VOL. 48.
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P. W. JOHNSTON, Surveyor and
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. Civil Engineer Huntingdon, Pa.
OFFICE: No. 113 Third Street. ang21,1872.
BF. GEHRETT, M. D., ECLEC
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tilt -J1 war §otver.
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."