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The Christian's Faith I walk as one who knows he is treading A stranger soil ; As one round whom the world is spreading Its subtle coil. I walk as one but yesterday delivered From a sharp chain; Who trembles lest the bonds so newly sever'd, Be bound again. I walk as one who feels that he is breathing Ungenial air; For whom as wiles the tempter still is wreath• lug The bright and fair. My steps, I know, are on the plains of danger, For sin is near; But, looking up, I pass along, a stranger In haste and fear. This earth has lost its power to drag me down ward— Its spell is gone ; My course is now right upward and right on ward To yonder throne. Hour after hour of time's dark night is stealing In gloom away ; Speed thy fair dawn of light, and joy, and healing, Thou star of day 1 For thee, its God, its King, the long-rejected Earth groans and cries; For thee, the long-beloved, the long-expected, Thy Bride still sighs I Ring gteminiorattto. [From the Republic.] The Assassination of the Sowards. BY T. S. VERDI, A. M., 31. D. [Nom—Among the pages of war an nals few have a more thrilling interest than those which record the murder of the President and the attempted assassi nation of his Secretary of State. Dr. Verdi, of this city, who was the family physician of the Sewards, has furnished THE REPUBLIC with the following graphic story of that terrible tragedy. The inci dents related, of which he was not only an eye-witness, but an important part, will, we think, be deemed valuable contributions to political history.—ED.] At the breaking'out of the war we find Mr. Seward in the Cabinet, and all his sons, William, Frederick, and Augustus, in the service of their country. Frederick, a man of letters, was selected by his father as his coadjutor in the De partment of State, with the position of assistant secretary. . Augustus already held a commission as paymaster in the regular army. He is a graduate of West Point. William left a very lucrative business, a young wife and baby, and, as Colonel of the Ninth New York Artillery, came to brave the hardships of a soldier. At the battle of Monocacy he distinguished him self and was wounded, for which he was raised to the rank of brigadier general. In 1863, while commanding at Fort Foote, on the Potomac, William was seiz ed with an acute attack of dysentery, in duced by exposure in that malarious dis trict. He was brought home to Washington by the surgeons in charge, who looked upon his case as one to excite the greatest alarm. For several days he lay between life and death, causing the greatest solici tude to his parents. At his bedside I had the opportunity of estimating the character of that angelic woman who, moving around his couch as if an ethereal form, adminis tered to his wants with so much judgment and infinite maternal love. He rallied, and his convalescence brought a conscious ness of happiness in that household, which, without excessive demonstrations, seemed to pervade the very air. As he became convalescent, I recommended a temporary change of climate, and ordered him to his home in Auburn. There he improved greatly, and gave a hope of a speedy re covery ; but a few weeks after, the malaria still remaining in his system developed into a dangerous form of typhoid fever. About the first of November Mr. Sew ard requested that I should immediately go with him to Auburn. He had received a telegram stating that a consultation of physicians had given but little hope of the recovery of his son. Furnished with an extra train, accompanied by his daughter Fanny—now his almost inseparable com panion—we started for Auburn. During this long journey he conversed so freely that I ventured to ask him, the question "how it happened that he, the acknowledged leader of the Republican party, was not selected as tho candidate for the Presidency in 1860 ?" I put my question with some degree of timidity, for I feared that he might be sensitive en that subject. He surprised me with his frank and unaffected answer. There was no bit terness or disappointment in the tone of his voiee. If he had had the ambition to become the Chief Magistrate of the nation —particularly when his party, the child of his brain, came into power—it was smothered by the nobler desire tf serving his country rather than himself. His re ply was : . "The leader of a political party in a country like ours is so exposed that his enemies become as numerous and formida ble as his friends, and in an election you must put forward the man who will carry the highest number of votes, Pennsylva nia would not have voted for me, and without her we could not carry the elec tion; hence I was not the available man. Mr. Lincoln possessed all the necessary qualifications to represent our party, and being comparatively unknown, had not to contend with the animosities generally marshaled against a leader. We made him the candidate; he was elected, and we have never had reason to regret it." Colonel Seward recovered, and soon re turned to the field and led his regiment at the battle of the Monocacy. There he was wounded, and in the hasty retreat of the national forces he was left on the field.— The rebels rushing wildly in pursuit, did not discover that under a simple blue blouse was an officer of so much importance. He played "possum," as they say in the Army, waited for them to get out of sight, then caught a stray mule, mounted it, and came in the lines at Washington. The simple and unconspicuons uniform saved him, as it saved many of our officers in the campaigns. Had it been otherwise, he would have been discovered, and probably would lava-ended 'his life in the murder ous Southern prisons. Colonel Seward—Afterwards general— remained in service during the entire war, resigning only on June 1, 1865. In November, 1864, Frederick Seward was in New York on official business. On descending the stairs at the Astor House, he fell and broke his right arm at the el bow. He was consequently confined to of Job HUNTINGDON, PA., WEDNESDAY, JUNE 25, 1873 his house for several weeks, and threatened with a stiff arm for the rest of his life. He, however, recovered the perfect use of it, and resumed the duties of his office. On the sth of April, 1865, the Secreta ry and Frederick Seward rode out to pay an official visit to one of the foreign min isters. As the carriage stopped in front of the house the driver descended from his box to open the carriage door ; from some reason or other, probably from an uncon scious pull at the reins, the horses started, dragging the driver. They soon became unmanageable, and flew off at a frightful speed. Both Mr. Seward and Frederick, seeing the danger, jumped from the car riage. Frederick was unhurt, but Mr. Seward could not rise; people rushed to his assistance, and found that he was seri ously injured, the blood streaming from his mouth, and his right arm lying power less at his side. He was immediately pick ed up and carried to his house, not a block distant. I found him in his bed, his face fright fully bruised, his lower jaw completely fractured on both sides, his right arm frac tured, also, near the shoulder. He was in great pain, and it was with difficulty that he could be relieved. His condition, con sidering his age, was perilous in the ex treme. Suffusion soon took place, his right eye closed, and the right side of his face became blue from the contusion. His lower jaw was hanging down, and being fractured on both sides, he could not raise it for mastication. The right side of the jaw, upon which he evidently fell, became greatly tumefied and inflamed, so much so that he could not bear the slightest band age. His sufferings became intense, a high fever rose, which greatly aggravated his condition. Mrs. Seward and Fanny, after recover ing from the shock that this new misfor tune caused them, were unremitting in their attentions; every caprice that a fe verish imagination would excite was promptly gratified by those tender and loving hands. His nights became so restless that be required a constant watch.. His jaw was in such a condition that it was a difficult problem for surgeons to decide how it could be kept in coaptation, so as to favor ossification and the knitting together of the broken ends. He took his food through a tube and with great difficulty. His right arm was in splints, and Mr. Seward lay helpless on a bed of agony. On the 9th, four days after this acci dent, the news reached Washington of the surrender of General Lee. The bells chi med the joyful tidings; the people rushed to and fro in their intoxication of glad ness. The President and the Secretaries received the ovations of the people, and he, the great premier, the man who had contributed so much to the salvation of his country, was held down by relentless physical suffering. The city was thrown in a blaze by a general and spontaneous illumination; the cannon resounded from every fort, and from the centre of the city the peals of gladness. Even the sympathizers with the South rejoiced that the end-of the war had come. His own house was a beauti ful transparency of national flags, yet he hardly dared to move a finger for fear of drawing an unwilling groan. His face bespoke, however, his joy within, for the play of his features could not hide the emotions of that stout heart. If the family sorrow was not forgotten at that moment, it was not unalloyed with happiness, for even that noble lady, whose heart was filled with grief, gave evidence that she too shared in the nation's joy. For five days our city, the capital of this redeemed land, wore the garb of fes tivity. The people were loth to settle down, so great was the magic effect of the late events The excitement seemed now and then to allay, but only to break forth in some new form. Every little incident was made an occasion for a gathering, which ended in the deafening h'iirrahs for the Union, for the country, for the Gen eral, for the President, and for whatever favorite chief. On the 14th of April, Mr. Lincoln was to receive an ovation from the people at the theatre. Preparations were made on a large scale for this soulful reception by the people of their President. At 9 o'clock I went to make - my evening visit to the Secretary, and found that his condition was ameliorating sensibly ; I staid half an hour with him; then bidding him good night, left him with Mr. Robinson, the night watch. From there I returned to my house, and bait an hour had not elap sed when I beard a person running, who suddenly stopped to give an extraordinary pull at my bell. Thinking that this was a pressing message, I went to the door my self, and there met William, Mr. Seward's colored waiter, who, with a frightened look, and in the most excited manner, said, "Oh, come, doctor, Mr. Seward is killed !" Hardly comprehending the import of so sudden an announcement, I grasped my surgical case, and, hatless, ran with him to the house. There were only two blocks between my house and Mr. Seward's.— While running I asked the boy what he meant, howwas Mr. Seward killed ? "Oh," he exclaimed, "a man came to the door and asked admittance in your name. I let him in; he went up to Mr. Seward's room and killed him." I was amazed ! "How, who, in my name ?" It was all I could utter. Who, for what, did a man go in my name ?" were unanswered questions that flashed through my mind. In this short time, so great is the power of imagination,l thought of a man who had begged me to recom mend him to Mr. Seward for a consulship; that I had done so, but that Mr. Seward, not having the place vacant, would not gratify the office-seeker. Now this man, mad with disappointment, is surely gone to assassinate the Secretary. These thoughts had hardly crossed my mind when I reach ed the door of Mr. Seward's ; I ascended quickly, and when I got up stairs I met the blanched face of Mrs. Seward, who, in an agonized tone, said, "look to Mr. Sew ard !" Mr. Seward lay on his bed, with pallid face and half-closed eyes; he looked like an exsan.uinated corpse. In approaching him my feet went deep in blood. Blood was streaming from an extensive gash in his swollen cheek; the cheek was nlw laid open, and the flap hung loose on his neck. With prompt applications of iced-water I checked the hemorrhage, aad then exam ined the extent of the wound. The gash commenced from the high cheek bone down to the neck, lu a semi-circular form, to wards the month; it was, probably, five inches long and two inches deep. It was a frightful wound. It seemed as if the jugular vein or the carotid artery must be wounded, so great was the loss of blood.— I was greatly relieved to find that they were not., _ _ Mrs. Seward and her daughter, almost paralyzed, were waiting and watching for my first word. Relieved to see that the Secretary had so miraculously escaped the severing of those two vital vessels, I said : "Mr. Seward, even in your misfortune, I must congratulate you; the assassin has failed, and your life is not in danger." He could not speak, but he made a sign with the hand for his wife and daughter to approach, took hold of their hands, and his eyes only spoke and bid them hope. I had hardly sponged his face from the bloody stains and replaced the flap, when Mrs. Seward, with an intense look, called me to her. "Come and see Frederick," said she. Somewhat surprised, I said, "What is the matter with Frederick ?" In a pain ful whisper she muttered, "He is badly wounded, I fear." Without adding another word, I follow ed her to the next room, where I found Frederick bleeding profusely from the head. He had a ghastly appearance, was unable to articulate, gave me a smile of recognition, and pointed to his head. There I found a large wound a little above the forehead and somewhat on the left of the median line, and another further back, on the tame side. The cranium had been crushed in in both places, and the brain was exposed. The wounds were bleedihg profusely, but the application of cold water pledgets soon stopped the hemorrhage. I feared these wounds would prove fatal. Mrs. Seward again was haunting me with that intense look of silent anxiety. I gave her words of encouragement; I fear- • C'd they were unmeaning words. Again she drew me to her with that look I had seen in the other room. As I approached, almost bewildered, she said, "Come and see Augustus." "For Heaven's sake, Mrs. Seward, what does all this mean r" I followed her in another room, on the same floor, and there found Augustus, with two cuts on his forehead and one on his right hand. They were superficial. As I turned to Mrs. Seward to give her a word of comfort, she said, "Come and see Mr. Robinson." I ceased wondering; my mind became as if paralyzed; mechanically I followed her and examined Mr. Robinson. He had four or five cuts on his shoulders. They, too, were superficial. Again I turned to Mrs. Seward, as. if asking, "Any more?" yet unbelieving that any more could be wounded. She an swered my look. "Yes, one more." In another room I found Mr. Hansen, piteously groaning on the bed. He said he was wounded on the back. I stripped him, and found a deep gash just above the small of the back, near the spine. I thrust my finger in the wound, evidently made by a large-bladed knife, and found that it followed a rib, but had not pene trated the viscera. Here was another mi raculous escape. Even here I was glad to be able to give a word of comfort. And all this the work of one man—yes, of one man ! No one in that house knew then that at that very moment, a more fatal, if not so.a.xtensive a tragedy, was being perpe tr4ed in that theatre where we thought people were rejoicing. We were so engaged with the perilous condition of the victims of this terrible slaughter, that we had not time even to ask for an explanation. A blight, as if from a thunderbolt, had passed over this house, laying its inmates low, with stricken Bodies, with paralyzed souls. What human passion, what frantic re venge, could find a vent in such a mon strous deed ? What could Mr. Seward have done, in the course of his life, to have awakened such demoniacal passion ? These questions each mind put co itself, yet no answer could be given. let, one man, a man unknown even to Mr. Seward himself, had done it all ! Inexplicable, as horrible, was this foul deed. Not comprehending either object, cause, or extent, we had the doors of the house locked. In a few minutes the city was full of the wildest rumors; horrified and excited, the people ran through the streets, ' aiving ut terance to expressions of grief and alarm, that grew deeper and deeper, and rose higher and higher, until the unusual sounds surged into an uninterrupted roar. Attracted by this unusual commotion, we lent our ear to comprehend the meaninr , of the mysterious and frantic echoes of the people's lament. It was then we learned that Air. Lincoln had been shot and killed, in the midst of his friends, by the side of his wife, at the acme of the people's joy. The mystery was solved. It was a hellish machination of political madness. The discovery, although overpowering, was a relief. The victims of the tragic act were innocent; the causes were not. personal. The odious act sanctified the victims. In the face of so great a national ca lamity, the calamity of Mr Seward paled in comparison. What a night for these two families; what a night for the people of Washing ton. The deed was as dark as the night ; the people were convulsed with rage, with sorrow, with fear. Tread, tread, tread ! The people. ex citedly passed to and fro. as if in search of an unknown something, stopping each other to ask unanswerable questions, and to relieve, with groans, their sorrow•strick en hearts. Shuttersl were inquiringly thrown open by the fearless, doors were locked by the timid, anxiety was on every face. Were we walking on a volcano ? Households rose from their beds, mothers folded their children within their arms, as if they feared danger in the very air. Men returned to their homes to shed tears with their grief-stricken families. Let us now recur to some of the chief incidents of the attempted assassination. At or about 10 o'clock of the evening of the 14th of April, thirty minutes after I had left Mr. Seward, the bell of his house gave a ring. William Wells, a colored lad, who usually attended the door, answered that ring. A man holding a little package in his hands, presented himself, saying, I must go up to Mr. Sew ard, to deliver him the medicine, and a message from Dr. Verdi. The lad tells him he cannot go up ; but would deliver both medicine and message himself. No; the stranger cannot trust the ins. portant message, he must go up himself. In vain the n lid remonstrates. In his testimony before the court, he states : "I told him he could not go up ; it was against my orders. That if he would give me the medicine, I would tell Mr. Seward how to take it. That would not do-; he started to go up. Finding that he would go up, I stepped past him, and went up the steps before him. Then, thinking that such might be the orders of Dr. Verdi, and that I was interfering, I begged him to excuse me. I became afraid he might tell Mr. Seward and the doctor of my interference. He answered 'all right.' As he stepped heavily, I told him to walk lightly, so as not to dis turb the Secretary." In the adjacent room to Mr. Seward's, Frederick is lying on the sofa, resting. He hears steps and voices ascending; he comes out on the landing and there meets the stranger. Frederick inquires, "What do you want ?" "I want to see Mr. Seward. I have medicine and a message to deliver from Dr. Verdi. "My father is asleep ; give me the med icine and the directions ; I will take them to him." "No, I must see him; I must see him," he repeats in a determined manner. "You cannot see him ; you cannot see him. lam the proprietor here ; I am Mr. Seward's son. Jf yon cannot leave them with me, you cannot leave them at all." The man still insists; Frederick still refuses. The determined tone of Fred erick causes the man to hesitate ; be even turns to go down stairs, the lad prece ding him telling him to walk lightly. He descends four or five steps, when sudden ly he turns back and springs upon Freder ick, giving a blow—doubtless with the heavy pistol--on the head, that fells him to the ground The lad, seeing the brutal assault, runs down crying, "Murder, murder !" He flies to the corner—General Augur's headquarters. He finds no guard. In the meanwhile Robinson, the nurse in attendance on Mr. Seward, hearing the unusual noise, opens the door and sees the stranger, and Frederick thrown on his hands and bleeding ; before he has time for thought the assassin is on him, striking him to the ground ; he quickly, rises, but before he can clinch with him the assassin is on Mr. Seward, who, having awakened and comprehending the scene at once, had risen in his bed. The assassin plunges an immense knife in Mr. Seward's flice ; he attempts another stroke at his neck, but Robinson is on him, and the knife is partially arrested. He tries to disengage himself from Robinson by striking him with the knife over the shoulders. The daughter, who, too, is watching in the dimly lighted room, screams "help" and "murder." Augustus Seward, who is taking an early sleep to be able to watch his father later in the night, is awakened by the heart-rending screams of his sister. This room is on the same floor; and undressed he runs to his father's room. His mind, hardly awakened, does not take in the sit uation; he thinks his father delirious; he sees a man in the middle of the room ; he thinks it is his father; he takes hold of him ; as he grasps him he perceives, by his size and strength, it cannot be his father; he thinks it is the man servant drunk or crazy; he grapples with him to cast him out ; he receives blows with some instrument about the head and hands. The man yells like a tiger. "I am mad! I am mad !" Agustus pushes him out and follows him, locking the door behind him to prevent his return. Augustus quietly goes back to his fath er's room, only to discover that his father and brother have hardly escaped death from the hands of an assassin. Mr. Hansel), a messenger of the State Department, was sleeping in a room above Mr. Seward's. He is there to help if wanted. He hears the screams of mur der ; not being much of a hero, he tries to make his way out of the house; as be ascends the assassin is behind him, who, thinking that this man is going down to give the alarm, springs on him, plunges his knife in his back, fells him, and passes ' William, the colored boy, in the mean• while, had run about crazily to get assis tance, and returns with three soldiers just in time to see the assassin mount his horse and ride off. All this took less time to happen than it takes to relate. J. Wilkes Booth, the arch-assassin, educated to theatrical tableaux, must play the Brutus; he assassinates the President before two thousand people, leaps on the stage and exclaims, "Sic semper tyrannis!" He flies, but a whole army is after him, and he is run down like a cowardly fox. But the assassin of Mr. Seward no one knows; there is no clue to his identity. All the detectives are at work upon all sorts of impossible theories; this man baffles their acuteness. For three days all attempts to get a trace of him are vain. Booth, having thus exposed himself, gave the detectives a point at start in their plans of detection. They soon learn Booth's strange affiliation with John Sar ratt and his family. Accordingly an order is given for the apprehension of the Sarratts. At 11 p. m. of the 17th, the officers go to Mrs. Surratt and inform her of their mission. While they are waiting in the hall for her to get ready, a knock is heard at the door. An officer opens, and a laboring man, with a pick-axe on his shoulder, appears. He, seeing the officers, says, "Think I am mistaken." "Whom do you want to see ?" the officer inquires. "Mrs. Surma." "Yon are not mistaken, then, walk in." He walks in ; the door is locked behind him. "Do you want to soe Mrs. Surratt ?" "Yes." "What for ?" "She has engaged me to dig a gutter for her in the garden." "Where have you worked ?" "I have worked about the streets." "Where did Hrs. Surratt engage you ?" "She knows I work by jobs ; she saw me in the street and engaged me." "Did you come to dig a gutter to night ?" "No ; I came to ask her when she wants the job done." Au officer goes and asks Mrs. Surratt if she has engaged a man to dig a gutter ? Oh, no; not she ; she engaged no man ; gets .excited; she fears it is a thief; she is so glad the officers are in the house ! She comes in the hall, looks at the man, and declares she never saw him in her life. Yet, as it is proven by the evidence in the trial, this man had been for three days, March 14, 15, and 16, a guest at her house, ate at her own table, went to the theatre with her son, &o. This man gives his name as Lewis Payne. Lewis Payne is arrested under the 'suspicions circumstances. William Wells, the colored lad, was sentfor; being shown to a room containing several people, he is asked if he recognises the assassin among them ? No; he does not see him. _ _ Several other people are then brougl' in, when suddenly he walks towards Lewis Payne, and in an excited manner exclaims: "There he is ! I knew I could never forget -that lip !" The recognition was complete. Next morning I accompanied Miss Fanny and Augustus Seward to the Mon itor, where Payne was held a prisoner. What a feeling must have pervaded the bosom of this girl while she was going to meet this assassin, who, before her own eyes, had so brutally assaulted, and all but killed her father. She had seen him in a dimly-lighted room, under great excite ment. Would she recognize him now ? The idea of meeting this man face to face, although where he was harmless, would have exalted vain fears in many a girl's heart ; but she was composed, and her de meanor expressed only the dignity of her own strange position. She met the naval officer on the Monitor with the same calm and gentle manners so natural to her. The officers, on the ether hand, felt almost a reverence for this girl, who, instead of making a demonstration of her harrowing grief, was commanding self, and in her own unaffected manner received the ex pressions of their respect and sympathy with unfeigned gratefulness. Payne gradually rose from the hatch way, and with neck exposed, head uncov ered, showing a seriuus if not stolid face, and collossal frame, he stood unmoved be fore this frail girl, who would not even utter a curse upon him. God alone knew what passed in those two hearts at that moment. Strangely quiet they stood be fore each other. Were they overwhelmed by the magnitude of a crime that was be yond man's redress ? The scene was a sol emn one—too solemn for man to utter a sound ; a silence, broken only by the hiss ing wind and surging waves, pervaded the whole ship. It was almost a weird trans formation from a mysterious power. Miss Fanny was hanging on my arm. Did I feel a quiver ? Probably I did, for I gently drew her from the painful scene. Conscientious even at this trying moment, she could not identify the man ; her iden tification, she thought, might be his death. She bad only seen him by a dim light as if a frightful vision. That is all she said. To the questions of the detectives Payne answered hesitatingly and somewhat evasively. Had he ever seen the lady be fare ? No. Could he pronounce Dr. Verdi's name ? He pronounced it so well that it made me shudder. Yet my name was a foreign one, and he a stranger to me. Had he ever seen .Dr. Verdi before? No. Such was the assassin Payne ; a head and face that expressed a preponderating crim inal element. There was a vacancy in that face, amounting almost to imbecility. His answer bespoke only a light degree of fear, not of intelligence. His physique was herculean; he was purely a brute; an instrument well adapted for the use of a refined brain like Booth's. Booth, egotistical in his plot, wanted no intelligence to share the honors of his self-imposed heroism. He only wanted blind instruments to aid him in his dia bolical scheme. All his accomplices were of that character. True to his nature, Booth bad prepared means of escape for himself. Payne, a stranger in these parts, had been left ig norant of the topography of the country, and even without means of sustenance.— Booth had taught him well the habits of Mr. Seward : he had taught him the phy sician's name that was to bring him to Mr. Seoard's couch, but had not taught him how to escape from the avenging hand of justice, and Payne fell a victim to his own ignorance and to his master's egotism. For three days Payne roamed about the country in the vain attempt to coneeal himself. Hungered, friendless, restless, he wandered back to, the only one who could and should offer him aid and con, fort—he returned to Mrs. Sarratt's. A mysterious . power was dragging him there. This criminal, whom man did not know, was led by necessity to the house of Mrs. Surratt at the very moment that the func tionaries of the law were apprehending his accomplices. Useless were then the reit orations of innocence. There they stood, self-accused ! An illustrative instance of this man's insensibility was related to me by Major Poster, one of his attorneys in the trial : One night Frederick Seward had bad one of those terrible hemorrhages from his' wounds that several times had so threaten ed his life. Major Doster visiting Payne the following morning, said, "Payne, your ease is getting desperate; it is feared that Frederick Seward may die at any moment; he has had another hemorrhage." Payne remained silent for a moment, then made this remark : "I think I owe Frederick Seward on apology." Mr. Seward lay prostrate; his wounded cheek had tumefied and inflamed. His nervous system had received such a shock that, even without that excessive loss of bloo3, had diminished the natural resour ces for reaction. His sleep was restless and interruFted by terrible dreams. We feared that even his strong constitution would finally yield. But no, his power of resistance was truly extraordinary; it was principally due to his mental strength.— This man, so foully dealt with, would struggle and conquer in adversity. He treated his case from a high stand-point of philosophy. He spoke of it as of an his torical fact, avoiding individualism, and treated it as another instance of the mad ness that overcomes weak minds in great national convulsions. It was sublime to hear this stricken-down man, with jaws screwed together by surgical art, speaking through a hole made in the apparatus that held his month fast, not a word for him self, but the words of a sound philosopher who will not despise human nature for the act of a madman. With nothing but mis ery, suffering agony, and with death sta ring him in the face, he was calm, sub missive, even forbearing. All his solicitude was about his son. Of the calamity to his fellow-colaborer, Mr. Lincoln, he knew nothing for several days. The wounds of Frederick excited the greatest solicitude. The brain was expo sed in both places; in the anterior one fully a square inch of the membranes of the brain was exposed to view. A lacer ated vessel on the interior surface of the cranium would from time to time bleed so profusely as to put his life in imminent jeopardy, and yet it could not be reached for a ligature. We were constantly kept in fearful apprehension of these hemorrha ges. With noble fortitude did that family bear the anxieties and the fatigues of this long and sad period. Mrs. Seward, so delicate in frame, so feeble in health, un ceasingly supervised all the nursing that required such fine judgment and unremit ting care. _ Human endurance, however, has its limits, and Mrs. Seward finally succumbed. The little flame that lighted that body ex pired on the 21st of June. Like her life. NO. 26. her death was the calmness of a Heaven born spirit. Overcome by these multiplied trials, her daughter at length sank into a nervous fever that consumed her. Her body could not bear what her soul had borne, and in a year's time she added one more to the number of victims to the terrible plot of Booth and Surratt. The Secretary himself is now dead. After completing the hittory of his travels around the world, at the age of seventy one, with only a few day's illness, his mind unimpaired, he peacefully breathed his last in his own home, at Aubbrn. on the 10th of October, 1872. glrading ter th* 4: Mom Stuffing a Goose. The following contribution on social cookery is evidently drawn from experience rather than observation : STUFFING A GOOSE.-A young, inno cent, confiding, just married goose, is the easiest to be stuffed. The following is a common process : She has been married about a month to a husband who has been a little fast; but he promises reformation, and starts off matrimonially by resolving to settle down and become a model family man. The first few weeks go off well; he spends every evening at home with the goose, who imagines there is to be no end to the honey moon. But one day the husband meets a friend, and that friend badgers him about the constraint of mar ried life, etc. The husband, afraid of being thought henpecked, resolves to spend that evening at his uld resort, with his former cronies. Then commences the stuffing of the goose. "I've got to go down to the office to night, my dear," says he, "to see a man on very important business." "And leave me all alone ?" pouts she. "So sorry, my dear, but it can't be help ed." "Can't I go too ?" "Oh, it would be hardly worth while— I'll not be late—good-bye," and away he goes, chuckling over the success of the op eration. After this the goose is stuffed regularly, and with growing frequency. One night the husband comes home with his breath smelling of Bourbon. "Medicine for the cholera, my dear." Next he stumbles in drunk-. "Sunstruck, my dear." Finally, in most eases, the goose gets stuffed to her utmost capacity very soon, and refuses to absorb any more. Then the fires of conjugal contention are lighted, and then— Always Neat, Some folks are very charming at eve ning parties, but surprise them in the morning, when not looking for company, and the enchantment is gone. There is good sense in the following advice to young ladies : Your every-day toilet is a part of your character. A girl who looks like a "fury," or a "sloven," in the morning, is not to be trusted, however finely she may look in the evening. No matter how humble your room may be, there are eight things it should contain; a mirror, wash stand, soap, towel, comb, hair-brush, nail brush and tooth-brush. These are just as essential as your breakfast, before which you should make good use of them. Pa rents who fail to provide most of their children with such appliances not only make a great mistake, but commit a sin of omission. Look tidy in the morning, and after dinner-work is over improve your toilet. Make it a rule of your daily life to "dress up" for the afternoon. Your dress may not, or need not be anything better than calico; but with a ribbon, or some bit of ornament, you can have an air of self-re spect and satisfaction that invariably comes with being well dressed. A girl with fine sensibilities cannot help feeling embarrassed and awkward in a rag ged and dirty dress, with her hair =- kept, should a stranger or neighborcome in. Moreover your self-respect should de mand the decent appareling of your body. You should make it a point to look as well as you can, even if you know nobody will see you but yourself. Turning Over a New Leaf. Many lads have such practical views of life, joined with such self-consciousness and self-esteem, as to mature at once.— Their opposites waste each New Year in wondering what will happen when they grow to be men ; when the opportunity comes ; when life really opens wide. Ham hie and timid, they fancy all other men to be wiser or stronger than they. At thirty, they hear with wonder that yonder stal wart, thoughtful man, whom, in old child ish habit, they address with a deferential "sir," is only thirty years old, too. At forty they still cling to their conciliatory, deprecatory ways, feel like boys dodging about bewildered among men, though man hood has encompassed them twenty years. It comes upon them like a shock to find their hair whitening, and people descri bing them as "the old gentleman," while their feet arc too palpably sliding , on the down-hill stretch. Till then they had never thought themselves mature for a career, nor suspected that they had reach ed the now-or-never of life, till it was years away in the past. Such men take an aroma of the cradle with them to the grave, only quitting their first childhood when they enter the second; ever are they dreaming of the possible future, and con stantly proposing to turn over a new leaf. Better and Worse. Two Parisians who had not seen each other for a long time happened to meet one day at the exchange. "How are you ?" asked one of them. "Not very well, thank you." "So much the worse. 'What have you been doing since I saw you?" "Married me a wife." "So much the better." "No, not better, for she proved to be a very wicked woman." '•So much the worse." "No, not worse, fer her dowry was two thousand lonia." • "So much the better." "No, not better, for I expended this money in steep, and they died of the rot." "So much the worse." "No, not worse, for their pelts brought me more than the cost of the sheep." "So much the better." "No, net better, for the house where i^ stored the money was burned to the e ground." "So much the worse." "No, not the worse, my wile was within. the house."
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