thought of the significant looks that passed between the men when they saw my gold, I must confess the effort was a failure. And then the thought j suddenly struck me, if, afier all, the clerk had . recognized me, it was certain that he would j never let me leave tiiat place alive, hive long j minutes passed away, and I heard nothing. A: i that moment a light flashed before my window, j I went directly to it, and saw the uncle with a j lantern digging in the garden. I watched him with eager eyes, he was digging a hole about j six feet long and three broad. "Good God!" T exclaimed to myself, "he is ! digging my grave." I now felt certain that the young man had , been left in the room below to prevent my es- j cape. But I determined to satisfy myself if' such were the fact or not. I opened the door ' noiselessly, and stole cautiously down stairs in ! my stocking feet. I glanced through the key- j hole of the door which opened into the room, I and saw that my suspicions were well founded, j for the absconding clerk sat beside a table with a revolver all ready cocked within iiis reach. I returned to the bedroom again. I a