e , 4raneaster. NuttMeaux,
I'trIILISTEII73 MET WEDNESDAY BY
H. Q. SMITH dr, CO.
H. G. SMITH. A. J. STEINMAN
TERMS—Two Dollars per annum, payable
all cases in advance.
uFFlOE—SouTawmar CORNER OF CENTRE
SQUARE.
- •
Jigy-All letters on business should be ad.
dressed to H. G. Satyrs & Co.
gliguantono.
Thomas Griffiths Walnewrlght (Janus
Weathercock), the Poisoner.
BY CHARLES DICKENS
One of those pleasant winter evenings
when fires burn frosty blue, and hearts
grow warmer as the weather grows
colder. It is an evening soon after the
ascent to the throne of his Most Graci
ous Majesty King George the Fourth.
A pleasant, merry, and highly lute',
lectual party are dining at the house of
the publishers of that clever periodical,
the London Magazine, in Waterloo
Place, to celebrate the new proprietor
ship. The cloth has been removed, the
glasses sparkle in the light of the wax
candles, the wine glows ruby and topaz
in the fast-revolving decanters, the
.organges gleam golden, the crystallized
fruits glitter with jewelled frost, the
chestnuts, tight in their leather jackets,
are hoarding their warm floury meal
for the palates of poets and thinkers,
puns are flashed in the air like fire
works, smart sayings are darting past
like dragon-flies, even the gravest faces
glow and brighten. A ringof brilliants
the party resembles, for there is no one
round the well spread table but has a
name in the world of letters or in the
world of fashion. There is Charles
Lamb, now busy with his Elia, the
finest essays ever written ; a little grave
man in black, but with the face of a
genius ; Hazlitt is glorying In a Titian,
upon which he is expatiating; Thomas
Hood, with a face like that of an In
valid Plato, is watching for a pun like a
ily-lisher waiting for his cast. 'The Bev.
I I. Cary (the translator of Dante), the
mildest and gentlest of men, hi explain
ing a passage of the Inferno to that fine,
vigorous Scotch poet, Allan Cunning
ham, the sculptor. Mr. Procter (Barry
-Cornwall), in his own kind, cheery
way, is defending a line passage in Ben
JOLISOLI from the volatile flippancy of
the art-critic and gay dilettante of the
inagazine,—to wit, Janus Weathercock,
otherwise Thomas Griffiths Waine
wright.
Ile is a fop and a dandy, but is clever,
has a relined taste, aud is the kindliest
and most light-hearted creature in the
world. He has run through one fortune,
has been in some dragoon , regiment,
and no doubt distinguished himself
against the French—if he ever met
them. He is ou the wrong side of thirty,
and records his military career by that
exquisitely blue undress military coat
liq wears, all braided and befrogged
.down the front. His cravat is tied to a
nicety. His manner most gallant, in
sinuating, and winning. His face, how
ever Is by no means that of the mere
dandy. His head is Massive, and widens
at the buck. His eyes are deeply set In
:their orbits. His jaw is square and solid.
He seldom looks Lilt, person he talks to
full In tile face. 1-le has his hair curled
every morning (a stray ringlet or so left
free) tind slightly stoops. His expres
sion is at once repelling and fascinating.
Ile Is übiquitous. Cu to the Park,
and you observe 111111 In Ills pleeton,
leaning out with his cruum-colored
gloves and his large turned-down wrist
bands conspicuous over thesplashboard.
Go to old Lady Fitzrattle's ball the
same evening, and you will see the fas
cinating creature with the belle of the
evening, gracefully revolving in the
waltz. I n the club library he is con
spicuous ; at the supper-party he is the
merriest and the gayest. He has for
tunately left us portraits of himself both
at the coffee-house and at home.
Let us see the charming man at nine
o'clock on a November evening,.lB22.
The diners at George's Coffeehouse, 213
Strand, then the great resort of Kentish
lawyers and men from the Temple, are
all gone but three,—two young .barris
term in the last box but one from the fire,
and next to them a fashionably dressed
man with the exquisite cravat, the
square jaw, and the deep-set eyes, that
we at once recognize. George's was
famous for its soups and wines, and Mr.
Walnewrigbt has dined luxuriously. A
bottle of the rarest wine he has sipped
away with supercilious pleasure. He
now holds to the candle, in an affected
manner, displaying carefully his white
jewelled lingers, a little glass of eau de
vie de Dautzig, and Is languidly watch
Ling the little flakes, or, , ts he would call
them, "aureate particles," float and
glimmeir in the oily and glutinous fluid
tike scales of gold-fish. The voices in
the next box catch his ear ; he listens.
The one Templar is reading to the other
with unction an article by Janus
Weathercock in the last London Maga-
ZinC.
" Soothed into that desirable sort of
self-satisfaction so necessary to the body
ing out of those deliciously voluptuous
ideas perfumed with languor which oc
casionally swim and undulate like gauzy
clouds over the brain of the most cold
blooded men, we put forth one hand to
the folio which leant against a chair by
the sofa-side, and at haphazard extract
ed thence Lancret's charming Repas :
' A Hummer party in the greenwood shade,
W ith wino prepared and cloth on herbage laid
And ladies' laughter coining through the air.
Rimini,
This completed the charm."
The gay writer listens with half-turn
ed head, gloating over every word, In
haling slowly the incense so delicious
to his vanity, taking care, however,
that the waiter Is not looking. Again
toey are talking about it.
First Voice: " How glowing ! how
exquisite! how recherche; how ele
gant! how full of the true West-end
manner ! A Ilne mind that young fel
low has. 0, he'll do."
Second Voice: " Don't like it. Flashy
assumption. Mere amateur stuff. By
the by, when does that case of Badger
versus Beaver come on, Jones? Isn't
to-day the 15th?''
"Low creature; debased nature,"
thinks Janus. " Upon my honor these
eolree-houses are getting mere haunts
for the inferior classes. The 15th, eh ?
Itio It is. Why, that's the day I prom
ised to write my article for the London.
1 must be off to Turninun (ireen."
Let us follow the delight of society to
the White Horse, and take a seat be
side him lu the two-horse stage till it
stops at the door of Linden House, Mr.
Wahiewright's elegant residence. His
wife tneuta him at the door, and with
her come dancing out, radiant with al
most an exuberance of life, Phoebe and
Madeleine, the two blooming daughters
by a second husband of Ills wife's
mother. They kiss him, they pot him,
they load him with playful caresses, for
Ile is their idol ; they admire his genius,
they love 111111 as their nearest and dear
est relation. Laughingly he frowns in
assumed anger, and pleads the occupa
tions of a popular author and a great
critic. He breaks at last from their
pretty siren wiles, and looks himself in
his sanctum. It is a luxurious den.
We can sketch it in almost Mr. Waine
wright's own coxcombical words.
He strips off his smart tight-waisted
betrogged coat, in which he so exquis
itely masquerades as the retired officer
~ragoons, and, in his own airy way,
tosses on an easy, flowered, rustling,
chintz dressing-gown, gay with pink
ribbons. He lights a new elegantly gilt
French lamp, the ground glass globe of
which is painted with gay flowers and
gaudy butterflies. lie then hauls forth
languidly, Bs If the severity of the labor
almost exhausted .him, " portfolio No.
.9," and nestles down intothecushioned
corner of " a Grecian couch"; stroking
"our favorite tortoise-shell cat" into a
sonorous purr. He next by a tremen.
-dons effort, contrives to ring the bell by
itlee fireside. A smiling " Venetian
shaped" girl enters, and places on the
table " a flask of as rich Montepulciano
assver voyaged from fair Italy," then,
after contemplating his elegant figure
in a large glass, placed with a true ar
:Patio sense opposite the chimney mirror,
with a fresh exertion he pours out " a
full cut glass" of wine with one hand,
and strokes the oat with the other.
The sheet of glass returns sharp-out
photographs of a gay carpet, the pattern
of which conslatra of garlands of flowers,
a cast of the Venus de Medicis (for Mr.
aisew right is an artist,) a Tomlthison
piano, some Louis quinte novels and
tales, bound in French " marmquin,"
with tabby silk linings, some
_playful
volumes choicely covered by Rogers,
Payne, and Charles Lewis, some azaleas
VOLUME 68
teeming with crimson blossoms, stand
ing on a white marble slab, and a large
peaceful Newfoundland dog also& A
fine Damascus sabre hung against the
well (dragoons again,) an almost objec
tionable picture by Fuseli, that gay old
bachelor at Somerset House (a friend of
theeminently popular and accomplished
art critic,) and last, but not least of all,
the exquisite man of the world himself,
full of heart, full of soul, and bathed in
the COrreggio light of the aforesaid
elegantly gilt French lamp.
At last the insufferable fop begins,
and after one glance at the yellow ceil
ing, and one desultory smiling peep at
some curious white crystals, probably
filbert salt, in a secret drawer of his in
laid writing-desk, he pens the following
sublime bit of euphuism, worthy, in
deed, of the age of Keepsakes :
"This completed the charm. We im
mersed a well-seasoned prime pen into
our silver inkstand three times, shaking
off the loose ink again lingeringly,
while, holding the print fast in our left
hand, we perused it with half-shut
eyes, dallying awhile with our delight.
Fast and faster came the tingling im
.etus, and this running like quicksilver
rom our sensorium to our pen, we gave
the latter one conclusive dip, after which
we rapidly dashed off the following de
scription coulcur de rose."
A little later this bright butterfly of
fashion informs his enraptured world
in the London Magazine that he has
bought a new horse, and secured a new
book :
••• • .
"I have nothing more in the way of
news, except that I have picked up a
fine copy of Bochius' Emblems (you
know the charming things by Bonasone)
first edition ; Bologne, 1,555. Capital
condition, in blue French morocco, by
De Rome, for whom r still retain some
small inkling of affection, in spite of
the.anathemas of the Rev. T. F .Dibdin.
Also, a new horse (Barbary sire and
Arabian dam), with whose education I
occupy nearly all my mornings, though
I have considerable doubts whether I
shall push It beyond the military
manege."
This exulting egotism, this delight in
bindings, Is characteristic of the man,
as also is the graceful allusion in the
last line to the writer's military achieve-
ments (disgracefully ignored by Napier).
Later in his career Wainewright fell
foul of that wise thinker and profound
critic, William Hazlitt, who also wrote
for the London, laughing to scorn,
"spitefully entreating," and hugely
condemning his dramatic criticisms.
Hazlitt, the most inflammable of old
bachelors, praised the Miss Dennetts'
dancing ,• Janus derided them as little
unformed creatures, great favorites with
" the Whitechapel orders "; cried
"Faugh !" when Hazlitt visited the
Coburg and Surrey Theatres; and
sneered when his great rival praised
Miss Valancy, "the bouncing Colum
bine ut Astley's ' and them there places,
—as his barber informs him." All this
shows the vanity and shallow temerity,
the vulgar and impertinent supercilious
ness of the pseudo-critic. He got a
bludgeon-blow on the head for it, how
ever, from Hazlitt, who then left him
to flutter his hour and to pans away in
his folly.
When Hazhtt left the London Maga
zine, about .1825, Janus Weathercock
ceased to delight the world also, but he
still rattled at parties, still drove in the
Park, and flashed along the Row on his
Arab horse " Contributor ;" he still
bought well-bound books, pictures, and
hot-house plants, and still expended his
affections on his cat. Honest Charles
Lamb, ' guileless as a child, lamented
" kind, light-hearted Janus," the taste
ful dandy, the gay sentimentalist of the
boudoir. Fine, generous natures like
Othellcrare prone to trust lago. One of
those gentlemen who are mean enough
to get their bread by professional litera
ture, and yet affect to despise their busi
ness, Wainewright must have felt the
loss of his liberal monthly salary, for he
had expensive tastes, and a knack of
getting through money.
Say some eight or ten years after the
delightful dinner in Waterloo Place,
this fine nature (true Sevres of the rarest
clay) was living in his own luxurious
cosey way (books, wine, horses, pic•
tures, statues, hothouse plants, Damas
cus sabre, tortoise-shell cat, elegantly
gilt French lamp and all) at Linden
House, Turnham Green, remarkable
for its lime-trees, on the pretty heart
shaped leaves of which the gay artist
probably lavished a thousand fancies.
Only once had those rose-leayes fallen
since the house and pleasant grounds
had belonged to Wainewright's uncle,
a Dr. Griffiths, a comfortable, well-to
do-man, who had for many years edited
a monthly publication. His death oc
curred after a very short illness, and
during a visit paid him by Wainewright
and his wife, who was there confined of
her first, and, as it proved, her only
child. It was not exactly apoplexy,
nor was it heart-disease ; but then even
doctors are sometimes puzzled by or
ganic complications. One thing is cer
tain, it was mortal, and Dr. Griffiths
died under proper medical care, and
watched by the most affectionate of
relatives. Wainewright gained some
property by his uncle's death ; lamented
him tearfully and spent the money
smilingly. Bills soon began, however,
to be left unpaid, servants' wages weft°
delayed, credit:was occasionally refused,
Turnham Green bakers and butchers
dared to talk about Linden House, and
people who "made much of theirselves,
but did not do the right thing, not what
yer may call the right thing."
Things were not going altogether
comfortable with a man who must have
his wine, his cigar, his eau de vie de
Dantzlg, all the new books and prints,
and must dress "in the style, you
know."
The fact must come out ; Wainewright
was a monster egotist, and accustomed
to starve either his tastes or his appe
tites. He must have money for cliam
mile and bread, Marc Antonio's prints
and meat. As well be starved us have
his cutlet without truffles. Poverty's
iron wall were closing in upon him
closer and closer, but he shrugged his
shoulders, buttoned tighter his befrog
ged coat, pawned his rings, and got on
well enough.
Linden House must have been a pecu
liarly unhealthy place, for about this
time Mrs. Abercrombie, Wainewright's
wife's mother, died there also, after a
very short illnoss,—something in the
brain or heart, probably. Mrs, Aber
crombie had married a second time a
meritorious officer, and left two daugh
ters, Helen Frances Pho3be and Made
leine, beautiful girls, Just reaching
womanhood. The poor orphans, having
only ten pounds a year granted them
by the Board of Ordnance for their
father's services (these must have been
small indeed not to deserve more), were
invited to his pleasant, luxurious, but
decidedly unhealthy house, by Mr.
Wainewright, their stepsister's hus
band, in the most kind and generous
manner, dear creature I
Helen Frances Phoebe Abercrombie,
the eldest of the girls, attained the age
of twenty-one the 12th of March, 1830, a
very short time after coming to Turn
ham Green, and within a few days of
this event, the oddest caprice entered
into Mr. Waluewright's mind. He
proposed to insure her life to a very
large amount for the short period of
two or three years. Such an arrange
ment Is, however, the commonest thing
in the world with persons either per
manently or temporarily embarrassed.
Such insurances are often used assecuri
ties for bills of exchange or for loans,
where the lender is especially cautious.
There was nothing singular about it. It
did not the least matter that Miss
Abercrombie was almost penniless, and
without expectations of any kind ex
cept a trifling possibility under a settle
ment.
One pleasant morning in March a trip
to the city was suggested as quite a di
vertisement, an agreeable opportunity
of observing the habits and customs of
"those strange city people." Mr. W eine
wright was jauntier and more degage
than ever, in his tight fashionable be
frogged coat, as he guided his wife and
the beauriful girl—his temporary ward
—t heir ribbons fluttering brightly in
the Marsh wind through the defiles and
labyrinths of the busy city. His whims
awl fancies about insurance Oilices were
delightful in their careless gayety. It
was quite an adventure for the Wiles.
It was singular, though, that Mr. Waine
wright, embarrassed as he was, should
venture on a speculation-that involved
a large annual payment for interest, and
yet seemed to promise no pecuniary re
turn. It might be a chivalrous risk of
some kind or other, the innocent and
playful girl probably thought, and she
would not care to inquire further into a
business she did not profess to raider
stand. It cost her nothing ; she was
only too glad to gratify the whim of
her kind kinsman, and to lend herself
to his mysterious, but, no doubt, well
planned and well-intended business ar
rangement.
So, on the 28th, sixteen days after
coming of age, Miss Abercrombie went
to the Palladium Insurance Office with
Mr. and Mrs. Wainewright, and in
sured her life for £3,000 for three years.
The object of the insurance was stated
to be (whether correctly or not) to en
able the young lady's friend to recover
some property to which she was entitled.
The life was pre-eminently good, and
the proposal was accepted. On the 20th
of April Mrs. Wainewright and Miss
Abercrombie went to the office to pay
the first year's premium, and receive
the policy. On or about the same day,
a similar insurance for three thousand
pounds, but this for two yearsonly, was
effected with the Eagle Insurance Office,
and the premium for one year and the
stamp duty duly paid by Miss Aber
crombie in her young sister's presence.
In the following October four more
policies were effected : with the Provi
dent for one thousand pounds, with the
Hope for two thousand pounds, with
the Imperial for three thousand pounds,
and with the Pelican for the largest
amount usually permitted, namely, five
thousand pounds, each for the period of
two years; making altogether insur
ances to the amount of eighteen thou
sand pounds. The premiums paid,
together with the stamps, amounted to
more than two hundred and twenty
pounds ; and yet, in case of Miss Aber
crombie living more than three years,
all these payments would be lost.
Lost they would be, who could doubt.
The actuary at the Provident described
her "a remarkably healthy, cheerful,
beautiful young woman, whose life was
one of a thousand." Old secretaries,
smiling over their spectacles, must have
felt as if a sunbeam had glanced across
the room, and have sighed to think that,
if a full insurance had been effected,
fifty years hence, that same Miss Aber
crombie might enter the room still
hearty and vigorous to pay her annual
interest, when they were long ago gone,
and their very tombstones were effeced
by rain and wind.
Still all this insuring was odd, too,
for Mr. Wainewright was deeply in
debt. Shabby truculent men behind
grated doors in Cursitor Street were
speaking irreverently of him ; dirty
Jew-faced men at the rbar of the
Hole-in-the-Wall in Chancery Lane dis
cussed him, and were eager to claw his
slidulder. He spent more than ever,
and earned less. His literary friends,
Lamb and Reynolds, seldom saw him
now,. His artist friends,: Fusell the liery
and kitothard the gentle, Westall and
Lawrence, seldom met him. A crisis
was coming to the man with elegant
tastes. In August lie had given a war
rant of attorney and a bill of sale of his
furniture at Linden House; both of
these had become absolute, and seizure
was impending. " The Jew fellows"
could only be scared away (from the
elegant gilt lamp, the books, and prints)
till the 20th or 21st of December.
At some offices scruples, too, began to
arise, which it was not found easy to
silence. At the Imperial, it was sug
gested to Miss Abercrombie, by Mr. In
gall, the actuary, that,' "as she only
proposed to make the Insurance for two
years, he presumed it was to secure
some property she would - come into at
the expiration of that time "; to which
Mrs. Waluewrlght replied:
" Not exactly so ; it is to secure a sum
of money to her sister, which she will
be enabled to do by otiaer means If she
outlives that time ; but I don't know
much about her affairs ; you had better
speak to her about it."
On which Miss Abercrombie said,
"That is the case."
By what means the ladies were in
duced to make these statements, can
scarcely even be guessed. The sum of
eighteen thousand pounds did not yet
bound the limits of speculation, for, in
the same month of October, a proposal
to the Eagle to increase the insurance
by the addition of £2OOO was made
and declined; and a proposal to the
Globe for five thousand, and a proposal
to the Alliance for some further sum,
met a similar fate. At the office of the
Globe, Miss Abercrombie, who, as usual,
was accompanied by Mrs. Wainewrlght,
being asked the object of the insurance,
replied that "she scarcely knew; but
that she was desired to come there by
her friends, who wished the insurance
done." On being further pressed, she
referred to Mrs. Wainewright, who said:
" It is for some money matters that are
to be arranged; but ladies don't know
much about such things " ; and Miss
Abercrombie answered a question,
whether she was insured in any other
office, in the negative At the Alliance,
she was more severely tested by the
considerate kindness of Mr. Hamilton,
who, receiving the proposal, was not
satisfied by her statement that a suit
was depending In Chancery which
would probably terminate in her favor,
but that if she should die in the interim
the property would go into another
family, for which contingency she
wished to provide. The young
lady, a little irritated at the ques
tious, said, rather sharply, " I supposed
that what you had to inquire into was
the state of my , health, not the object of
the insurance ; ' on which Mr. Hamil
ton, with a thoughtfiil look, said,—
" A young lady, just such as you are,
Miss, came to this very office two years
ago to effect an insurance for a short
time; and it was the opinion of the
company she came to her death by un
fair means."
Poor Miss Abererombie replied : " 1
am sure there is no one about me who
could have any such object."
Mr. Hamilton said, gravely, "Of
course not;" but added, 'that he was
not satisfied as to the object of the in•
surance ; and unless she stated in writ
ing what it was, and the directors up
proved it, the proposal could not be
entez tallied." The Indies retired ; and
the office heard no more of the proposal,
nor,of Miss A.bercromble, till they hear d
sh e
was dead, and that the payment of
other policies on her life was resisted.
Early In that month Wainewright
left the house with the leaf-stripped
trees, the very unhealthy house, and
took furnished lodgings at Mr. Nicoll's,
tailor, in Conduit Street, to which be
was accompanied by his wife, his child,
and those two beautiful, affectionate
girls, his half-sisters, Phoebe and Made.
Leine Abercrombie. Books, sab;e,ele
gent French lamp portfolios, and desk
with the mysterious little eccentric
drawer with the especial salt for filberts.
There was still a little more law busi
ness for Phoebe; the artistic mind re
marked one morning in his playful,
delightful way, " Would the dear girl
be kind enough to keep in profile for
one moment? Exquisite! Yes,
there
was a will to be made to benefi t dear
Madeleine in case of any unforeseen cir
cumstance." Phoebe no doubt carolled
out a laugh, and expressed a horror "of
those dusty old lawyers." On the same
day, the 13th, Miss Abercrombie called
on a solicitor named Lys, to whom she
was a stranger, to attest the execution
of a will she desired to make, as she
was going abroad ,• he complied, and
she executed a will in favor of her sister
Madeleine, making Mr. Wainewright
its executor. On the 14th, having ob
tained a deed of assignment from the
office of the Palladium, she called on
another solicitor named Kirk, to whom
she was also a stranger, to perfect for
her an assignment of the policy of that
office to Mr. Wainewrlght. This the
solicitor did by writing In ink over
words pencilled by Mr. Wainewrlght,
and witnessing her signature.
That same evening (as a reward, per
haps) the two sisters went to the play,
as they had done the evening before,
accompanying their kind relations, Mr.
LANCASTER PA. WEDNESDAY MORNING, FEBRUARY 13,1867
and Mrs. Wainwright. Whateirer bai
liffs may be watching the and vol
atile creature in the tefrogged coat, he
has no idea of stinting hisamusements.
Providence is hard on your delightful
and fashionable men, who earn little
and spend much
The play is delightful, the pathos
pierces, the farce convulses the pleasant
party of four. After the play they have
an oyster-supper, and Mr. Wainewright
is gayer and wittier than ever.. In the
night, however,Miss Phcebe is taken
ill, evidently having caught cold from
walking home that long way from Drury
Lane or Covent Oarden two nights in
the wet and wind. There is great re
gret in the house, and frequent kind in
quiries at her door from Mr. Waine
wright. She gets lip to dinner, but in
a day or two, the cold not lifting,
Dr. Locock is seyit for. Mrs. Wain°•
wright and Madeline are with her
constantly. Mr. Wainewright, who
Is clever in these things, as In
everything else, prescribes her a
black draught before the doctor is sent
for. The doctor is kind and sympathiz
ing, thinks little of the slight derange
ment, and prescribes the simplest
remedies. On the seventh day of her
indisposition, Mr. Wainewright, im
patient of the doctor's remedies, pre
scribes her a powder, which she took
willingly in jelly. She was decidedly
better, and was no longer wandering ;
she was so much better, in fact, that
Mr. Wainewright, great in spirits, and
full of sentiment, sympathy, and artistic
feeling, told his wife to put on her bon
net and come for a walk sketching,
while dear Phcebe had some sleep. That
was about twelve o'clock. At two,
Phcebe was taken violently ill with con
vulsions. She appeared in great agony,
became delirious, and struggled vio
lently.
Dr. Locock, who had been previously
consulted about insurance certificates,
was instantly sent for, and came. The
fit had then subsided, but there was
pressure on the brain. She said, "O
doctor! I am dying. These are the
pains of death. I feel I am. lam sure
so." The doctor said, " You'll be bet
ter by and by." She cried, "My poor
mother !" Dr. Locock left, and she had
a fit, and grasped the hand of one of the
servants. When Dr. Locock left, she
lay quiet, and said she thought she
heard a Ilttle boy coming along the
room, and that he ought not to be there,
and she burst Into tears and convulsions.
A servant who had lived twenty years
with Dr. Griffiths, and had known Mr.
Wainewright since he was a child, in
stantlyeent for Messra.Ring and Nichol
son, apothecaries. A Mr. Hanks came
and saw Miss Abercrombie in the con
vulsion fit. She had said to D Locock,
"Doctor, I was gone to heaven, but you
have brought me back to earth."
Hanks gave her some medicine while
Dr. Locock was there. The convul-
alone got better, and the doctors went
away. Soon after they were gone, the
convulsions came on again, and at four
o'clock she died.
•.- - - -
Who can paint the horror and agony
of Mr. and Mrs. Wainewright when
they returned and found the beautiful
girl, with the exquisite profile, only a
day or two ago so bright and full of life,
so arch, so graceful, dead.
Dr. Locook, leaving the house in
which he was now useless, with a sad
face and heart, met Mr. Wainewright
returning gay and light-hearted, per
haps humming a fashionable tune. He
appeared much shocked and astonished
at the sad news, and asked what was
the cause of death. Dr. Locock replied,
" Mischief in the brain," and proposed
to examine the head, to which Waine
wright immediately assented. On the
next day the skull was opened by
Hanks, and they found what witness
believed was a quite sufficient cause of
death,—a considerable quantity of water
on the lower part of the brain pressing
upon the upper part of the spinal mar
row. Witness thought the effusion
caused the convulsion, and& that the
convulsion caused death. Oysters had
often produced similar effects upon ir
ritable constitutions. Wet feet had
perhaps rendered the constitution weak
and susceptible.
There was a further examination two
days atterwards. The contents of the
stomach were minutely examined.
There was no appearance of anything
sufficient to account for death, except
water at the base of the brain. • There
were a few points in which the blood
vessels were much more injected with
blood than usual, an appearance often
seen in those who die suddenly. Vio
lent vomiting would account for this.
The doctors observed a few little specks
on the coat of the stomach, but that
was all.
This distressing and sudden death
changed matters, and gave a new and
quite unexpected significancy to that
mysterious insurance business. Eigh
teen thousand pounds now became pay
able to the elegant, needy, and some
what desperate man ; part of the money
as executor for Phoebe; two of the pol
icies being assigned to himself, with a
secret understanding that they were for
the benefit of Madeleine.
Unchristian suspicions Boon arose, de
grading, as Mr. Wainewright remarked,
only to those who entertained them.
Exasperated by the loss which, by the
dear girl's distressing death, they had
incurred all the insurance offices mean
ly and criminally refused payment. The
crisis came, but Wainewright was too
poor to stay and press his legal claims and
therefore stealthily retired to the friend
ly asylum of France, where urbanity
always reigns, and claret is delightfully
cheap; where the air is ever sunny,
and meat is lean, but not dear. He
there resided, gay as ever, for several
years.
After many delays, occasioned chiefly
by proceedings in equity, the question
of the validity of the policies was tried
in the Court of Exchequer, before Lord
Abingar, on the 29th of June 1835,
in an action by Mr. Wainewright,
as the executor of Miss Abercrombie,
on the Imperial policy of three thou
sand pounds. Extraordinary as were
the circumstances under which the de
fence was made, It rested, says Mr.
Serjeant Talfourd, on a narrow basis,
on the mere allegation that the insu
rance was not, as it professed to be, that
of Miss Abercrombie for her own bene-
lit, but the insurance of Mr. Waine
wright, efiboted at his cost for some
purpose of hisown, and on the falsehood
of representations she had been induced
to make in reply to inquiries as to in
surances in other offices. The cause of
her death, If the insurance was really
hers, was immaterial.
Lord Abinger, always wishing to look
at the pleasant side of things, refused
to enter into the cause of death, and
intimated that the defence had been
injured by a darker suggestion.
Sir William Follett appeared for
the plaintiff, and the Attorney-
General, Sir F. Pollock, and Mr. The
siger for the defendant. The real plain
tiff was not Mr. Wainegright, but Mr.
Wheatley, a respectable bookseller, who
had married the sister of the deceased.
The jury, partaking of the judge's dis.
inclination to attribute the most dread
ful guilt to a plaintiff on a nisi prius
record, and perhaps scarcely perceiving
how they could discover for the imputed
fraud an intelligible motive without it,
were unable to agree, and were dis
charged without giving a verdict. It
was clear to every one there had been
foul play. The cause was tried again,
before the same judge, on the 3a of
December following, when the counsel
for the defence, following the obvious
inclination of the bench avoided the
fearful charge, and obtained a verdict
for the office without hesitation, sanc
tioned by Lord Abinger's proffered
approval to the jury. In the mean
time says Mr. Serjeant Talfourd,
Mr. Wainewright, leaving his wife and
child in London, had acquired the con
fidence and enjoyed the hospitality of
the members of an English family re
siding in Boulogne.
While he was thus associated, a pro
posal was made to the Pelican office to
insure the life of his host for five thou
sand pounds : which, as the medical
inquiries were satisfactorily answered,
was accepted. The once, however, re
ceived only one premium, for the life
survived the completion of the insur
ance only a few months; falling after a
very short illness, and, singularly
enough, with symptoms rot unlike
those of Dr. Griffiths, Miss Abercrom
bie and poor Phoebe. The world is full
of coincidences.
And here we feel compelled to throw
off our mask, to turn suddenly on the.
delight of the boudoirs and salons of
May Fair, and, shaking him by the
throat, proclaim him as A POISONER—
one of the most cruel, subtle and suc
cessful secret murderers since the time
of the Borgias. It is now well known
that he wore a ring in which he always
carried strychnine, crystals of the In
dian nux vomica, half a grain of which
blown into the throat of a rabbit kills
it dead in two minutes; a poison al
most tasteless, difficult of discovery,
and capable of almost infinite dilu
tion. On the night the Norfolk
gentleman in difficulties at Boulogne
died, Wainewright had insisted on
making his friend's coffee, and passed
the poison into the sugar. The poisoner
hadsucceededtbeforethisin winning the
affections of his friend's daughter, and
gaining a supreme influence in the
house.
A friend of the writer's at a visit to
this Norfolk gentleman's house in Caro
line Place, Mecklenburgh Square, Lon
don, long before his murder, was ar
rested in mistake for Wainewright,
who, at that very time, was serenading
with a Spanish guitar in the garden of
the square. He was eventually seized
opposite the house of his friend Vau
Hoist, a pupil of Fuseli's.
Wainewright, obtaining the insur
ance, left Boulogne, and became a needy
wanderer in France, but being brought
under the notice of the correctional po
lice for passing under a feigned name,
was arrested. In his possession was
found the vegetable poison called strych
nine, a fact which, though unconnected
with any specifie charge, increased his
liability to temporary restraint, and led
to a six months' incarceration in Paris.
After his release he ventured to revisit
London, when, in June, 1837, soon after
his arrival, he was met in the street by
Forester, the police-otlicer, who had
identified him in France, and was com
mitted for trial for forgery.
July 5, 1837 (seven years after the
death of Miss Abercrombie), Waine
wright, then forty-two years old, " a
man of gentlemanly appearance, wear
ing moustachios," was tried at the
Central Criminal Court for forging
certain powers of attorney to sell out
two thousand two hundred and fifty
nine pounds' worth of Bank Stock,
which had been settled on him and his
wife at their marriage. This was a
capital offence at that time, but the
Bank not wishing to shed blood, Waine
wright at first declared himself not
guilty, but eventually pleaded guilty,
by advice of his lawyer, to two of the
minor indictments out of the five, and
was therefore only transported for life.
The moment the chief insurance
offices found that Wainewright was
under sentence of transportation for
forgery, they determined to open nego
tiations with the villain, and get from
him certain confessions necessary to
their interests; little doubting that he
would make them " for a considera
Lion." He made them readily enough
when he had struck his bargain. At
thb-i time, he was confined in Newgate
(modern prison discipline had not then
found its way into that jail) in a cell
with a bricklayer and asweep ; in which
polite company he was actually recog
nized, through a strange chance, by Mr.
Procter and Mr. Macready, visiting the
prison with the Conductor of this Jour
nal. When the agent of the Insurance
offices had extracted from the ruffian
all that he wanted to know, that gen
tleman said, in conclusion : " It would
be quite useless, Mr. Wainewright, to
speak to you of humanity, or tender
ness, or laws human or Divine ; but
does It not occur to you, after all, that,
merely regarded as a speculation, Crime
is a bad one? See where it ends. I
talk to you in a shameful prison, and I
talk to a degraded convict." Waine
right returned, twirling his moustache :
"Sir, you city men enteron your specu
lations, and take the chances of them.
Some of your speculations succeed, some
fail. Mine happen to have failed ;
yours happen to have succeeded; that
is the differeDce, sir. between my visi
tor and me. But I'll tell you one thing
in which I have succeeded to the last.
I have been determined through life to
hold the position of a gentleman. I
have always done so. Ido so still. It
is the custom of this place that each of
the inmates of a cell shall take his
morning's turn of sweeping it out. I
occupy a cell with a bricklayer and a
sweep. But by Cl they never offer
me the broom !"
On the same occasion, or on another
similar occasion in the same place,
being asked how he could find it in his
heart to murder the trusting girl who
had so confided-In him (meaning Miss
Abercrombie), he reflected for a moment
and then returned, with a cool laugh :
"Upon my soul I don't know,—unless
it was that her legs were too thick."
A more insupportablescoundrel never
troubled this earth. He had kept a
diary. The insurance offices, by the
masterly stroke of sending to a French
inn where he had lived, paying the bill
he had left unpaid and demanding the
effects he had left there, obtained pos
session of it. Description of this demo
niacal document cannot be attempted,
but it contained a kind of index to the
details of his various crimes, set forth
with a voluptuous cruelty and a loath
some exultation worthy of the diseased
vanity of such a masterpiece of evil.
In the mean time, says Mr. Talfourd,
in his version of the affair, proceedings
were taken on behalf of Miss Abercrom-
ble's sister by her husband, Mr. Wheat
ley, to render the insurances available
for her benefit, which induced the
prisoner to revengefully offer communi
cations to the insurance offices which
might defeata purpose entirely foreign to
his own, and which he hoped might
procure him, through their intercession,
a mitigation of the more painful sever'
ties incident to his sentence. Iu this
expectation he was miserably disap
pointed. For though, In pursuance of
their promise, the directors of one of
the offices made a communication to
the Secretary of State for the Home De-
partment, the result, instead of a miti
gation, was au order to place him in
irons, and to send him to his place of
punishment in the Susan, a vessel
about toconvey three hundred convicts.
In Newgatc, the gay-hearted creature
was sublime. He asserted himself as a
poet, a_philosopher and a martyr. He
claimed for himself "a soul whose nu
triment is love, and Its oftlfpring art.,
music, divine song, and still holier phi
losophy." When writing even from the
hold of the convict ship to complain of
his being placed in - irons, he said :
"They think me a desperado. Me! the
companion of poets, philosophers, artists,
N
and musicians, a desperado! You will
smile at this. o: I think you will feel
for the man, educated and reared as a
gentleman, now the mate of vulgar ruf
fians and country bumpkins."
In 1842, the dandy convict was admit
ted as inpatient of the General Hospital
in Hobart Town, where he remained
some years.
Discharged from the hospital, the
elegant mannered poisoner, his dress
with no style at all about it now, his
spelling rather wandering ) and his bear
ing less refined than it used to be, set
up as an artist at Hobart Town, where
sketches by him still exist. His con
versation to lady-sitters was often in
delicate. A writer in a Melbourne paper,
6th July, 1841, says of this dangerous
and abandoned wretch (we must use
plain words for him now :) "He rarely
looked you in the face. His conversa
tion and manners were winning in the
extreme ; he was never intemperate,
but nevertheless of grossly sensual habit,
`and an opium-eater. As to moral
character, he was a man of the very
lowest stamp. He seemed to be possessed
by an ingrained malignity of disposi
tion, which kept him constanly on the
very confines of murder, and he took a
perverse pleasure In traducing persons
who had befriended :him. There is a
terrible story told of - his savage malig
nity towards a fellow-patient in the
hospital, a convict, against whom he
bore a grudge. The man was in a state
of collapse,—hie extremities were al-
ready growing cold. Death had him by
the throat. Wainewright's snakish eyes
kindled with unearthly fire. He saw
at once the fatal sign. He stole softly
as ft cat to the man's pallet, and hissed
his exultation into his dying ear,—
" You are a dead man, you,—ln four
and-twenty hours your soul will be in
hell, and my arms will be up to that
(touching his elbow) in your body; dis
secting you.'"
Such was the ingrained and satanic
wickedness of this triple murderer.
Twice this delight of society attempted
to poison people who had become oh.
noxious to him. Even iu that polluted
corner of the world the man was dread
ed, hated, and shunned. No chance
homicide had imbrued his hands, but
a subtle series of cowardly and atrocious
crimes. His sole friend and companion
was a cat, for which lie evinced an ex
traordinary and sentimental affection.
He had always been fond of cats. In
1352, this gentlemanly and specious
monster was struck down inn moment,
as with a thunderbolt, by apoplexy. He
had survived his victims sixteen years.
Perhaps no blacker soul ever passed
from a body than passed the day that
Wainewright the poisoner went to his
account. Well says Mr. Serjeant Tal
fourd :
"Surely no contrast presented in the
wildest romance between a gay cavalier,
fascinating Naples or Palermo, and the
same hero detected as the bandit or
demon of the forest, equals that which
time has unveiled between what Mr.
Wainewright seemed and what lie
was."
It is this monster whom Lord Lytton
has immortalized in his powerful novel
of Lucretia.
In a Sore Strait
"We must have a lemon or two,
Sam," she says; and so, though I'd just
set down to my pipe and drop of beer, I
got up again, and I says, " :Now; I tell
you what it is, lass, It's just two miles
to the town, and It snows like fury, so if
you can think of anything else you
want, , just say so, and I'll get It same
time.'
"0, 'Unlit worth while to go If it
snows," she says; " never mind, and
I'll make shift without. But 0!" she
cried all at once, " farther's coming to
morrow, and you've uo tobacco."
Well, I'd never thought about that,
for when I'd had my fingers in the little
jar there seemed enough for me, even It
next day was Christmas day ; but with
company—why, there would not be
half enough. So that settled It, and I
got my stick and hat; when Polly de
clared I couldn't go out a night like that
without something round my neck, so
she tied a comforter round twice, close
up to my nose and ears.
' Now, don't be silly, Sam," she says.
" Why, wot's silly," I says.
Why, your being such an old goose,
and making so much fuss after being
married all these months. Now, let go,
do," she says. But 1 didn't, of course,
but held her for Just, a few moments
while I looked down in her laugh! ng
eyes that seemed to havegrown brighter
since we'd married; and then I smooth
ed,—no, I didn't, for no hair could have
been smoother,—l passed my rough,
chopped-aboutold hand down the bright
shiny hair that I felt so proud of, and
then kissed both her pink cheeks, and
felt somehow half glad, half sorrowful,
for it seemed to me that I was too happy
for It to last.
"There, now," she says, al last,
" make haste, there's a dear, good boy.!
and get back ; perhaps I shall be done
by that time, and then we'll have a
snug bit of supper."
But I couldn't get away, somehow,
but watched her busy fingers getting
ready the things for the next day's
dinner,—and chopping suet, stoning
plums, mincing peel,—and all in such
a nice, neat, clean way, that It was
quite enjoyable.
" Now, do go, Sam," she says, preten
ding to pout, " for I do want you back
so bad."
So I made a start of it; unlatched the
door, when the wind came roaring in,
laden with flakes of snow ; the spark.
rushed up the chimney, the candle
flickered, while Polly gave me just one
bright look and nod, and then I shut
the door, But, there—l couldn't get
away even then, but went and stood by
the window for a minute, where the
little branches of holly were stuck,
glistening green, and with scarlet ber
ries amongst the prickly leaves ; and
there I stood looking in at the snug,
bright, warm kitchen, with Polly
making it look ten times more warm
and bright. It wasn't that it was a
handsome place, or well furnished, for
those sort of things don't always make
a happy home—but plain, humble, and
poor as it was, it seemed to me like a
palace; and after watching my lass for
a few minutes as she was busier than
ever,—now frowning, now making a
little face at her work,—now with a
bright light in her eye as something
I
seemed to please her, all at once
thought to myself, and what's more, I
says to myself, "Sam Darrell," I says,
"why, whAt a donkey you are not to
get what you want, and make haste
back !" which, when you consider that
it was snowing hard, blowing harder,
and that where I stood the snowdrift
was over my knees, while inside there
was everything a reasonable working.
man could wish for, you'll say was just
about the truth.
So I gives myself a pull together,
hitches up my shoulders, set my head
down to face the wind and the blinding
snow, and then, with my hands rlghtat
the bottom of my pockets, off I goes.
Nowwe'd been together into the
town t 'hat night to bring home a good
basketful of Christmas cheer; for oven
if you do live in the black country,
amongst the coal-mines and furnaces,
and work as pit carpenter at making
brattices and the different woodwork
wanted, that's no reason why you
shouldn't spend a merry Christmas and
a happy one. But now there was this
tobacco and the lemons to get ; and from
where we lived, right across the heath
to the town,_ being two miles, and me
being alone, I make up my mind to cut
off a corner, so as to get back sooner.
So I turned out of the road as soon as I
was out of the colliery village, makes
sure of the town lights, and then, taking
my stiok under my arm, sot ofr at a trot
to the left of the old pits.
The wind was behind me now, and
though the snow made it hard work
walking, I wasn't long before I was
trudging like a white statty right
through the town street, then thronged
with people, when I goes into a shop,
and,
after a good deal of waiting, gets
my lemons and tobacco, pays for 'em,
and starts off home.
As soon as I was out of the town
again, I gets out of the road to take
that short cut; and now I began to find
out what sort of a night it was ,• for the
wind was right dead in my teeth, while
the way in which the' snow cut into
your eyes was something terrible. But
I fought my way on, setting up an op
position whistle to the wind, and think
ing about the warm fireside at home I
with the snug supper-table • and then
thought of what a blessing it was in a
hard winter to live close to the pit's
mouth, and get plenty of coal for next
to nothing. We could afford a good fire
there, such as would cheer the heart of
some of the London poor, while wages
were not so bad.
Every now and they J had to stop
and kick thesnow off my boot-soles, for
it collected in hard balls, so as to make
walking harder; then, not having the
town lights to guide me, I found I'd
wandered a bit out of the track, so that
the ground grew rougher and rougher,
and more than once I stumbled. The
wind beat worse than ever; the snow
blinded so, that I could not look out for
the lights of the village; and at last I
began to think that I'd done a foolish
thing in trying to make a short cut.
But then one is always slow about own
ing to being in the wrong ; so I blundered
and stumbled on ; but at last, after walk -
lug for some time, I was obliged to own
to myself that I was lost in the snow.
"Stuff and nonsense I" I says the
neXt minute, and then I has a lock.
round to try and make out where Iwae,
for I knew every foot of it lamest; bUt
NUMBER 6
nothing could I see but snow falling
almost like in a sheet all round me, so
that I could see a few feet each way,
while the snow where Istood was near
ly up to my knees. I listened, but there
was nothing to be heard but the whist
ling of the wind; I shouted, but the
cry sounded muffled and close just as if
I had been in a cupboard ; then I
walked a little one way, and then
turned and went another; and at last,
to my horror, I found that I was regu
larly confused, and could not make out
in which direction lay town or village,
while the snow covered in every foot
mark in a very few minutes.
Now, I did not feel alarmed, only
bothered and confused ; for I felt sure
that, if I kept on walking, I must come
to some place or another which I knew,
unless I walked right out on to the
great waste, where I might go for miles
and miles without finding a house; but
I was hardly likely to get there, and
the thing I most cared for was my poor
gal at home getti❑g upset about me,
and thinking ,that I'd stopped in the
town drinking with some mates, being
Christmas eve, when I'd promised her
over and over again most faithfully
that I'd always have my drop of beer at
home.
"There's no danger, that's one com
fort," I said "unless I rung hang into
the canal; and even then I shall know
where I am," 1 says, "so that won't he
such a very serious matter;" and then
I tried again to make out where I was,
but the snow came down more than
ever; and at last, feeling worried and
cross, I started off afresh as hard as I
could go, when all at once I let go of my
stick, for I felt one foot slipping, and,
as I felt it go, a fearful thought came
across my mind. With an agonizing
cry, I tried to recover myself ; but, from
leaning forward to face the wind, this
was impossible, and then shrieking
out,—
"My God, It's the old pit!" I was
falling and rolling down—down Into the
black darkness.
It was like being in some horrible
dream, and for a moment I fancied it
might be; but no, there I was falling
faster and faster and faster for a length
of time that seemed without end, as I
waited for the coming crash when I
reached the bottom—to be found after
wards a mutilated corpse.
I thought all this, and much more,as
I fell down the sloping shaft of the old
pit; and then came a tremendous splash
as I was plunged down beneath the icy
water which roared and thundered in
my ears.
I had been down pit after pit in my
time, working In theshafts at the wood
casing, making new or repairing the
old, perhaps half-way down, hanging
in a cage; or I had been working at the
traps and doors In the most dangerous
harts where you might hear the gas
issing through between the seams of
black slaty shale ; but I never before
knew so hideous a sense of fear as Callle
over me, when, rising t 3 the surface of
the water, I struck out, as if by instinct,
for the side, and then, clinging to tile
roughened wall with ono hand, :Lod
•with the other thrust into a sort of
hole, I remained for a few seconds
punting and half-mad, up to may nevi:
in cold water, while the darkness was
terrible.
It is impossible .to describe the hor
rible that came hurrying through my
mind as if to unnerve me—thoughts of
foul choking gases, of fearful things
swimming about In the black water, or
of horrid monsters lurking In its terri
ble depths ready to drag me under and
drown me; but, worse still, us I began
to recover myself a little, were Hie
eariner thoughts of the length of time
I could hold on there without heroin nig
numbed, and then slipping oil' and
drowning. I shouted, and the sound
went echoing up the shaft with a hor
rible unearthly tone that made are
tremble. I cried again and again till
1 was hoarse, but knew all the while
•that it was useless, for there was not a
cottage for at least a mile, uud then ter
ror seemed to get the better of we, as I
felt that there, in the midst of that fear
ful darkness, I must drown, and then
sink to the bottom of this old, old, worn
out coal-pit; while no one, not even
my poor wife, would know of my ildc.
With the thoughts of my wife, came
thoughts of the pleasant scene I had so
lately gazed upon when something al
most like a sob seemed to come from
my heart, and then came weak, de
spairing tears; but I roused up, and
shouted again and again, throwing my
head back to try and see the mouth of
the pit, but, though imagination peo
pled the darkness with horrors, there
was nothing around but the intense
blackness; while, to add to my de
spair and terror, I could feel that my
hands were slowly slipping from their
bed.
Could any man have heard me down
there, two hundred feet below the mouth,
it must have been very fearful, for (lur
ing the next minute I was shrieking for
aid, giving vent to the most unearthly
yells, praying aloud, A and crying for
mercy ; and then, hoarse and worn out,
I felt that I must sink back, and I did,
shrieking and struggling savagely for
life, till the cold water gurgled over my
mouth and choked back my cry. Then,
for a few minutes, I was beating the
water franticly, as a dog beats it Wiwi
it cannot swim ; but my nerve seemed
to come once more, and even then, in
the midst of that horror and despair, I
could not help thinking of myself as
being like a rat in a well, as I swam
round by the side trying to find a place
to hold on by.
I swam slowly along, striking my
right hand against the side at every
stroke, but, after a few strokes, it did
not touch anything; and then, striking
out more boldly, I swam ou, turning tt
the right with a ray of hope in 'my
heart, for I know that I was on the
level of one of the old veins, and though
swimming farther Into the bowels of
the earth, yet I had not the horrible
depth of the shaft under me, while I
knew that, before long, I should find
bottom for my feet.
All at once my hand touched the Hide ;
then I rained one up, and could touch
the roof; and then, Adler a few more
strokes, I let my feet down slowly and
found the bottom, but the water was to
my lip; still, by swlmmingand wading,
I moon stood where it was only to my
middle; and now, pausing to rest for
awhile, I leaned up against the nide,
and, in the reaction that came on twain,
cried weakly, and like the dempalring
wretch I was.
degrees, the neavy punting of my
heart grew less painful while, heated
with the exertion, I did not feel the
cold; but soon an icy chill crept over
me as I stood there listening to the low
echoing "drip, drip, drip" of the water
far away to my right. Racking thoughts,
too, oppressed me, and, despairing, I
felt that there was no chance of my be
ing discovered, since, to keep alive, I
mast penetrate farther into the mine,
though even from where I was then, it
was doubtful whether my voice could
be heard.
I knew very well where I was, and
that very little traffic lay by the old
pit's mouth ; while the next day being
Christmas made the chances less. But
would not my wife give the alarm, and
would not there be a search? Surely, I
thought there must be hope yet ; and
then in a disconnected, half-wild way,
I tried to offer up a prayer for success,
Not standing, not with my hand rest
ing upon the wall, but kneeling, with
the water rising to my neck ; and I rose
again stronger, and better able to thin it.
And now I began to look within, and
to think of the dangers I had to en
counter. As to there being things
swimming about, or anything terrible
to Athol{ me, my common sense told
me that there was no cause for fear in
that direction; but the next thought
was a terrible one, and my breath came
thicker and shorter as I seemed to feel
the effect of it already,—"Was there
any foul gas?" But I found that I
could still breathe freely, and by de
grees this fear went off; while, sum
moning up my courage, I waded on
"splash splash" in the echoing dark
ness, farther and farther into the mine,
always with the water growing shal
lower as I receded from the shaft ; and
at last I stood upon the dry bottom, but
with the water streaming off' me.
As:11 or AitnrwMMO,.:
EtUSINE.SB ADV TISEKIRITS, $l2 it .
year Per
sqtutre of ten. lines; ten per cent. llicreasetor
fractions of a_year_
Mar, ESTATE, rEESOTIAL PaontErromd GM.
- ADVEnruneo, 7 cents a 11E0 for the
first. and 4 cents for each subsequent Inner.
Lion. •
SPELL Norross inserted In Local Column,
ib cents per-line.
SPECIAL NorrcEs preceding marriages and
deaths, 10 cents per line for aria Insertion,
and 5 cents for every subsequent Insertion.
BtrSIESES CARDS, Of ten lines or leas,
Business Cards, flue lines or lees, one
LEGALyear
AND OTC. a NOTICES—
-5
Executors' ,oticeS 2.00
Administrators' n0tice5,............ 2.00
Assignees' n0ti0e5,.......-.........-...-.-. 2.00
Auditors' ... 1.50
Other "Notices, ' ten lines, or less,.
1.50
three times
The place did not feel cold, while as I
sat down I could not but wish that my
clothes were dry, for they clung to me
till I stripped a part of them off and
wrung out the water, when I felt on
putting them on again comparatively
warm. But what a position! Tremb
ling there in the midst of that dark
ness; with a wild imagination peopling
it with every imaginary horror, I lay
despairing, till, with the thought strong
upon me that I was buried alive, I be
gan to run recklessly about, now dash
ing myself violent against the sides,
now trippling over the fragments that
had fallen from the roof, till at last the
splashing water beneath my feet warn
ed me to go back, when, with my head
feeling almost on fire, I crawled back to
lie panting amongst the coal and slate.
All at once I recollected the tobacco,
and put a wet piece in my mouth, and
after a time it seemed to calm me, so
that I could sit and think, though at
times 1 would have given worlds to
have run away from my thoughts.
How time went I could not tell ; but it
seemed after a while that I must have
slept, for I leapt up all at once with the
fancy strong upon me that! heard Polly
calling ; but though 1 strained my ears
to listen, there was nothing but the
"drip, drip " of the water; while I
feared to call out, for the sound went
echoing along, so that it seemed to be
repeated again and again, till I felt to
creep with dread.
Many hours must have passed, for a
(wavy, dull, sleepy feeling oppressed
me as I lay there, numbed bodily and
in mind ; but at length I started up
thoroughly awake, feeling certain that
I had heard a cry which seemed to have
whispered like in my ear. I sat up
trembling, when again there came the
shout faintly heard as It came along the
top of the water, and then I gave a loud
despairing shriek for help three times,
and then fainted.
When I came to again, it seemed like
waking from a dream ; and 1 felt that
confused that I could hardly believe
that I was not in my own room at
home; but as I sat up, thought of where
I was came upon me again, while like
a faint, buzzing, whispering noise, I
could hear voices. To rouse up and
give a tremendous shout was but the
work of a motnent, when my heart rose,
for it was answered, though but faintly,
and I knew that 1 was being sought
for, and sat listening.
But soon 1 grew impatient and began
wading in the water, so as to be once
more nearer to living creatures: and
waded on and on till the water was up
to my chin and I could hardly shunt,
When shouted again, and now I could
hear the reply quite plainly.
After a while I saw a faint light flash
along the wall, and knew that a piece
of something burning had been cast
down the pit; and then again and again
I saw similar Hashes, while I stood there
trembling lest I sh ould Hill from ex
haustion and be drowned. But now
something far more reviving came, for,
like a star shim; along the water, I
could see the light of a lantern that had
been lowered down, as it swung slowly
about :it the mouth tof the passage;
while al length close by it I saw some
thing move, when I felt choking, as I
knew that a man had been lowered
down, :old was swinging beside the
lantern; while, when his voice came
rimiing along the passage with a cheery
here are you, mate? for a few mo
ments iny head swam, and I couldn't
"C:LICI you t 1..1111.% 111 after
11;o1
"No!" I i+ayi , ,"l darn't try loswlin
"Then I must," he says; and then
he showed on( "Slaeli out," and an
echoing splash (tune along to my ears.
"How far le it!" he says.
"About sixty yards," I gasped ; and
then he stopped and called out to toe to
keep up my heart, !mil he would soon
be inWk ; when shouting to thoneabove,
he was drawn up once more, and it
seemed. hours before I heard the sound
of his voice again ; and, directly after,
I could 'nee the lantern coming towards
me, and i hen I've a recollection of see
ing soon one with a light, splashing
about ill rho water,llnd of havingsome
thing tied tinder my arms which floated
on, LT till I NV:Li pushed along to the
mouth of the where 1 can re
collect clinging to the rope made fast
round me ; and then I was swinging
about and knocking against the rough
sides of the shaft, while a voice at
my ear kept saying,"Clieer up, matey !"
Then In it sort of sleep I hoard
people talking, and some one said,
"Here, catch hold of these life-belts !"
and It seemed like the voice of the man
who camp town to me. But the next
thing I recollect In lying In my own
hel, with Home one sitting at the side,
as she used to all she could for the next
three days ; and told me she did at last,
of her horror when I did not come
home, and of the, search next day ; but
there were no footsteps 00 the waste on
account of the HIIOW, Ho that no one
would have searched there,had not a boy
been seen with my walking-stick, which
he had found slicking up in the snow
by the old pit's mouth, Just as I must
have left it when I fell into the fearful
gulf which held me for two long days!
The $1,009,000 Gratuity
It ls said that the Senate Finance
Committee has endorsed the bill to pay
the National bunks $4,000,000 every
year, In addition to what they now re
ceive, In the way of interest on their
circulation. It le a mutter of wonder
to plain people that such things can
come to pas:,. This measure, as we
said a day or two ago, Is a mero gra
tuity to the National banks of $4,000,-
000 a year out of the taxes levied upon
the people. Having commented upon
the matter at some length a lbw days
ago, we do not care to repeat what was
then said, but Instead of any additional
remarks, we republish the following,
from the New York Llcrula of yester
day, on the name subject :
"The objections to this measure are
of a very decided character. In the
first Instance It mulistltutes an interest
bearing security where a non-Interest
hearing 0110 would answer the purpose
better—namely, the plain legal tender
note. Iu tllO next It Is Inconsistent
with the former policy of the Govern
ment 111 abolishing the interest on
Clearing I louse certificates. Tie banks
trim still holding the latter, although
they have ceased to bear Interest, sim
ply because they can he used as a por•
Lion of their reserve, endure convertible
Into legal tenders on demand. What
good reason, therefore, have the pro
rooters of this bill for urging upon Con
gress such a wanton waste of money?
" Moreover, the Treasury, by being
constantly liable to be called upon to
redeem these certificates, would require
to keep a large reserve of legal tender
notes on hand, and this would often be
either impossible or inconvenient with
out encroaching upon the reserve of
fifty millions of new notes authorized
for the redemption of the temporary
loan. The proposed bill should, in view
of all the circumstances, be promptly
tabled as soon as reported In the Senate,
and another providing for the issue of
plain legal tenders lu redemption of
compound interest notes Introduced in
its stead. In this manner a nice little
Job may be ellbctually nipped in the
bud."—Phila. Ledger.
The Tittisvillo Herald Is responsible for
the it llowing: A man writing from Oil City
tells this story: On January oth, 181311, Jno.
Franklin Worley, a resident of this place
for about two years, died from the effects of
a wound received at the battle of Antietam.
on his dying bed he stated that four years
ago he left a wife and two children near
Janesville, Clearfield county. And now ho
leaves another wife and two children in
this place, she not knowing that he was
married before. lie could not die without
revealing the facts to her and asking for
forgiveness, as well as that of his first wife.
I thought it right to publish this statement
for the information of his widowed com
panion and fatherless ohildron.
On Thursday of last week, Jos. M. Feger,
of Pottsville, left with his family for South
Carolina. There is now a Schuylkill county
colony established in South Carolina, nine
miles from Charleston, composed of Mr.
Feger, Ex. Sheriff John Roush, and J. S.
Keller, Esq., with their families. Theyaro
engaged in working cotton plantations, and
appear to like their new location and bust.
'less very well.