- 1 11.
,
•
• .
SAMUEL WEIGHT, Editor and Proprietor.
VOLUME XXVIII, NUMBER 50.1
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Wny's Building, north-west corner Front and
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Larger advertisements in proportion.
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ye arl y . or yearlyadvertisers,who are strietlyeonfined
to their business.
DR- J. Z. HOFFER,
DNTIST.--OFFICE, Corner of Front and
Locust streets, Columbia, over Bletz's Grocery.
fp — ENTRANCE ON LOCUST.
May 22, 1e59-1y
DR. S. ARMOR,
HONCEOPATHIG PHYSICIAN,
COLUMBIA, PA.
Oroca. Axn Rwinrxce—Second Street, one door from
NVllillUt.
March 13,1858.
THOMAS WELSH,
JUSTICE 01? THE PEACE, Columbia, Pa.
OFFICE:, in IVl,ipper's New Budding, below
Black's Hotel, Front street.
°Dr Prompt attenuon given to all business entrusted
to his core.
November 29,1657.
DR. G. W. MIFFLIN,
DENTIST, Locust street, a few doors above
the Odd Fellow* , Hall, Columbia, Pa.
Columbia. May 3. 1356.
H. M. NORTH,
TTORNEY AND COUNSELLOR AT LAW.
Columbia,Pa.
Collections, I.romptly made, in Lancaster and York
Counties.
Columbia, May 4,1950.
J. W. FISHER,
Attorney and Counsellor at Law,
4cca,-gatarcimotim,
Co!menu, SeMember G, 16.51 . 1. if
GEORGE J. SMITH,
WHOLESALE and Retail Bread and Cake
Baker.—Constantly on hand a varlets - of Cakes,
too numerous to mention, Crackers; Soda, Wine, Scroll,
and Sugar Biscuit; Confectionery, of every description,
ice., &c. LOCUST 'STREET,
Feb. 2,'56. Between the Bank and Franklin House.
Cold Cream of Glycerine,
FOR the Cure and Prevention or Clutp
ped Hoods. For sale by Dr. B. 1.1 HEHR.
Col.. Nov. 7,1557. Goblen prior Drug glom
CAKPETINGS, OIL CLOTHS, AND LOOKING
GLASSES alwayx on hand, at low prices, at
TIM PEOPLE'S STORE,
Adjoining the Bunk.
March 13, 1959
COSTAR'S Bed Bug Exterminator! Never
kaown to fail. For sale at
McCORKLE•& ',ELLETT'S
Family Medicine store, Odd Fellow's Hall.
April 2,1.1869.
COSTAR'S Rat Extetminator. An infalli
ble destroyer of Rats. Mice and Cockroaches.
For sale at McCORICLE h DRI.LETTost
Family Medicine Store, Odd Fellow's Hall.
April 24,1355.
ViTISTAR'S BALSAM OF WILD CHERRY,
for Caught., Cold., he . for , ale at
McCORKLF. k DI I.IATT'S
Family lidedieme afore, Odd Fellows , Hall.
Columbia, Cet RI. 1i57.
WOOLLEY'S All Healing and Strengthen
ing Salve, for Rule ut
IkIeCORKLE & DEI.LETT'S
Family Medicine Store, Odd follows' h all.
entomb's,. 0ct.31.
CORN Starch, Farina, Rico Flour, Tapioca,
Sago, Oat Meal, Arrow Root. &c..at the
FAMILY MEDICINE ATOIIE,
Odd Fellows , Hull.
Sept 25, '57
JIM received, three dozen Dr. Dennon's
Vegetable Diners, a certain cure for Dyspepsia;
also, a fresh lot of Sap Sago and Yore Apple Cheese,
Farina and Corn Starch, at D. IthIRICS
Sept 5, 1857. Grocery and Liquor Store.
QOLDTION OF CITRATE OF MAONESIA,or Par
gative Mineral Water.—This pleasant medicine
which is highly recommended as a substitute for
Epsom Salts, Seidlitz Powders, &c., eon be obtained
fresh every day at La. E. B. HERR'S Drug Store,
Front at. [r.l
LAMPS, LAMPS, LAMPS. Just received at
Ilerr's Drug Store, a new and beautiful lot of
Lamps of all descriptions.
May 2,1857.
ASUPERIOR article of burning Fluid just
received and for sale by If. SUY DAM & SON.
ALARGE lot of City cured Dried Beef, just
received nt u. BUYD/ad & son's.
Columbia, December 20,1856.
HOOFIAND'S German Bitters. For sale at
cCORKLE & DELLETT , B
Family Medicine Store, Odd Fellows , Hall.
July O. 113.57.
COUNTRY Produce constantly on band and
for salt by H. SUYDAM & SON.
HOMINY, Cranberries, Raisins, Figs, Alm-
Duds, Walnuts, Cream Nuts, &e., just received
It. IVTDAM dr. sou's.
Columbia', Dec. 20, 1850
ASUPERIOR lot of Black and Green Teas,
Coffee and Chocolare,iiiet received at
H. 40VDAN &SON
.Dec. 20,1856. Corner of Front and Union sts.
_TDST RECEIVED, a beautiful aesortment of
ei Glass Ink Staudt, at the Headquartera and
News Depot.
Cotuentna, April 18,1857.
VIM Family and Superfine Flour of the
-ILI best brand, for sale by H. SUYDAM 41; SON.
JUST received 1000 lbs. cxtra double bolted
Buckwheat Meal, at
Dee.tV, Ma. 11. SUYDAM tc. SON'S.
WEIEBIA'S Instantaneous Yeast or Baking
Powder, for sale by 11. SUYDAhI da SON.
GMIN6 Imported Harlem Oil, for sale at
Dr. E. B. HERD'S Go lden Mortar Drug More,
Front rtreet,Columbaa, Pa. [Feb. 6, 1656.
TABLE. AND FLOOR OIL CLOTIIB, all widths,
and Carretings, for sale cheap, by
Oct. 10,1837. 1. O. BRUNER dr. CO.
HAIL'S AND CAPS, suitable for the season, and at
low prices, at the Corner of Third and Union sts.
Oct. 10,1857.
T . OOKING GLASSES, all ekes. by
7. 0. BRUNER tr..
Corner of Third and Union our
Oct.lo, 1857
--
HEAP White, Red and Yellow Wool Flannelsaal
C
Wool Yarn, of all colors and qualities, at
October 10 , 1 657. BRUNER'S.
SALT by the sack or bushel, and Mackerel by the
barrel or retail, at 1.0. BRUNER & CO.IS
October 10, IW.
TIMMS SEGAILS AND TOBACCO, of different
brands, wholesale and retail, ti y
October la, 1.557. I. 0. BRUNER & CO.
TABLE and Rock Salt, by the sack or busbel,for
sale low.by
Oct. 10, 1957.
LARGE assortalen t of Ropesall stun and lengths,
on band and for sale at T iHOS. WELSH'S,
• NO.
By day, at a high oak desk I stand,
And trace in a ledger line by line;
But at five o'clock you dial's hand
Opens the cage wherein I pine;
And as faintly the stroke from the belfry peals
Down through the thunder of hoofs and wheels,
I wonder if ever a monarch feels
Such royal joy as mine.
8130
Beatrice is dressed and her carriage waits;
I know she has heard that signal-chime;
And my strong heart leaps and palpitates,
As lightly the winding stair I climb
To her fragrant room, where the winter's gloom
Is changed by the heliotrope's perfume,
And the curtained sunset's crimson gloom,
To love's own summer prime.
She meets me there so strangely fair,
That my soul aches with a happy pain!—
A pressure, a touch of her pure lips, suck
As u seraph might give and take again;
A hurried whisper, "Adieu! adieu!
They wait for me while I stay for you!"
And a parting smile of her blue eyes through
The glimmering carriage-pane.
Then thoughts of the past come crowding fast
On a blissful track of love and sighs—
Oh, well I toiled, and those poor hands soiled,
That liar song might bloom in Italian skies!—
The pains and fears of those lonely years;
The nights of longing and hope end tears,—
Her heart's sweet debt, and the long arrears
Of love in those faithful eyes'
O night! be friendly to her and me!—
To box and pit and gallery swarm
The expectant throngs;—l am there to see;—
And now she is bending her radiant form,
To the clapping crowd;-1 . ant thrilled and proud;
111 v dun eyes look through a misty cloud,
And ray joy mounts up on the plaudits loud,
Like a sea-bird on a storm!
She has waved her hand; the noisy rush ,
Of. applause sinks down; and silverly
Her voice glides forth on the quivering hush,
Like the white-robed moon an a tremulous seat
And wherever her shining influenee culls
I swing on the billow that swells and falls,—
I know no more,—till the very walls
Seem shouting with jubilee!
Oh, little she cares for The fop who airs
Flis glove and glass, or we gay array
Of fans and perfumes,of jewels and plumes,
Where wealth and pleasure have met to pay
Their sightly hostage to her sweet song;
But over the bravos clear and strong,
Over all the flaunting and fluttering throng,
She unites my soul away.
Why am [ happy? Why am I proud?
Oh can it be true she is all my own?—
I make my way through the ignoront crowd,
I know, I know where my love bath nOWII.
Again we sleet; I am at her feet,
And with kindling kisses and promises sweat,
Her glowing, victorious lips repeat
That they sing for me
[Atlantic Monthly
We had been a furtnigbton board the mail
packet on our way home from the west coast
of Africa, and had exhausted nearly every
amusement it provided under those circum
stances and within those limits. We had on
board the usual complement of strange look
ing captains and traders from the river Bonny,
and, after passing Accra, had watched the
canoes come off through the surf at Cape
Coast Castle, and landed and walked up to
the governor's house at Sterra Leone. We
had played at whist and the game of the
race at all unoccupied times, and bad dis
played our various vocal powers and musical
acquirements—which, I must confess, were
not of a nature to have enlivened any circle
—and as we were homeward bound, we had
no newspapers and very few books.
The passengers consisted mainly of officers
going home on sick leave, one of whom—
whose father bold a civil appointment of im-
Tortance on the Gold Coast—was accompan
ied by his sister. Then there were five or
six bronzed captains, and copper-colored
merchants of gold dust and ivory, so that
altogether our number amounted to fourteen.
We were by no means a lively company, and
as I have said before, at the expiration of a
fortnight we seemed to have exhausted all
our amusements, and consequently to have
annihilated every possible subject of mutual
interest.
Under these circumstances wo had, for two
of three evenings running, sat on the guar
ter-deck beneath an awning, looking listlessly
front one to the other, watching young Wil
son, of the Gold Coast Corps, who was going
home on sick leave; envying him his power
of unlimited sleep; or lazily following with
our eyes the one-armed captain who paced
the deck in any uneasy, restless manner
from morning to night. He had not been
home for fourteen years, and had now left
his ship, a stationary merchant vessel, up
the river Bonny, "to have a look at the old
country."
A more uncomfortable, unsatisfactory
companion it would be impossible to imagine;
and young Wilson, who shared a double cab
in with him, was loud in his complaints, and
pathetic in his appeals for sympathy.
"Sleep," said Wilson; "I can't sleep—that
fellow won't let me sleep, and it's all e very
well to talk, but you can't get any sleep
worth having in the day-time. You know
his berth is fixed just over mine, and no
sooner have I turned in and fallen into a doze,
than rat-tat-tat-tat goes that iron hook fan
tened to the stump of his srm.
"Thefirst night' thought he wanted some
thing, so I called out, 'What's the matter,
skipper?" but ho only growled at me in reply.
And I declare that every hour of every night
since then, or whenever he thinks I am asleep,
rat-tat-tat•tat comes that hook on the frame
of the berth just above my bead. I don't
bear it meekly, I assure you, and I have
Red more bad language to that man than I
7.0. BRUNER CO
~~~~~~~.
La Cantatrice
gsitttigito.
From Household Mr*
A Packet Ship's Company
"NO ENTERTAINMENT IS SO CHEAP AS READING, NOR ANY PLEASURE SO LASTING."
COLUMBIA, PENNSYLVANIA, SATURDAY MORNING, JUNE 19, 1858.
ever used in my life. But, upon my honor,
I believe he would rather hear inc swear at
him than say nothing at all; for he'll often
give a kind of a sighing after it, as though
some one had lifted a heavy weight from his
chest."
'You may depend upon ithehas got abad
conscience," said our one lady. By the by,
she was treated with as much deference as
if she had been Queen of England; and she
was a queen in her own small way, and not
a bad queen either—Queen of Beauty—
Wilson said, and one or two more who were
inclined to be spooney.
So of course when she suggested "cons
cience" we all echoed the"depend upon it,"
and every one offered laughingly a possible
explanation of the cause. And thus we fell
into a talk about this same conscience and
its torments, and began to tell stories illus
trative of it. Most of them were, I must
confess, neither very amusing nor very in
structive; and pretty Miss Graham began to
yawn, and herbrother, Captain Graham, had
followed the example of young Wilson, and
was fast asleep.
Then, after two old sea-captains had spun
a long yarn, there was a pause, which Miss
Graham broke by exclaiming:
"Oh, Mr. Barkum, you have been to all
kinds of places, seen such strange things, do
tell us a true story."
The Mr. Barkum thus addressed—a jolly
old trader—replied with a grin:
"What shall I tell you, miss?"
"I don't know. As we are on the sea, tell
us a story of shipwreck—but not a melan
choly one."
"Never told one in my life, miss!"
"But you have been shipwrecked, have
you not?"
"Oh, yes," said Mr. Barkum, "sure-lyyes,
miss, surely. Why, I was shipwrecked here,"
with a broad wave of the arm which includ
ed the whole Atlantic.
"You don't say se, Mr. Barkum! Do tell
us all about it. What did you do?"
"Well," said that gentleman, "we was
tossed here and we was tossed there for three
days and three nights, and then we took to
the boats. And after we took to the boats
we was tossed hero and tossed there for
three days and three nights more; and wery
cold and wery wet we were. Then the
victuals fell short; and for three days and
three nights we had nothin' to eatand noth
in' to drink, and wery hungry and wery
thirsty we were."
Here Mr. Barkum made a very long pans.
Miss Graham said: "And was there no
vessel to pick you up, Mr. Barkum? How
did you manage?"
"Well, miss, we burnt priming, and made
a fire in the dripping pan that the black
cook would not have believed. Then we
cast lots, and the lot fell on the steward; and
so then we stowed—"
"Good Heaven, Mr. Barkum!"
"Yes, miss, we did, indeed. We stewed
his boots—Wellingtons. The tops was the
tenderest. Then we cast lots again, and
the lot fell on the black cook; so we stewed
his pumps; but they were uneatable, though
the soup kept us alive ten days. After that
we cast lots again, and the lot fell on the
captain, and we stowed his water-boots; but
they was tremendous tough, surely."
At this point Mr. Barkum was interrupted
by a general shout of remonstrance.
"Well," says he, "when a lady tells a
man she wants a story of ashipwreck what's
he to do? I told the very best I could."—
And with another grin, Mr. Barkum, who
seemed not so much to have told his story as
to have had it jerked out of him, leant back
and looked around him, apparently well sat
isfied with the effect produced.
"Humph!" was uttered in a hoarse growl
behind him, at which we all started—for it
came from no other than the "silent man"—
an old sea-captain, who had been picked up
nobody knew where or how, and bad not ut
tered a syllable since ho hndbeen on board.
Ho would stand all day long looking over
the stern of the vessel, gloomy and intent—
giving no answer to whomsoever addressed
him. But now ho stooped over Miss Graham,
and laying one rough band on her shoulder,
while with the other he pointed out beyond
the stern of the vessel:
"She'll do it," he said, in a hoarse whis
per—" She'll do it—she's bound to do it."
And he walked rather unsteadily to his
old position.
"He's been at our grog-bottles; that's
what's opened his lips. He never had any
of his own, and you saw him coma up from
the saloon; said Captain Graham. shaking
himself out of a doze.
But his sister was all astonishment.—
"Who is she, and what is she bound to do?
It can't be this ship, for ho pointed out to
sea."
"Never mind, miss," said Mr. Minchin—
a lean, yellow-faced man, who looked like
an American, though he called himself
English. - "Perhaps he's got somebody after
him; who knows?" and he winked mysteri
ously, not so much at any one person as at
the whole ship's crew. "Though, when
I'm I after a man myself, I take good care
ho shan't know much about it."
"You after a man, Mr. Minchinl Why,
what do you go after him for?"
"Well, ma'am, for various reasons; some
times for one thing, and sometimes for an
other. Now, there was the captain of the
Golden Fleece. I followed that man for
four years, and I'll tell you how it happened.
"The Golden Fleece was bound from Cal
ifornia to Liverpool, and besides a very val
uable cargo of furs and such. she had en
board a quarter of a million in gold-dust
and nuggets. Pretty pickings among that,
I can tell you; and so thought the captain
—Jones, his name was. Now, I dare say,
Captain Jones didn't like the risks of a
voyage home, so after he bad been at sea
about ten days, he ran the Golden Fleece on
a rock about a mile from the shore, and
then he and the crew took to the boats.—
Well, of course he wrote home to the own
ers how the Golden Fleece was wrecked off
the coast of California, and how he and the
crew only just escaped with their lives.—
And of course the owners didn't like it; nor
the underwriters didn't like it; for they
were left in for a quarter of million besides
the worth of the vessel, and the fifty thou
sand pounds sterling that the cargo was
valued at; and that's no joke. So after a
few months they sends for me.
" lir.lllinchin,' says they, 'this is a very
lame story.'
"'lt is,' says I, 'very lame.'
" 'Captain Jones don't conic home,' says
they.
"'No:' says I; 'nor I dont suppose he's
very likely to come home.'
"'Mr. Minchin, will you go and see after
the Golden Fleece?'
"'I will!' says I.
"'And will you,' says they, 'learn some
thing about Captain Jones? Never mind
the time, and never mind the expenses; but
don't come back to England without Cap
tain Jones.'
"'lf Captain Tones is to bo found,' says
I"I'll find him, dead or alive.'
"Well, ma'am, of course this was not the
first time, by many, that I'd been sent on
some such errand; and, for one couse or an
other, I've been sent out from Lloyd's to
places all over the world, almost, where ves
sels have been wrecked.
"But, not to weary you, ma'am and the
company, with an account of the voyage
and adventures—and, indeed, we had none
of the latter, except that in crossing the
Isthmus of Panama, which was not so quiet
then as it is now, wewiped out a small party
of Indians—"
"Wiped them out, Mr. Minchin?"
"Well, Miss, if we hadn't wiped them
out, they'd have wiped us out; I'll tell you
the whole story some day. But to go back
to the Golden Fleece. I went along the
coast—and I found her. There she was,
just in as good condition as on the day
when the crew deserted her. I went on
board at low water, and found that Captain
Jones bad run her on a sharp-pointed rock,
which fitted into her just like a wedge; the
water couldn't get in, and she conldn't get
off, or be got off, without considerable
trouble. I went over her, and found the
cargo all right enough; nothing touched
there, and very little damaged. But all the
gold was gone, ma'am, which I had expect
ed from the first. Well, I first of all got
out the cargo, and sent that home, and then
did the best I could about the ship.
"After that, thinks I to myself, 'Now,
Captain Jones, it's your turn; and a pretty
stiff turn it'll be for you, or my name ain't
Minehin.' I wasn't in no manner of hurry,
you must remember, for I knew he couldn't
spend the money, and I knew be darn't in
vest it,tor make much stir about it in any
way. So my object was to find him, and to
find him quietly, and make him give it up.
"Well, you'll maybe hardly believe it,
but it was three years before I could come
upon that man's track. I did come upon
it at last, though, and I was pretty sure I
bad found him in a Mr. Weeks, settled in
Canada. Naturally, business took me to
the place where Mr. Weeks lived, and I
soon picked up acquaintance with him.
"He was Captain Jones. I found out
that; and before long I was more sure than
ever that he had neither spent the money
nor invested it, but where he'd got it I
couldn't tell.
"After a time Mr. Weeks and I got to be
very great friends, and at the end of six
months Mr. Weeks began to talk of how h
should like to go into business—something
in the commercial line—as he bad a small
capital to invest. 'Very small!' thinks Ito
myself. 'Only a quarter of a million!'
However, I said that was just what I was
looking out for, too; and so, to make a long
story short, we agreed to enter into partner
ship, and by my advice we were to go first
to Liverpool, and make arrangements with
different merchants there.
"I must confess that voyage home did
soem rather a long one; but it was over nt
last, and Mr. Weeks and I were walking
along the streets of Liverpool. So I put
one hand to my belt, where I bad pistols—
and he know it, and carried pistols himself
—and the other I laid on his shoulder.—
'Now, Captain Jones, of the Golden Fleece,
says I, 'l've been after you this four years,
and I've got you safe home at last.' Ma'am,
if you'll believe it, that man never said a
word, but just fixed his eyes on me and
staggered against the wall. Now, I didn't
want to give him into custody if I could
help it; for I knew that those who employed
me would a good deal rather let him go free,
and they have their gold, than see him
transported, and carry with him the secret
of where it was hidden.
"So I told him that he might let me know
nest morning -whether I should hand him
over to a police-constable, or - whether he'd
tell inn where he'd got the gold.
"lie never spoke a word. So I led him
to an inn, and locked myself in a room
with I.;m
"Were you not afraid he'd shoot you, Mr.
31hichin?"
"No, I wasn't afraid he'd shoot me, but I
was terribly afraid he'd shoot himself.—
However, I kept a sharp eye on him; and
as ho saw he'd no chance of getting off
anyhow, he just made a clean breast of it.
So the end of it was, that we got back
nearly the whole of the gold-dust, which he
had buried soon after landing from the
wreck. I knew all along that he hadn't
got it with him. And they that employed
me made me a present of a thousand pounds
over and above whathad been agreed on for
that job."
"Well," said young Wilson, who looked
wide awake, "you're a queer fish! , May I
ask if you're after anybody now?"
"Maybe I am, and maybe lam not. But
I suppose you don't think I am after your"
"Why, no. lam pretty sure of that,
anyhow. But I wish you were after that
one-armed fellow."
"Keep your mind easy, Mr. Wilson.—
He'll put his own head in the halter, if
there's one made for him; and I do know
that there's friends a waiting for him in
England who'll be very glad to see him
home again."
"There, now, I knew there was some
thing. Now, Minehin, do tell us what it is,
there's a good fellow."
"Not I, Mr. Wilson. No, ma'am, nor I
don't tell you, neither; nor we don't have
no secret about the matter."
And Mr. Minchin kept his word. So,
who the one-armed captain was, or what he
had done, we could not find out until we
reached Plymouth. Every one avoided
him instinctively, our own captain setting
the example; and all the latter part of the
voyage young Wilson slept on deck rather
than share the same cabin with him. But
it was only when, in answer to our signals,
two police-officers came off to our vessel in
the river and arrested this man, that we
heard the story of the slow, cruel torture,
the barbarous murder committed by him on
board his ship in the river Bonny, twelve
years before.
The "Silent Man," after ho had once
spoken, was no longer inaccessible. We
used to join him in his watch at the stern
of the vessel, and say:
"Well, sir, will elle do it?"
His invariable answer, pointing backward
over the sea, was:
"She'll do it; sheas bound to do it, and
she'll do it."
As we entered Plymouth Harbor be once
more sought Miss Graham, put his band on
her shoulder, and, pointing in the invariable
direction, said:
"She's done it. She was bound to do it,
and she's done it."
I have no clear idea to this day who "she"
was, or what she was bound to do, or what
would have happened to her, or to you, or
to me, if she had not done it.
My Gold Watch
HT JOHN HAWLIN, POLICEMAN.
I nevere got sold, professionally, but once,
and that was by Bill Safton, the forger, pick
pocket, member of the London swell mob,
etc., etc. Ile was an adroit rogue, and at
the period of the transaction I am about to
narrate, I had more confidence in human
nature than I have been able to retain in a
long experience with knaves and rascals
since that time.
The signature of a prominent mercantile
firm had been affixed to a check for fourteen
hundred and fifty dollars and odd cents; the
latter item probably annexed to make it
look a regular business transaction.
The forgery was fortunately discovered a
few hours after the bank had paid the chock,
the teller having an after-suspicion that all
was not right. The check was placed in
my hands by amember of the firm, to whose
counting room I had been summoned. It
was not a very good imitation, and I won
dered that the teller bad not suspected the
mischief before. But the chance of catch
ing the rascal was excellent, for the paper
had been forged at their desk, and before
their own eyes.
"He was the most impudent scoundrel I
ever met," said Mr, Lowe. You see the
desk there?
It was 'a large double standing-desk.—
Upon the inner side was a writing table at
which Mr. Lowe usually sat.
"lie presented me a letter of introduction
from our London correspondent," continued
Mr. Lowe, "I gave him a cordial greeting,
and ho sat down by my side, andwe chatted
familiarly for a half an hour. ire then
asked mo several questions concerning var
ious locations in the city, and seemed very
particular in regard to the name of a firm
with whom he declared ho had business.—
Re rose from his chair and went to the desk
on the other side, and wrote down the direc
tions I gave him, as !supposed. Ourcheck
book was open upon the desk, and instead
of writing the directions, ho must have fill
ed out the check. The signature of the firm
was attached to several papers near him, so
that he bad a copytownte from. Still talk
ing to me he tore off what I now believe was
the check, and put it into his pocket."
"how do you know he did this?"
"Because I missed a check, and this just
fits where the lost one was torn out. The
number is all right."
"Will you let me see the check-book•?,
Mr. Lowe complied, and I carefully scruti
rhea the rare• On one of the checks I
$1,50 PER YEAR IN ADVANCE;I2,OO IF NOT IN ADVANCE.
have been made by the sharp corner of a
ring, worn upon the little finger. The mark
extended across the page, and having by
trial assured myself that it was made by
the person who had written the forged check,
I took my leave, after entering in my mem
orandum book a particular description of
the rogue.
I satisfied myself as to what manner he
must have held his pen to make so strong an
impression with the ring. The Land must
have been turned over to the right, and the
scratchy appearance of the writing confirm
ed my view.
It was now 4 o'clock in the afternoon.—
Knowing he must be a magnificent rascal, I
went directly to the Tremont House and ex
amined the register. To .ny satisfaction, I
found that sharp scratch-mark of the ring
upon the book. Taking the pen, I measured
the distance, in order to determine which
name had been written by him, and fixed
upon that of "G. Donaldson."
I inquired for the gentleman, and learn
ed that he was just starting for New York.
He was very much engaged, and the clerk
had orders to deny him to his friends. But
such a friend as I was could not be denied.
I went up to Isis room and knocked. Ile
came to the door himself, and Iwas satisfied
that he was the forger.
"You are my prisoner," I remarked, tak
inff the bracelets out of my pocket.
"Eh?" said he coolly, as lie stepped out of
the room, and closed the door behind him.
I again stated my business, and he laughed
in my face. I told him it was no use (and,
by the way, there is a sterotyped phrase for
such occasions.)
"Of course, havn't the pleasure
of knowing your name, sir."
"Rawlin."
"Of course, Mr. Rawlin, I will go with
you. But this is a serious charge, and my
character is worth more to me than the mer
chant's money is to him. I will go with you,
but excuse me while I tell my sister that
business will detain me another day in the
city."
"No you don't said I, grasping him by the
collar."
"'Pon my soul, you're uncommon suspi
cious. Yuu can see what a shock it would
be to my sister to hear of my arrest."
"I will enter with you?"
"And frighten the poor girl out of her
senses? I can explain it to her so that she
will not suspect the cause of my detention.
Poor thing, she is very nervous. The shock
would kill her. Of course I shall return in
a little time, when you are satisfied of your
mistake."
I refused to lose sight of him for an in
stant, but he appealed so earnestly to my
feelings to spare his sister, whose movements
I could hear in the room, that I began to
waver.
"You have made a mistake. Here, take
my watch; it is a. very valuable ono, given
me by a dear friend, and I would not part
with it for all the world. Take it, as security
for my return."
I took the watch and thrust it into my
pocket, for the passage was too dark for me
to examine it.
I was satisfied ho could not escape me,
and I permitted him to return to bis room.
Re closed the door after him. I placed my
ear to the key-hole, to Make assurance doubly
sure. I heard him speak in a low tone, but
the lady spoke loudly and in shrill tones.
The conversation continued for several
minutes, but the sister seemed to do the
whole of it. Ten minutes elapsed, as
should judge, and I couldstill hear the voice
of the lady, but I did not hear that of Mr.
Donaldson. I was alarmed and listened
closely. Again there were two voices, and
I was satisfied; but the rogue stopped so long
that I ventured to knock, even at the expense
of the sister's nerves.
"Where is Mr. Donaldson?" I asked, as
elle came to the door."
"In the chamber," replied she, pointing
to the door which communicated with the
sleeping room of th o suit. "Who are you?"
I made no reply, but rushed into the cham
ber. The bird had flown. The open win
dow revealed the manner of his escape. I
was chagrined beyond measure. Without
waiting to apologize to the lady, (in all pro
bability she was not his sister,) I ran to the
ProVidence depot, conjecturing, if he intend
ed to go to Now' York, this mould be the
nearest starting place.
On n.y may, wishing to know whether I
had time to reach the depot before the de-,
parture of the cars, I felt for my watch.—
Judge of my consternation when I discover
ed that it was gone. It was a very valua
ble one, and lest some one should wonder
that a policeman should carry suck a watch,
I may add that I took it for a debt a short
time before.
Then the watch the rascal had given me
occurred to my mind, and I pulled it out.—
It was my own watch! The rogue had pick
ed my pocket, while we were debating in the
dark passage, and had given it to me as
security for his appearance.
I was delighted to find it again, but when
I reached the station the cars had gone. I
obtained such information, however, as sat
isfied me that he had gone in the train. I
now turned my attention to the "sister."—
She left for New York the next day, and I
followed her, keeping out of sight, of course.
She proceeded to the Howard Hotel, where,
after watching and following her for three
claim. I v: 4O - the aid of the New
[WHOLE NUMBER, 1,455.
"Thank you for my watch!" said he, as I
put the bracelets on.
He was a fellow of infinite good 'humor,
and when, with the Governor's requisition
in my pocket, we took the cars together, I
found him a very agreeable traveling com
panion, through I dared not for an instant
take my eye from him. lle was Bill Safton,
well known to the New - York police, and the
lady was a female friend who assisted hint
in his occupation. Ile spent some years in
our State Prison, and the last I heard of him
he was at Sing-Sing.
The Beaurepaire Oak
But first, ere the sun is set, stay a few
minutes and look at the Beaurepaire oak,
while r tell you the little men knew about
it, not the thousandth part of what it could
have told, if trees could speak as well as
breathe.
The Baroness did not exaggerate. The
tree was somewhat older than even this
ancient family. There was a chain of family
documents, several of which related inci
dents in which this tree played a part.
The oldest of these manuscripts was writ
ten by a monk, a younger son of the houso
about five hundred years before our story.
This would not have helped us much; but,
luckily, the good monk was at the pains to
collect all the oral traditions about it that
had come down from a far more remote
antiquity, and, like a sensible man, arrested
and solidified them by the pen. lie had a
superstitious reverence for the tree; and
probably this, too, came down to him from
his ancestors, as it VMS certainly transmitted
by him to the chroniclers that succeeded
him.
The sum of all is this.
The first Baron of Beaurepaire had pitch
ed his tent under a fair oak that stoodprope
rivunt—near a brook. He afterwards built
a square towerhard by, and dugs moat that
inclosed:both tree and tower. and received
the waters of the brook aforesaid. These
particulars corresponded too exactly with
the present face of things and the intermedi
ate accounts, to leave a doubt that this was
the same tree.
In these earlier days, its size seems to
have been nothing remarkable, and this
proves it was still growing timber. But a
century and a half before the monk wrote,
it had become famous in all the district for
its girth; and in the monk's own day had
ceased to grow, but showed nit sign of de
cay. The mutilated arm I have mentioned
was once a long, sturdy bough, worn smooth
as velvet in one part from a curious cause;
it ran about as high above the ground as a
full-sized horse, and theknightsand squires
used to be forever vaulting upon it, the for
mer in armor; the monk when a boy, had
seen them do it a thousand times.
The heart of the tree began to go, and
then this heavybough creaked suspiciously.
In those days, they did not prop a sacred
bough with a line of iron posts, as now.
They solved the difficulty by cutting this
one off within six feet. of the trunk; two
centuries later, the tree being now nearly
hollow, a rude iron bracket was roughly
nailed into the stem, and, running out three
feet, supported the knight'sbougb, for so the
mutilated limb was still called,
What had not this tree seen since first it
came green and tender as the cabbage, above
the sod, and stood at the mercy of the first
hare or rabbit that should choose to cut
short its frail existence!
Since then eagles had perched on its crown,
nod wild boars fed, without fear of man,
upon its acorns. Troubadours bad Bungbe
neath it to lords and ladies seated around or
walking on the grass, and commending the
minstrel's tales of love by exchange of
amorous glances.
It had seen a Norman Duke conquer En
gland, and English Kings invade France,
and be crowned at Paris. It had seen a
woman put knights to the rout, and seen
God insulted and the warrior virgin burned
by envious Tricots, with the consent of the
curs she had defended and the curs she had
defeated.
Medi:era! sculptors had taken its leaves,
and, wisely trusting to nature, had adorned
many a church with those leaves cut in stone.
Why, in its old age it had seen the rise of
printing, and the first dawn of national civ
ilization iu Europe. It flourished and de
cayed in France, but it grew in Gaul. And
more remarkable still, though by all accounts
it is likely to see the world to an end, it was
a tree in ancient history; its old, age awaits
the millennium; its first youth belonged to
that great tract of time which includes the
birth of Christ, the building of Rome, and
the siege of Troy.
The tree had mingled in the fortunes of
the family. It had saved their lives and
taken their lives. One Lord of Bcaurepaire,
hotly pursued by his feudal enemies, made
for the tree, and hid himself, partly by a
great bough, partly by a thick screen of
leaves. The foe darted in, made surehohad
taken to the house, ransacked it, and gotin
to the cellar, whore, brgood luck,was store
of Malroisie; and so the oak and the vine
saved the quaking Baron.
Another Lord of Beaurepaire, besieged in
his castle, was shot dead on the ramparts
by a cross-bowman who had secreted him
self unobserved in this tree a littlebefore the
I dawn,
A young heir of Beaurepaire, climbing
for a raven's nest to the top of this tree,
whose crown was much loftier than now,
lost his ranting land fe/1, and died at