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SAXIIEL WRIGHT, Editor and. Proprietor,
tVGLUME XXXIII, NUMBER 33.3
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:That Which we Have Seen with Oar
Eyes of the Word of7life
DE OWEN MEREDITII
If Jesus came to earth again,
And walked and talked in field and street,
Who would not lay his human pain
.Low at those heavenly feet?
,4ncl leave the loom, and leave the lute,
Aud leave the volume on the shelf,
To follow him, uncnuioning, mute,
If , twere the Lord himself?
{low many a brow with care o'erworn,
aow many a heart with grief o'erlailen,
now many a man with woe forlorn,
How many a moorn.nr, maiden,
Wonld leave the batlllina, earthly prize.
Which fails the earthly weak endeavor,
To gaze Into those holy eyes,
And drink content forever?
His sheep along the cool, the sltade,
Hy the still watercourse he feuds;
His lambs upon his breast are luid,
His hungry ones he feeds.
And 1, where'er he went would go,
Nor que=Uou where the path tuittht lead,
Enough to know,' tildt here below,
1 walked with God indeed:
If this be thus, 0 Lord of mine,
In abscpce is thy love forgot?
mu st I, when I walk, repine,
Became I sce thee not?
If ibis be aim, if this he thus,
Since our poor prayer. , yet retwlt t ice. I. wit,
Slime we are weal:, once lucre to u.
Reveal ilie living woril!
ph: nearer to me, in the dark
Of lire's low hours, one moment slum!
And give me keener eyes to in irk
To moving of my hood.
Says Private Maguire
=I
" 1 0e1.: it k nate to be eLint.in or colonel,
Dwil a hit would I want to lie higher,
a to ru-t us 1). private I think's nu infernal
Predicament tardy." say, Private Alagatre
•r They con go eparliing' and plat a' a:
IVith money to vend fur their •iliglitest
Lou Ste, annual', nod &akin' ut %Villnrd's
Whale were on the pickets," says Privnic Maguire
"'Livid' ill clover, they think it's a trifle
To sttuid all night in the rain and the mire,
And a rebel hard by with a villainous rifle
Just ready to pop ye." say s Private Maguire
"Faith, now, It not that P.n ntther complainin ,
I'm spill& to meet ye,Jeff :awls Esquire!
To blas-gard!—it's only weary of
And tbraiiiin', and tbrainitt'," sacs Inot ate Maguire
'0 Lord. for a. row:—but Maguire be uisy,
Keep yourself sweet fur the merny's fire,
AleCellours the saplia* that oolartly add plaza ye,
Be the holy St. Patrick" rays P.ivaia Maguire
'•dnJ, lord, it ye're hit (0, bedad, that 'eternal
Jimmy O'llowd would tnalre up to 31a.rial)
'Whether 3 c're eaptatii or mayor Cr eoloucl
Yell die with the 'heal" may., Private Mugu
gslutbaito,
How Ned Smith won his liedal.
Sow doze!' years ago, before the rail
waye uow throbbing like arteries through
the laud were in existence, I went with two
friends to lodge in Cornwall. The place
was the most retired I ever saw. Far re
moved from the cross-country road, and only
reached by venturing over a track—for it
could not even be called a path—winding
along the edges of cliffs often two or three
hundred feet above the beach, it was a place
to delight all whose good fortune had car
lied them within eight of it.
The southernmost end of the bay closed
in a steep slope of living green, caused by a
landslip, in which the turf had slid down
likto a veil to hide the ruin it left behind, of
which nothing was seen from the beach but
a back-ground of towering rocks. Like
x4ate old Norman castle, we fancied them
still resisting step by step the advance of
decay. It' was near this southern point
that the traces of former lawless doings were
atil to be seen. A small hole, apparently
only' a fox-den, led into a cave where a
thousand kegs of French brandy bad often
been stored in a single night.
We were anxious to learn whether the
tales heard of Cornish wreckers were true,
and it was some questioning on this #ubject
which drew from the old miller the follow
ing story:
"I can't say I never hoerd of such things,
but I never seed no ouch doings myself. I
have lived here, man and boy,iliese seventy
years." he said; "many and many's the
night we've been watching on these bleak
cliffs for a chance to help the poor creatures
as had.only a frail plank between them and
death. Scores of lives I've seen saved, but
never one took; no, not even of a brute
beast that came to shore from all the multi
tude of !reeks I've seen. I'm not going to
say that when the ships, poor things, are
Alhbroken up and the timbers come ashore
—l'm not clear to say there is not some
small matter as never gets reported to the
king's men. Little I blame them that took
it, for, as the Lord's above us, I believe it
is more the fault of those that keep back the
honest dues for ate salvage.
$1 SO
remember, in the time that •barwood"
(arid lie pointed to some pretty things made
by his son, of the bright-colored logwood)
"was coming in, there were those as worked
night and day, landing it, and after all their
labor they wanted to pay them off with just
a quarter of what was their right money.—
' So if they who are so well off try to cheat
like that, I'd ask your honors if it is not
setting an example to,theyoorf
"There's tied Smeeth, now—he haszat
that fine medal from that grand place up to
London—l'm sure he is as tender•,beurted as
a child, but you'll never make him believe
there is any sin in taking a stray baulk or
or two the tide brings in, and nobody owns;
while, after he'd been working for a whole
week, they wanted to pay him with a little
more than nothio,l% That's what I call steal
ing!
is 38
75
"But my old head is forgetting the story.
Well, well, you must please to excuse it. It
does make my blood boil to hear such falsi
ties.
"'Twos seven years last November—l
mind it well—me and Ned was standing as
your honor and me is now, by my old hut
hero. It had been a bitter night of weather,
and was still so dark we could not see even
the clowds of foam that kept flying in our
faces. I'd just put the mill a going with
some barley, and was minded to lie down
for, nap (for you see I always wake when
the corn's down, and so don't trouble about
the mill,) when I thought I heard a gun. I
could nut make sure, fur the wind was lash
ing the waves mountains )2tigh, and the rake
of the beach was most enough to stun a
body. Says Ito Ned, 'Ned, you're a more
spray man than me, just take a look out to
sea.' Well, he'd not gone but a step or two
when the report came again, full and true,
and even my old eyes could see the tla•di.
stepped up and turned off the water, and
Ned and me went and called up the neigh
bors. I sent a boy on horseback to Trebar
foot to bring more help; and getting the
ropes and things we should want if any
'thing could be done for the poor creatures
on board the distresseti ship, we went to the
Point we thought she would strike on, We
had no help from our eye 4. hat were guided
by our knowledge of the wind and tide.
•,, t might be about five, .pr between that
and six o'clock, when we got to Saltstone.
We could not stand against the wind, but
were obliged to lie down on the edge of the
cliff to try to discover the vessel. It seemed
a whole night, though I suppose it could not
be more than'an hour, before we could see
or hear anything more than the flash of the
gun and the roar of the wind and waves.—
After a bit we touched hands, and went
back to a more sheltered Id. to to talk over
what was best to be dune. Sono were for
lighting a fire to try to guide them into
Widemouth's Sand-bay. but I knew 'twos
no use, for I was sure the vessel had not a
rag of canvas standing to help her helm,
even if the helm itself was still serviceable,
and so she could never make a reach to
clear Dead Man's Corner, and might mi.s
the only chance of running into deep quiet
water near the Cupboard Rock.
"All at once, while we were doubting
what to do, we heard a crash and cry, such
as only a stranded ship and the perishing
souls on board of her can make. Alm! you
talk of Cornish wreckers—but there wag wet
eyes among us then. and men's hearts that
never knew fear flattered like leaves on the
lime-tree.
"We stood right above where the vessel
struck. Sheer up the beach—we measured
it afterwards—two hundred and fourteen
feet. A mouse could not have found foot
ing down that cliff, and as it was within an
hour of high water, no help could come to
them poor souls but by letting some one
down from the place we stood on.
"The dim light of morning just enabled
us to see each other, and the white line of
the shore waves. Some thought they could
see . the wreck. I cannot tell if it was so.
For certain we could hear now, fainter and
fainter, the cry of mortal man.
"'I can't 'stand this no longer,' says Ned,
at last, 'I can't stand here in health and
strength, with my two hands idle, while
they, poor creatures, are beaten to death
against the very rocks we stand on. Bear
a hand here—l'll go down this place.'
"We stood like men blind and deaf for a
minute, and then all triod to persuade him
out of it, Cur we thought it was certain
death. The rope most likely would be cut
through fraying over the cliff, or the wind
might dash him with fatal force against the
rocks. But nothing would stop him: ho
knotted the rope round his west, and taking
a short gaff in his hand, stood ready to slip
off. lie turned a moment, and says he:
"'Give my love to Mary and her children,
and if I never see them more, don't lot them
come to the parish.'
"Ho shook hands all round, and then
stepped off, and in moment he was hang
leg all his weight on the rope we held.
"'For God's sake, lower away!" he cried,
'I see them!'
••We saw there, too, for God rent the
black clouds, and looked through to see that
noble deed. In the east there was a rpace
of blue sky, through which a strewn of light
fell on the scene before us. An awful
"NO ENTERTAINMENTLS SO CIIEAP AS .READING, NOR ANY PLEASURE SO LASTING."
COLUMBIA, PENNSYLVANIA, SATURDAY MORNING, MARGIN 15, 1862.
scene it was! The ship was broken to pieces.
and with every turn of the waves her tim
bers tossed and worrelled, and among them
were the sailors. Some past help forever,
and two or three still stri, log hard for life.
— Just as Ned touched the beach one man
was swept out flout the narrow ledge they
were trying to hold on to, with every third
or fourth wave breaking over them. The
man Nei camelo wasjust such another for
heighth and strength as himself, and we
held our breath with terror, when we saw
by his actions that he was (a. i- ~ften the
case) driven mad by his danger, and wa
strueding with the only man who could
save him.
"For full fiveminutes they wrestled togeth
er. Sometimes we thought of pulling Ned
up, and so making sure of him; 'twas a hard
choice between that poor demented stranger
and Ned's young wife and three little chil
dren. But then the water left them once
more, and we saw Ned hail him down with
his knee on his chest, and we knew if the
tido gave him time he was his master. So
it proved. lie whipped a coil or two of
rope round his arms, and catching him tight
to him with his left, gay.e the signal to haul
away.
"They had barely left the rock—for we
pulled easy at first—when the whole keelson
of the vessel was thrown against the place
they had stood on. We had them in our
lift, however, and if the weight had been
twice as much it would have come 40 grass
if the rores held.
"We were all too busy drawing them ap4o'
look to see what happened on the way,. I
hold it ns Bible truth that there's scarce
another man but Ned would have brought
that sailor up. He had, as 1 have said, one
arm round him, and, with the other, warded
himself from the sharp face of the cliff, but
he had some grievous bruises for all his
courage and strength.
"When the man found himself lifted up
in that strange way, he got more raving
than ever, and finding he could not use his
hands, he fixed his teeth in Ned's cheek till
they met. For all the pain and danger,
Ned held on. I shall never forget to my
last hour what I felt as we drew Hum in
over the cliff, and knew they were safe.
"Poor Ned! we laid him in a sheltered
place, and would have put the stranger with
his, but we soon found he was to wild to he
trusted free, so we bound him for his own
safety.
"In a few minutes after they were landed
Ned's wife came. We had sent a boy for
sonic spirits and things, and he, youngster
like, told what No I was about. None that
was there will ever forget that fair young
thing as she fell on her knees by her hus
band's side and swooned away with her
head upon his breast.
"Ah, the man mar had just braved such
danger wept 'like a child as be smoothed
the golden hair of Ills wife.
"As weak as a child he was, too, from
loss of blush. Well, other women came
soon after and bound up their hurt., and
we got a cart and br.m 4 ht them to my house.
"Eleven teen arid three boys were the
crew of the Hesperus, as the ship was called.
and only that one man saved. He lay for
days—very quiet at last—and scarcely spoke
a word. What he did say was about his
mother and the name or some young woman.
When we stripped him —by the doctor's
orders—we found a little packet hung round
his neck by a black riband, and us it was
wet with the salt water we took it away to
dry. My wife, who tended him more than
the rest, said he seemed to keep groping for
something in his bosom, so she put it back
round hi. neck again, and when he found
it there all right, he never strove to rise
and call out as he did before. It is not fur
me to say, but my old woman always con
sidered
that packet to hold seine true lore
token. She often said she wished she knew,
fur she thought how glad his mother and
sweetheart would be to know he was alive,
"Well, he went on in that strange way
nigh on three weeks, and we did not know
so much as the name of the sick man. Just
as Ned was going about all well, we thought
the sight of him might bring the stranger to
his recollections. So Ned went and sat by
the bedside till he woke. It was getting
near Christmas, and we wanted the poor
man to be well enough to enjoy the time
with us. When he opened his eyes Ned
held out his hand, and says he:
"'Give you joy, comrade. Ab, I see
you'll bo more than a match for me next
turn we have, particularly when 'tis grass
we stand on.'
"With that the tears came into the poor
dim eyes, and catching Ned's band, be said:
"'I remember now. Were none Bayed
but me?'
"Ned was fearful to tell the truth, in case
it might make him worse, so he just laugh
ed and said:
"'You've been so long sleeping off the
effects of your wetting, that they're all gone
and left you. But 'de dine WO knowed
your name, stranger, if it please you to tell.'
" 'Gascoigne,' ho said—'Richard Gas
coigne. Has no one written to my mother?'
• 'How should we,' says Ned, 'when we
did not know where she lived?'
"With that he got up to come away, for
he was afraid if he stayed he'd tell himself
out about his shipmates, only three of whose
bodies we ever found.
He'd just pow) the door when the pour mnn
wanted him t., came back, but before he
could turn about the parson came into the
roam, and Ned gut away.
••\Ve never knew the particulars for cer
tain, but [Limeys believe to this day that the
young man was no common
“The par on used to come and sit with
hint for hours together, and a fine lot of
letters they wrote between them. But we
were never the wi-er for any scholarship
doings but in one thing. and that won't be
forgot round here fur many's the lung day.
`The Christmas day we were all standing
about time church dour, shaking hands and
wishing emelt .dher a merry Chistmas and a
happy New Ye u•, when the little mrate that
tr,ma tim.ll.,mm- outage lawn into the church-
and a lady came among
Us, sa beautiful dresze I and so beautiful
herself that ..cc all st.,Kie.l. ialking to look
her.
"I am before my story, though, for I
should have told \ ol that the stranger had
go :c to the par,,nagr; a, soon to; he could
be moved
the lady came right forward into
the nied.t of the crowd, and said:
•••IVbieit of all you brave, kind men is
Edward Sumeth?'
"Ned was just behind me, and seemed
ready to slink away, but I pushed him afore,
and says I:
"'lt it please your ladyship, that's him."
"Well, Ned knowed manners too well to
run away, so there ho stood, blushing like
a girl.
"The lady took his hand, and seemed
going to make a speech; but she had only
just begun her thanks when her heart rose
in her throat, and tears stood in•her eyes.
and ehe only said 'God bless you.' and put
,a little box and purse into Ned's hand, and
then kissed dl.is great rough hand as though
it had been a baby's face. Ned seemed
struck all of a heap. lle looked at the things
she had given him, anti turned his band as
if he expected to see a mark where her
beautiful lips had touched.
':Well, as the lady could not speak for
herself, the parson up and told us all the
sense of it. flow there was a grand place
up to London, with a many grand people
that subscribed among them to reward them
that saved life.
"'And proud,' says the parson, 'proud
I am that such a token has come into my
pariah.'
"Ile said many kind and good words, and
then told Ned to open the little box and
show what was in it. There, sure enough,
was a beautiful medal, with Ned's name,
and the name of the man he saved, and
some Latin words, which the parson said
was that we should never give up trying to
save life, for perhaps a little spark of hope
might remain, though all seemed gone.
"Ab! hero comes Ned; he'll be proud to
show your honors the medal."
So we walked to Ned's cottage hard by,
and were delighted to find that, though
seven long years had past—years that bad
robbed him of his fair young wife, and laid
her with her now-born babe in an early tomb
—his dark eyes would brighten and his fine
form look tiler as he exhibited that well
earned medal from the Royal Humane
Society.
The Ruby Ring.
Dan Ramon Mendez, ex-colonel of a de
funct Carlist Regiment, resided in Coventry
street, in the Ravmarket, and sunned him
self daily in that haunt of refugees, from
Paris or Tint ~ called Leicester Square.
That is t.,) say, :11‹...1m sunned himself on
such days as the .uu was visible in that
horrid northern island, where the fogs and
the smoke of coal obscure the bri4ht lumi
nary any three hundred days out of the
three hundred and sixty-five; nt other times
this Spanish grandee was content to puce
the pavement without the Apollonian beams,
albeit he sighed as he thought of bright and
merry Madrid. Don Ramon was a very
great person, please to understand; some of
the biuest blood of Spain's proud chivalry
circulated about his vital parts; and the
quarterings of his family shield reached
sixty-four—all fairly told. In his youthful
days, under the skies of sunny Spain, and
amid the splendors of the court of King Fer
dinand, D m Ramon was a very gay fellow,
indeed. But alas! evil times fell upon the
land! King Feed:oand died: just pre
vious to tun death he committed what
amounted (in the eyes of Don Ramon and
all other sensible persons) to a must extra
ordinary piece of hilly. In a stupid fit of
paternal ad'ection, be actually repealed the
Salic law, and bequeathed ,the crown to his
daughter, Isabella, instead of letting it slide
to his brother Carlos. Who could stand
such a monstrous piece of injustice as that,
I should like to know? Certainly not ant
Carlos himself; and certainly not the friends
of Don Carlos, among whom ranked the
grandee, Ramon Mendez. Then came the
sin of civil war. A crown is worth fighting
for, let me tell you. And as Don Carlos
loved absolutism, or out-and-out regality,
while Isabella, poor infant, was understood
to be in favor of constitutionalism, (though
it was well known that she loved sweet
meats, candy, and such wares too well to
trouble her head about affairs of State,) un
happily, Spain was, henceforth, divided
into two factions, one of which was face
-1 tiously called ''Liberals."
Well, Don Carlos, and Zuirnacarregui, and
Don Ramon, and all the rest of them, fought
and fought, and all their fighting never
brought the crown an inch nearer to their
fingers. That —, (here you may insert
any Spanish expletive you may happen to
prefer,) the widow Christina, bad luck on
her side, and was able to place her daugh
ter, the constitutional dsubella, safely upon
the throne.
Then followed the usual proscriptions and
espatriations
Don Ramon and many another -represen
tative of the '•blue blood" were compelled
to quit the glorious land of their birth, and,
by a malicious stroke of destiny, actually to
take refuge amid the savage islanders who
had helped to ruin their cause. Well, the
frowns of fortune must be met with the
shrug -& indifference, if nut with the smile
of content. Dun. Ramon settled down qui
etly in a two-pair back in Coventry street,
where he ate his olla and smoked his cigar
ettes, read Lane and Cervantes, and was as
happy as a disappointed man can be.
One day, however, am Ramon met with
a misfortune—a very heavy misfortune, in
deed. lie lost a ruby riag of great value;
Ina its intrinsic worth was a trifle compared
with the worth it derived from- the fact of
its being a present from the illustrious Dou
Carlos himself.
"I vould not lose it for fifty thousand
reale," he screamed to Mrs. Badger, his
landlady, as that bewildered female stood at
the staircase, anxiously listening to his pas
sionate recital of the loss of the royal gem.
"Ze king, (he always styled him king,) an
king Carlos, himself, he give it me. Ile
take it from his fingare; ho place it in my
hand; he say, 'Zero, take zat, for my great
love at you.' Oh! my ring, my ring! Vere
can be my ring?'
"I hope you don't think I've got it," said
Mrs. Badger.
"My goot voman, I not blame you! I not
blame nobody! I not know one person in
all ze world vat salt take itl All I know, it
gone!" said Don Ramon, with a groan.
"When did you see it lust?" said Mrs.
Badger.
. "Zare on ze dressing-table, yen I go out
yesterday to Leicester Square. I not see
him since."
"It was very careless to leave a valuable
ring about like that," said Mrs. Badger.
"Vy, voman, vy?" cried the Spaniard.—
"Is not zis my apartment? Sall I not lock
ze tings all safe when I go out? Perdition!"
"Well, I'll send for a detective," said
Mrs. Badger. "That is the only way to
settle ,the business!"
Mr. Figgins, the detective, was a thin,
little man, with steely-looking hair, like
that of a Scotch terrier. His dim, gray
eyes, without pretending to be very pene
trative, nevertheless took the moral measure
of a party with sufficient accuracy. Ile was
wise enough to say but very little; and his
economy in the use of words was such that
he never answered a question.
Oa entering Mrs. Badger's, Mr. Figgins
threw himself into a chair, and brushing up
tht shock of steel wire over his forehead,
cast a few furtive glances upon the group
before him—which, indeed, comprised Dail
Ramon, Mrs. Bidger, and Susan, the ser
vant. Then, taking out a note-book, he be
gan to make a few memoranda. .
"Ring lo=t, eli?" said
"Yes," said Mrs. Badger, "an elogant
ring—gold and rubies—worth no end of
money!"
"Fifty thousand real!" cried Dot. Ramon.
Mr. Figgins inquired how, when and
where it was last seen—to all of which in
quiries Dun Ramon answered with eager
anxiety.
"Show me the room," said Mr. Figgins
It was dune.
"Show me all over the house."
That was done, too.
As Mr. Figgins went from room to room
he made particular inquiries regarding each
individual who occupied the chambers. As
fur as one could glean anything from the
manner of this man of wiro. his inquiries
dil not result to his satisfaction.
As he was coming down the staircase
again, he suddenly caught Susan by the
arm, and said:
"Any followers?"
The girl flared up in a succession of
blushes, and said:
"Oh, good 'evens, 'ow ever could you think
of such a thing?"
"Um!" said he, turning to Mrs. Badger.
"Nu, sir," said the lady; "I don't think
there's anything of that kind going on—
leastways, not with my consent, it ain't. I
told her, when she took the place, that I
couldn't allow any sweethearting here. We
have plenty of work to do, without thinking
of nonsense of that kind."
"Unol" said Mr. Figgins.
And making a few more inquiries, and
taking a few more notes he quitted the house,
leaving them all wonderfully impressed
with hie talent—he said so little.
"That girl is at the bottom-of it, I guess,"
said Mr. Figgins to himself, as be mounted
the three-penny omnibus to reach Scotland
Yard. "That is to say, I don't think she is
guilty of stealing the ring, but she has got
into a mess with somebody who did it. I
could read her pretty plainly. However,
we shall see."
Aud descending from the vehicle, be went
to his private room, in the detective's head
quarters, and began to arrange his plans for
the discovery of the ruby ring.
Poor Susan! She kept up courage as long
as she could; but as soon as she reached the
miserable den below she threw herself into
a chair and wept bitterly. Then she arose,
and taking a dirty scrap of paper, scrawled
the following words:
"D , n't come here never henny more. You
her-done it.
$1,50 PER YEAR IN ADVANCE; $2,00 EF NOT IN ADVANCE
And having hastily enclosed this-scrap in
an envelope, she slipped out unnoticed, (us .
she thought,) and posted it in the nearest
letter-box.
A week passed by. Nothing was heard
of the ring or the detective. Dan Ramon
began to curse British institutions as be
had never cursed them before, which is go
ing very far indeed. Cervantes had no
longer a charm for him; Don Quixote
might have fought a whole regiment of wind
mills, and won no smile from his passionate
lips. The tricks and quips of all the witty
Graciosos in Lope were stale and stupid to
this Spanish grandee bewailing the loss of
a royal gem. Ile trod Leicester Square in
bewilderment, and actually so far forgot
himself as to raise his hat to the Spanish
ambassador, the representative of that hated
constitutional infant, Isabella.
It was a dull and drizzly evening. A
combination of fogs had settled over unhap
py London, like a thrice ebonized pall of
gloom. The street lamps etreggled in vain
to cast cheering rays through the mournful
mist, and sickening in wasted energy, paled
into hopeless despair. Pedestrians in the
street loomed up against you like ghouls,
and then bounced against you like battering
rams. Your sides ached with reiterated
blows; and there was a new marvel in phre
nology— the development of bumps of con
cussiveness. The vehicles wore the awful
aspect of moving mausoleums, dark and
grim in funeral majesty. Up from \West
minster bridge rolled a great column of flu
vial vapor, which settling down over White
hall and the Horse Guards, threatened to
blot them out of existence. Scotland Yard
had faded from the memories of men.
Nol not exactly, since two or three shrewd
fellows just then drove up in so many cabs,
and threading their way to the great Temple
of Detection, reached the ante-room of Mr.
Figgins.
There was a rap nt his door.
"Como in, Mike," said Mr. Figgins, as
Mike's head peered round the door. It was
a snug, cheery little apartment that Mr.
Figgins occupied—carpeted, curtained, bril
liantly lighted with gas, and nicely warmed.
Mr. Figgins sat at a large writing-table,
above which rose tier upon tier of pigeon
holes, full of papers and memoranda. "Come
in, Mike," said he.
And Mike entered, and took a chair be
side him.
"Now, about this business," said Mr.
Figgins, opening a small portfolio of papers
which referred to the case under considera
tion, "Yon have been tracing the different
rings. When did he get the two imita
tion,?"
"On the night he stole the ring."
"How do you know he stole it?" interrupt
ed Mr. Figgins.
"Well, well," said Mike, with a smile, "I
think it a pretty clear case, sir. On the
night he had possession of the ring, he went
to Zachariah's, in the Minories, and made
them turn over their stock until be discov
ered two exactly resembling those the Span
ish gentleman lost."
"Urn! deep fellow," said Mr. Figgins.—
"Did ho say anything there?"
"Ile remarked to the shopman that his
ruby was lost, arid that as it was known
among his friends that he possessed a really
good ring, the wearing of an imitation would
answer every purpose,"
"Go on," said Mr. Pigging.
"The next day he went to Rise, the pawn
broker's in Oxford street, and asked for a
loan of fifty pounds on the real ruby. Rose
offered thirty. The party was dissatisfied,
and went away; but by nn I by ho returned
and obtained thirty !wands on ono of the
paste rings, as Rise did not examine it very
carefully."
"Capital!" said Mr. Figgins, rubbing Iris
hands. "To think that Rose should be taken
in by such a scheme!"
"After this he went to Buckby, the pawn
broker in Covent Garden, rind uLtained
twenty-five pounds by a similar method.—
Si he passed off two rings worth certainly
not more than five shillings fur fifty-five
pounds.
Mr. Figgins, cold and reserved as were
his usual habits, could not refrain from in
dulging in a hearty peal of laughter at the
success of the "party's" ingenious trick.
•What has become of the original ring?"
said he.
"I can trace nothing further at present,"
said Mike.
"That will do, then. Send in Hearn,
if ho has returned."
Hearn accordingly made his appearance.
"Come here," said Mr. Figgins. "Have
you discovered anything about the abstrac
tion of the ring?"
"Yes."
"What is the party's name?"
"Oh, ho has fifty different aliases." said
!learn, "but his real name is Robert Smith."
"What profession?"
"lie has been a clerk, a carpenter, and a
ticket porter on the railway. But for the
last twelve months he has been living on his
wits." .
"Ha, hal Preyed on society," said Mr.
Figgine. "How did it all happen with the
girl?"
"He formed her acquaintance at Green
wich, three months ago, and has hung about
after her ever since. She does not suspect
his real character. Ile promised to marry
her when ho could get work: but that never
seemed likely to happen. The day the ring
was stolen be slipped down the area and
asked for some food, as he had nothing to
eat. Mrs. Badger was out, so the ;hi pre
[WHOLE NUMBER. 1,647
him refreshment, and then ran to got Immo
some ale for him. While she was gone, im
slipped up stairs, opened the Spaniard's
door with a false key, and took the ring."
"There is no end of the troubles caused
by these foolish servant girls," said Mr. Fig
gins. "Is that all you know?"
"That is all."
"Ne tidings of the stolen ring?"
"No!,
"That will do.. Send in Mannering t
soon as he arrives."
And Mr. Piggins resumed The occupatitn
upon which he was engaged previous to tLe
visits of these satellites.
Presently there was a rap at the door, and
Mannering entered.
'•lLive you traced him?" said Mr. Figgins
with a slight show of eagerness.
"Yes."
"Where is he?"
"lie took a ticket at the Bricklayers' Aline
Station at ten o'clock this morning. He
arrived at Dover at half past one. Ha was
apprehended at three."
"Good!" said Mr. Figgins. "Where is
the ring?"
•'[[e sold it at Dover for twenty pounds."
"By Jove" said the detective.
"Yet. lie went to the Lard Warden
lintel to wait till the French packet started,
and he gave his address as Sir Robert Smith."
"Are they coming up with him?"
"Yes," said Mannering; "they telepraph
ed to say they would be hero to-night. The
train arrives at the Bricklayers Arms Sta
tion at nine. I guess they will be here in
ten minutes."
And at that moment a trampling of Rat
was heard in the ante-room and presently
the door opened, and in walked the super
intendent of the Dover police.
Then came the usual congratulations and
civilities between the two officials, and thea
"Sir Robert Smith" was transferred to two
of Mr. Figgins' officials, and within half nn
hour lie found himself on the safe but un
pleasant side of the walls of a police station.
I have but little more to add to this narra
tive. Don Ramon received his royal gem
with demonstrations of delight, and was
careful to keep it out the of the way of pick
ers and stealers forever afterward. "Sir
Robert Smith" was sentenced to four years,
penal servitude. Susan learned wisdom,
and vowed never to to take a "follower"
again unless he came well recommended.
And Mr. Figgins rejoiced at his own wonder
ful shrewdness in tracing the felon.—
"Another conviction, Mr. Figgine," said
the worthy man to himself; "another con
viction, and you unravelled the cnse moat
elegantly." •
A Practical Camp Joke
GEN. NELSON AND THE MULE-DRIVER
An army correspondent of one of the Cila
cinnati papers says:
Our boys are furious for practical jokes,
and are constantly on the look-out for sub
jects. One was recently procured in the per
son of a new teamster, who had just taken
charge of six large, shaggy mules. John
was also proprietor of two large bottles of
old Bourbon—a contraband in camp—which
a wag discovered and resolved to possess.--
I3eing aware that the driver's presence was
an impediment to the theft, he hit upon the
following plan to got rid of him:
Approaching the driver, who was busy
currying hip mules, he accosted him with—
"l say, old fellow, what are you doing
there?"
"Can't you see?" replied John, gruffly.
"Certainly," responded the wag, "but that
is not your business. It is after tattoo, and
there is a fellow hired hero by the General,
who curries all the mules and horses brought
in after tattoo."
The mule-driver "bit," at once, and wan
ted to know where the "hair-dresser" kept
himself. Whereupon ho was directed to
Gon. Nelson's tent, with the assurance that
there was where the fellow "hung out."
"You can't mistake the man," said the
wag; "he is a large fellow, and puts on a
thundering sight of airs for a man in his
business. lle will probably refuse to do it,
and tell you to 'go to the derili' but don't
mind that; he has been drinking to-day.—
, Make him come out sure!"
John posted right off and entering the
tent where our Napoleon of the Fourth Divi
sion sat in deep reverie, probably consider
ing the roost expeditious method of expelling
the rebel Buckner from his native State,
slapped him on the back with force sufficient
to annihilate a man or ordinary size. Spring.
ing to his feet, the General accosted his un
invited guest with—" Well. sir, who arc you;
and what the devil do you want?"
"Old hose, I've got a job for you now—
six mules to he curried, and right off, too,"
said the captain of the mules, nothing daun
ted by the flashing eye of the indignant
General.
"Do you know who you are adiressine"
asked Nelson.
"Yes;" said John, elevating his voice to &
pitch which rendered the words audible a
square oft', "you are the fellow hired by Un
cle Sam to clean mules, and I won't have
any foolishness. Clean them mules. and
I'll give you a drink of busthead!"
"You infernal villain!" exclaimed tbo
General, now perfectly furious, "I am Gen
eral Nelson, the commander of this Divi
sion!" .
:ohs' placed the thumb of his right hand
against his nose, and . extending - his tigers,
waved them slowly in a manner supposed
by some to be indicative of great wisdom.,
The General's sword leaped from its scab•
bard, and John from the tent just iq time to
save his head!
Our boys drank "tbe big inule-drii-ere ° ;"
health in the Bouriwm. • The story woo got
oat. and is elm the jAce pi the keasan..
•;