. Published evert WHDirxflDir bt U. G. SMITH <* CO. A. j. &TEIKMAN H. G. Smitii TERMS—'Two Dollars per annum, payable In all oases iu advanoe. The Lancaster Daily Intelligences la published every evening, Sunday exoepted, at $5 per Annum In advance. OFFlCE— Southwest oorneb ox Centre Bqltaub. fflCbtJ. [From the Now Orleans Picayune ] CASTLES IN THE AIU. In the beauteous realms of dreamland, In the moonbeam’s silvery light, At the golden loom ot lancy Hit I, weaving visions bright; Hearing up ethereal structures, Thin as mist and 1 Ight as air, Worclug on with kindling fervor. While I weavea fabric fair. Ah, my castle none may entoi! Closed It is to mortal oyeu. Yet amidst Us wealth and splendor Write i, lost In strange surprls-, That In all iny haunts and rumbles, Long 1 not for kindred mind, And aloueund unattended, Tills Solitude congenial Hud. Would you view tLI -< phantom sLiuctun* Floating lu tin- oilier blue? Idle dreainurs long have reared them, Tbf-y arc nelLhoi strange nor new ; Old aud young uro busy woikiug On these airy easties high, Huil (lr>)uHionn, tli<-se nnruguH Ju imagination's sliy ! A/.lire skins :uid golden sunshine, In this land nTdrenJiis prevail, Hllver moon \nd stars Btipplani them, When the yellow sun grows pale; Crystal lukes lu emerald settings, Oilmen in the moonbuiuns fair, Silvery mists conceal mu outlines Of my castle in the air. Clouds us light us foam-nocked wavelets, Hleal across Oils u/uro sky, , To ourlcb tho sunset spleuoor With tholr gold and erlnist n dye; Founts of dnw play inlsU of silver tJp iirto tho scentod air, Tlinuvlng spray like glUionlug crys'iils O’er the pearly petals rare. All ahotit my airy cast to Flouts an atmosphere ho soil, That it noodu no lirm foundation To support Its weight aloft; Though its slender fragile columns, Are upheld by vu'por fine, Yet iioeltadel or stronghold Is Imprugnahiu us mine. .Never must i /our Intrusion From a friend or fo« without, No enemy can storm my Inrlrtss, Or can capture Its redoubt; lu reveries alone I wander, Well assured that none would dare To Invade the nm-red pm: In Is Of my cj-.Ho lu tlie air. the a iUMiFKH logins si.tier “ Old girl, that has h true me far and f./st On prancing hoofs that were never loth, Our gullop to-day may bu the lust For thee or far mu—or perchance for both. As I tlghien yourglrtli, do you noUungdHunl Do you oalch 1 lim hi ui. of our forming line V Ami now the artillery move 1o the Trout. Have } oil never a qualm, Huy Hess of mine "It Is dainty In see you aid le and start As you move t > Hie h.-utie's cloudy marge, Ami to l-iid th>* hwulls of your wakening heurt When our cavimy Imglrs aound u charge. At LLi>- scicam of toe suull and the roll of lhe drum You n-lgn to I'.i Irlglilem-d wltli .skl'.tlsh glance, lint up ihe until slope when* llin Imllets hum Coipietllsh, darling. I've known you dune*-. “ Your uk In Is sat I n, \ our nosl ri Is n «I, Your eyes are a bml’s or a loving girl’s ; And ir.mr-delicate fetlock to dainty head . A throbbing v> In eorduge around you curls. Oh.Joi of my soul, lfvoit they slay, For triumph or rout 1 hiUuoare; For Lhoro is md b. ul: the wide valley to-day Huch a dear little brldlo-wlae, thorough-bred mare." Hl** ■ 1 " HI. gtlwUnncMW. Ida Lewis, lilt* (Jraee Darling of America. Thirty yenrn ago, just at the dawn of a Htonuy .September morning, Grace .Darling, the heroin daughter of the Lougslamo lighthouse-keeper, on the ICnglish coast, launched a boat upon the raging tide, aud rescued, with her re luctant father’s aid, and at the immi nent peril other life, nine persons from the disastrous wreck of the Forfarshire steamer. For this fearless and noble act done in her 2;»d year, praises and rewards were heaped upon her iu un stinted meusure, a I'umi of £3,01)0. was subscribed for her bemdit, the remain ing four years of her life were crowned with every comfort, aud her name has passed into current usage us a synonym for an unselfish and.-Jieroic woman. Two wuuk.H Hince, inward the close of a Mt.oriuy March afternoon, Ida Lewis, the intrepid daughter of the Lime Hock light-keeper, in Newport (li. I.) harbor performed a deed that places her side hy side; in point of self sacrificing courage, with tiio Grace Ihirling oi’ hingland, and rounds a career of evou greater usefulnesM in thusaving ofhmnan life, The ruin fell Huh day in blinding torrents, and the <>■ dL-drovu the waves across the hai hoi with u fury that taxed the full slieiiglh and skill of the most expi iimced boatmen. In (lie mld.-d of tins storm, a reckless hoy, scarcely 11 yehrs old, who had somehow obtained possession of one of the small* est and iiioh(, misafi! salhboats In the harbor, (since christened the “soldier drownotV’jHUci'ecdcd In persuading two soldieiH, Kergt. Jatnes Adams and I’rl vale Jolm McLaughlin, to let him carry them across from Him oily, whither they had gone to make some purchases, to Fori Adams, where they were stationed. Anxious to escape thedreary three-mile tram]) by land, and believing Hie lad’s assertion that, lie could manage t he boat as well 11s any one, they trusted them* selves In It, and made lialf the trip in sufoLy, bill about, midway in the liarbor a sudden blast si ruck the sail, the start led hoy Jammed the helm in the wrong direction, the boat capsized in an In stant, and the waves rolled it twice over, like Hie veriest cockle shell. For a long half-hour its luckless oeeupuuts clung to the keel, and wrestled against Hie blinding rain und the ilerco salt waves with all the energy of despair; but dually the hoy's strength was ex hausted, Ids hold relaxed—oue clutch at McLaughlin’s shoulder, and, with a frenzied laugh upon his lip, he was gone!—nor has any trace of him since beeu seen. Fast pnrulyzlng with colil and almost bereft of hope the two soldiers saw no choice left but to clasp each other in a last embrace, aud sink to a mutual grave—when sud denly, out from the Lijpc Hock, half a mile away, shot a little boat, driven by rapid strokes and sure, straight over the bounding waves toward the drowning men. Hope kindled in their breasts again, but faded wheu they saw in the boat ouly asleuder youtli, and a still slenderer womau ply ing the oars On it swiftly came, how ever, anil the boy was almost reaching ovyrlheside to grasp the neurcst soldier, - wheu his quick-witted slate, crying, “{Stop, Honey! we shall be eaptdzed that way ! ” turned the boat with a timed stroke, backed it up, one mau was drawn safely in over the stern, another back ward pull, another lift, and the next moment the craft, with its freight of rescued lives, was scudding swiftly through the spray back to the Hock again. Tin* .Sergeant was able tb stagger on shore, but private McLaugli lin had to bo carried into the light house, where both of them received the utmost care ami kindness, und were safely conveyed to Fort Adams the next day. The heroine of this daring exploit was born Feb. 20, IS-12, and is thus iu her 28t.1i year; but her first rescue of imperilled life dates back to September, 1821), wheu she was only 17. Four gay young fellows, all about is or 20 years of age, and all sons of wealthy gentle men, one from Philadelphia aud the rest from Newport, went out for an eve , nlng sail, and oue of them, more full of mischief thau the others, climbed the mast and upset the boat half a mile fromUie nearest shore. None of them could swim' that distance, night was rapidly coming on, the capsized boat was too light to support more thau two or three of them at once, and they were ruefully awaiting the bitter conse quences of their mad frolic, when the keeper’sdaughtor, spyingthem through' the dusk, hastened to their relief, aud rescued them all from their impending fate. The one who climbed the mast enlisted at the opening of the war, and received a mortal wound at the disas trous battle of Bull Run; but the others are BtlU living, aud doubtless cherish gratefully the memory of their youth ful preserver. During the intervening period of ten years, this heroine of the harbor has saved five other lives. One cold and windy February day, three iutoxicated soldiers stole a skill’ and set out for the fort. By some drunken recklessness they soon stove a hole iu the bottom, and the boat rapidly filled. Two of the men succeeded in swimming ashore again, and were so alarmed at their ad venture that they ran away and never came back ; but the Lhird clung to the submerged Bkiif and tried to paddle it with his feet across the harbor. When discovered and picked up, with his hat in his teeth and a bottle of whisky in each pocket, he was stiff with cold, and barely escaped perishing in his desper ate attempt. The next rescue was in January, 1867. A valuable sheep es caped worn those who had it in charge, £l)c Lancaster fntel%enSe£ VOLUME 70 dived off one of the wharves, and started to swim around the harbor. Three men, who went in pursuit along the fort road, found a skiff and put out to rescue the animal. But the fierce south-east gate was toomuch for them, the boat began to swamp rapidly, they could not regain the shore, and were staring death in the face when the fearless Ida went to their relief, carried them and the skiff to land, and then went out and saved the sheep! In the remaining instance, it seems that a fine looking but reckless young fellow stole a large sail boat from one of the wharves one Winter evening and put to sea with it, but tliegaledrove the craft upon the ‘Little Lime Hock,” about a mite from the light, where it sunk, leaving the unlucky thief cling ing to the halyards from midnight till dawn, when the heroine reached and picked him up. “ There he was,” says Miss Lewis, iu relating the incident, shaking, anti God blessing me, and beg ging to be set on shore, and the last 1 saw of him he was crawling up the Wharf on his hands and knees !” The heroism of Grace Darling was the result of a single noble impulse; the bravery of Ida Lewis is part of her daily life. Hlxteen years ago, the light on- Lime Hock was established, and Hoaea Lewis, a veteran ex-revenue pilot, familiar with the coast from Halilax to Norfolk, became its keeper on the Slh of December, 1853. The southern line of the harbor makes a wide, deep* angled sweep, with the city on one side. Fort Adams two miles oil on the oppo* site point, and Lime Hock midfray be tween, about 300 yards from tho shore. This rock commands the widest view of the harbor, and upon it the keeper lived alone three years and a half. Then a sub stantial, square, two-story brick lionso was built, aud in Juno, lsr>7, his family joined him. Four mouths later a stroke of paralysis disabled him from all work, and ever since his eldest daughter Ida has been the main-stay of the family. It was she who cared for her father, aud lightened her mother’s toil, and watched over her younger sister Harriet, and rowed her brothers Hudolpk aud Hosea to school, aud eked out the light keeper’s slender pittance with her needle aud other feminine labors, and flew to the rescue of imperiled life with an instinctive courage that would not let her enemy siuk without her risking her life to save him. Iu personal appeurauce this Newport heroiue scarcely attains the averuge height of women, is remarkably slender, aud would be thought much nearer than iJ7. Light brown hair, blue eyes keen but kind, aud cheeks pink-flushed, though not round enough for beauty, attract one to a woman whose quick smile aud frank aud friendly mauner more than excuse the inevitable educa tional deflciences which such a life must always entail. No one can talk with her without believing her as unselfish as she is fearless, aud the fame her heroism lias created seems simply to amuse her, without exciting the least vanity. .So little'had siie thought of her own deeds that, when lirst asked, she had to spend much time in consid eration before she could say exactly how many lives she had saved I Her father is still a sociable and pleas ant old gentleman, able to walk a little, but speuding most of the waking hours in his chair. Mrs. Lewis is a free-spoken and hospitable matron, devoted to iier family, to her four story papers, of which Bonner's Ledger is one, and to the care of the lamp whose ilaine has glistened across the harbor from sunset to sunrise these many years with assure aud unfailing a ray as gleams front any light upon the American coast. Hu doipli is a young sailor of now absent on a voyago, and “Ilosey” (Hosea) is U 0 ami a teamster in Newport. Hattie is only 17, and possesses a weal th of per sonal attractions that many a fair Fifth ave. girl might envy. Both the sisterS indulge in rings aud eardrops, aud other vanities dear to the feminine heart, and when they have recourse to the treas ures of their wardrobe, accumulated chiefly by Ida’s industry, they might easily bo mistaken for damsels of high degree. The House lu which they live is white washed till It glistens Uko snow, and everything is kept scrupulously clean. Tho Kook itself is a jugged pile, less than an acre in extent, divided by a channel, which is bare at low tide, and ho utterly barren that not a blade of grass will grow upon It. A mischievous black poodle, two rabbits, three plump oats (who made an end to all the rats and mice long ago), ucouple of turkeys, and a dozen common fowls give quite a Robinson Crusoe air to the place. The side rlaes hero about seven feet, and the highest polntofrock Is 17 feet above that line. On tho landward side is a long, high plur, cupped with 1 "> massive blocks of stone, und here, swinging from the derricks, or rocking on tho tide, may he seen the smull, squaro-sterned. well worn (iovernment boat.'hluuk without, aud white nnd green within, in which Miss Lewis has learned to row so well lhaluvim ihu brawny boatmen of the hurlmr concede her superior sicill, and with which most of her rescues huvu been achieved. A portrait of (lie American draco Darling, aud a idcturo of one of her ex ploits, were published two yearH ago in an illustrated paper, and iuuuy compli ments and requests for photographs en sued. More than one romantic gentle man tried to persuade her to change her name for his, and found n friend indeed, but no wife. Two brothers, seafaring men, from Black Hock, Connecticut, have pressed their suits at Lime Hock with more success, and it is quite proba ble that both the sisters may be married before another tipring. It is worth noting, perhaps, that Miss Lewis is rightfully entitled to the extra ordinary and unprecedented name of 44 Idawulley Zoradia,” which she in herits from the quaint faucy of her ma ternal grandfatiier, an estimable but ec centric Block Island physician. This name, however, she has wisely discard ed, and writes herself simply "Ida.” In France or England, such a heroine would have long since received many honorable ami substantial testimonials, but scarcely any gifts were made to Miss Lewis until the two soldiers, rescued on the 2i>th of March, insisted ou her ac cepting a gold watch and chain oftiwiss manufacture, yalued at $lOO. L. Prang, the Boston chromo publisher, sent her last week a kind letter, and halfa dozen choice pictures. Johu Carter Brown, Esq., of Providence, and Johu Auchiu closs, Esq., of New York, have each sent her a check for s2o; and a Boston gentleman transmitted to her last Fri day the sum of $lOO. Au active New port citizen, oflong salt water experi ence, is rapidly raising in that city and Providence a subscription of sl3o, for tho building of a cedar life bout, to be finished iu tiie finest style, by one of the best Newport builders, aud painted white with a gilt stripe. It is almost certain that this will he completed and presented to Miss Lewis within a few weeks. Another energetic citizen meditates raising a fund for her benefit, this season, from the Summer visitors at Newport, aud one or two private enterprises of mo ment for her benefit are also in progress. Iu the opinion of the best judges, no truer or more fearless heroine than Ida Lewis ever found a place in the annals of any humane society on either side of the Atlantic, and none more unselfish ever received honors from those whose positions or wealth enables them to crown meritorious acts with suitable re wards.-—N. Y. Tribune. A Cnrlous Budget. The Eiiglish language must appear fearfully and wonderfully made to a foreigner. One of them, looking at the picture of a number of vessels, said, “ See what a flock of ships.” He was told that a flock of ships was called a fleet, and that a fleet of sheep was called a flock. And it was added, for hisguid ance, in mastering the intricacies of our language, that a flock of girls is called a bevy, that a bevy of wolves is called a pack, and a pack of thieves is called a gang, aud that a gang of angels is called a host, and that a host of porpoises is called a shoal, a shoal of buffaloes is called a herd, and a herd of children is called a troop, and a troop of partridges is called a covey, and a covey of beau ties is called a galaxy, a galaxy of ruf fiahs Is called a horde, and a horde of rubbish is called a heap, and a heap of oxen is called a drove, and a drove of blackguards is called h mob, and a mob of whales Is calleda school, and a sohool of worshippers is caHed a congregation, aud acongregation of engineers is called a corpß, and a corps of robbers is called a band, and a band of locnstß Is called a Bwarm, and a swarm of people is called a crowd. Me Wrong Man. Yankee pedlers, from time immemori al, have been famoUß for 41 doing others’ ’ and being “done,” notwithstanding their shrewdness, and though, in the long run, they may come out “ right side up,” yet once in* a while the force of circumstances so corners them that they are obliged to cry pecavi! 44 In the course of human events ” —’ to find a new Btyle antipodean with the flood, or cotemporary with the time of George Washington—there happened to be a pedler of the Old Bay State, by the name of Ike Jewell, who one day picked up his traps and started oil couth, along the liue of the Mississippi, in order to dispense patents for various inventions —from a tooth-pick to a fau nmg-mill—and at last brought up at the little village of Helena, in the State of Arkansas. Now, it happened that on the very day that Mr. Jewell arrived in town, a fellow had been arrested for negro-stealing, and placed in the old log jail, preparatory to receiving the penalty of fifty lashes for the offense. The jail being insecure, there being no patrol a la horse-guards, to protect it, and the prisoner having a ting© of Jack Sheppard’s blood in Ills veins, managed to escape, and of course flew by the night, after the manner of the witches in Macbeth, The consequence was that when the sheriff went the next morn ing, in all the dignity of official pride, to administer the punishment, he was both surprised and indiguaut to find his man non est inventus ! “Ah ! this won’t- do,” aaid the dig , nlfary, biting his lip, and looking poin ards at the umler-sherift—aud a carrot ty-headed deputy, with a pumpkin colored beard of a week’s growth.— “ We must set spies about for him, and have him re-apprehended.” Scouts were immediately dispatched on all sides, all of whom had seen the man on trial, and knew his face, and as the sherilFs indignation was hugely “riz,” their orders were uncompromis ingly stringent. Now it happened, from some strange and unfortunate circumstance, that the newly arrived Yankee pedler was the very image—the regular “ Corsican Brother ” —the “ Siamese Twin ” of the fugitive culprit, and as he was butter ing a pancake at breakfast next morn ing, a large, powerful man, with an of ficial grin, tapped him geutJy on the shoulder. “Well, what’s the row now?” in quired the Yankee. “Wautyou, mister,” was the brief reply. “ Yees—want me deu you? I spose you’ve beam of my having come to town with my everlastin and all-snort en inventions. You’re wide awake, I see, for coming afore any one else.” “Curse your inventions,” said the official. The sheriif wants to see you immediately. You thought to escape, did yu ? ” “ Sheriff— Escape ! Look a here, you critter, what on airth do you mean ? ” “Mean, for you to come along with out another word.” And so saying he dragged the pedlar out of the room. On the way he learned the circum stances of the arrest, and although he protested and swore lie was not the man, the likeness was too strong for belief. The Sheriff advised him for the good of his country and the honor of his friends, if he had auy, not to tell such “ dread fui lies,” but quietly submitto the pun ishment. The consequence was, he was tied to the whipping post, and the Sheriff pre pared to render, in the severest man ner, the infliction, “ Now, before I begin old fellow,” said the Sheriff, “ what have you got say ?” “ Oh, nothin' in particular,” said the pedler, laughing, with ameauiug curve of the lip—“ only ef you can afford to pay for luxuries, mister, go ahead !” The Sheriff, not comprehending the drift of this business-like observation, applied the scourge, and at every cut, the Yankee laughed with immoderate glee. Lash succeeded lash, and still he laughed, 44 and still the wonder grew.” When the fiftieth lash had been laid on, as a parting salute, the Sheriff threw down the whip in a flood of wonder ment and addressing the Yankee, said : “ I’m regularly dumbfounded ! Wbat in the devil’s name makes you laugh HO ?“ “ Laugh! Why, who could help it?” fairly roared the Yankee. “ I’m laugh in’ to think how you’ve got sucked iu on this ’ere operation—l ain’t the mun.’ He said this so meaningly, that the Sheriff began to think there must be a mistake somewhere. The Yankee still went on saying: “It strikes mo that business in ray line Is going to be rather dull in tills town, and If there’s any law to be had, I’ll speculate on this licking, and see ef 1 can’t turn It to some account. J’ra always open for trade, mlHter, if you want to compromise-for remember, you’ve licked the wroug man?” The Hhorlff, after consulting witli lilh lawyer, HdUrtl with tho Yuiikoo, pay ing him three hundred dollars, ami the fellow wont on his way, hoping to meet with similar luck elsewhere. French and American Manners. One of au Americuu party m Purls whoso circle had been invaded by duath, at a Parisian hotel, writes: 44 No other experience would have so warmed my heart to tho French people as did that ten days of sorrow,” giving US a reason therefor, that every one at the hotel, from chambermaid to hostess, were attentive, sympathetic, and ready to help. Whatguest iu America could have an experience that would draw from him like thanks to the host and servants of one of our large city hotels ? And the same letter, in speaking of the funeral procession composed only of a carriage or two—the deceased and her companions being total strangers in Paris, says : “ As our simple procession passed through the crowded and fash ionable boulevards, the Broadway of Paris, every one turned to look upon it. with not curious but sympathetic eyes; every hat was raised in deferential salu tation, from the poorest peasant in his soiled blouse to that of the wealthiest gentleman, sauntering for pleasure or hastening to his business.” What a contrast with American man ners! Here we see horses and carriages dash past funeral processions, and even break through the processions itseli be tween the hearse and the carriage of mourners, aud the person who should halt with raised hat as a procession passed would be starred at as a curisoi ty. In this connection we may repeat an incident occurring on Broadway, as its most densely crowded point just be low the Astor. It was a number of years since the Prince de Joiuville, son of Louis Phillipe, then Kingof France, visited this country, and made his mys terious trip up the lakes, and had his remarkable interview with the late Rev. Eleazer Williams at Green Bay. The Prince came over in the Belie Poole, a beautiful miniature frigate, and at the time we refer to, this vessel was lying in New York. One day there passed along the crowded •walk, down Broad way past the Astor, and St. Paul’s Church, a poor 1 man aud woman, the former carrying under his arm a tluy coffin with their dead baby, they stran gers and friendless, seeking Christian burial, for their child. The rude surge of Broadway rendered it almost dangerous to attempt to thread that crowd in safety to their preciouß burden. Just as the two had passed St. Paul's there came up Broadway the en tire crew of the French frigate, two by two, in their holiday dress, and jaunty hats with loDg streamers, chattering and jabbering, as French sailors only can, but the instant the leading mau espied that baby coffin he called a halt, and every man facing in, lifted his hat and stood In silence white that humble couple, with their cheap piDe coffin, covered with a mother's only shawl for a pall, were passing. There was a lesson for American gentlemen, but one our people, with all their pretended respect for the dead, will never learn. A physician having finished the am putation ofthe legofoneofhispatients, a near relative of the latter took him aside, and said anxiously to him : " Doctor, do you think your patient will recover?” “ Recover l there never has been the least shadow of a hope for him.” “ Then what is the use of making him suffer?” “ Why, my dear fellow, you astonish me! Could you say, brutally, to a sick man, ‘ you are dying!’ He must be amused a little.” If a Bpoonful of yeast will raise fifty cents worth of flour, how much will It take to raise another barrel ? Answer may be handed in over the fence. LANCASTER PA. WEDNESDAY MORNING APRIL 21 1869 THE TWITCHELLS. Statement or Hrs. Camilla E. Twltchell- Twltehell’s Letters (o Hl* Wife—Fran tic appeal to Her to *ave Him—Hoc It ConfeMlon Prepared by Him—*he I* Urged to Declare Herself tbe Murderer. We give to our readers to-day, the state ment of Camilla E. Twitchell, wife of Geo. S. Twitcbell, Jr., who eluded the ends of justice on Thursday morning last, by com mitting suicide iu his cell. Oar readers have bepn already informed of tbe details of the horrid crime porpotrated by tho murderer and suicido. His wife was ar rested at. tho time as an accomplice, and for lack of sufficient evidence to implicate her in deed, a verdict of “ not guilty” was rendered, and she was set at liberty. She had visited her husband in his cell after ho wus sentenced, os often as the prison rules permitted. Every effort was made by the counsel of the prisoner to stay tbe hand of justice, and, os a finale , the doomed man begged bis wife to ao that she had committed the "crime, and thus save him from the scaffold. She declining to do this, he mado a confes .siou, in which he implicated her as the principal, and announced himself as mere ly an accessory. In the statement thereto annexed, Mrs. Twitchell denies all knowl edge of the affair, and positively asserts thut she hud nothing to do with it. Ap pended to her statement, are the letters wrilteu to her by ber husband while in prison, w'hicb fully explain themselves. Tho statements wore written on a num ber of sheets of noto paper and small scraps. The hand writing is said to be un questionably that of George S. Twitchell, Jr. lie carried them in his coat sleeve un til a favorable opportunity occurred of handing them to bis wife. Mrs. Twitclieirs Ntatcment Wo give, as the first thing in order, the statement of Mrs. Twitchell, which we have in her own handwriting, except the con cluding paragraph, which was revised by a friend more skilled in making an appeal to a generous public than a novice : On Sunday afternoon, about half past one, George and I went out to take a ride, leav ing ut homo mother nnd the girl. We went to tho Abbey. I observed that George ap peared low-spirited, and in no way disposed to enter into conversation. I inquired if ho was sick, and was told he was not. We returned about four o’clock. I found my mother pleasant and agreeable. George came in shortly afterwards, and remained in the dining-room until called to tea, reading a paper, lie wus very thoughtful during thoalternoon and evening. We took tea together. After tea he left tho tableund went to tin* dining-room. In a few mo menta I was with him, leaving my ipother in the kitchen. In a few moments my mother came in the dining room. Mother and I conversed together, George making no remark whatever. Mother said to me, 44 1 had better go to bed ; sbe did not wish me to wait up ; she would rend the paper and wait for the girl herself.” I went to my room, saying, at the sumo time, 44 George, I am going to bed,” to which he replied, ” Very well.” My mother arose and went with me to my room, remaining and conversing pleasantly with me until I went to bed, when she passed out of the room, aud in a short time *how long I can not say) George catne into the room, un dressed, and came to bed. I was soon asleep, and knew nothing more until awakened by tho girl ringing the door-boll. I cannot say whether George wus asleep, but I think lie was not. 1 said ” George, that must bo the girl.” He replied ho supposed it wns. Ho made no attempt at that lime to get up aud lot the girl in. I came out oi my room into the entry and called my mother twice, to which I received no reply. I returned to my room with tho intention of finding something to throw over my shoulders, whon George got up, und said to Ino in an übrupt manner “ You come to bed and I will go down and let the girl in.” I remained ut my room door waiting for George to come up, think ing my mother was down stairs. I heard Sarah call him, heurd wbat he said wliwn ho wont Into the yard. I llew down stairs and saw my mother lying on the Bettee in the kitchen—a dead woman. This 1b ail I knew about tho murder. I knew nothing about my husband’s business; I believed it to bo in a nourishing condition, beiug told by him only a few days before the murder that ho wus doing well, making • money, and out of debt. I was kept in per fect ignorance, not only concerning his busi ness affairs, but many other acts of his private life. I deny that I ever deserted my husband, but, on tho contAry, ropeut edly offered to give every dollar I possessed to save his life if possible. After my acquit tal I treated him simlly, visltod him three times ovory woek, uevor, in anyway, ro furred by look or word to tho murder, never spoke an unkind word to him. ami novor once said to him, 44 Mother I” On Wednesday morning, March 24, whon 1 visited him us usual,ln shaking bunds witli him, he conveyed to me a loiter of lnstruo tlon. On Good Friday morning, March 2d, during my conversation with him, he con veyed to me a written confession, which ho wishud me to study well and commit to memory, and come to prison prepared upon Monday morning. From reading this I saw that it was ar ranged for mo to go thoru ami bouorno a party to the Julsuhood. It was arranged that Mr. l'erkins and tho ltev. Mr, Bring hnrst were to receive mo, and I wus to play a part in order to deceive them and the world. I was to accuso myself ofliaving taken my mother’s life, and commit per jury by swearing to such a statement. Much as I dosireu to aid my husband, I could not do this thing; and finding I could not trust myself safely, and fearing from tho arrangements made I might bo en trnpnod, I went no moro to tbe prison. Finding I did not comoon the Monday as ho desired, he sent me, on Wednesday morn ing, March 31, two othor confessions, from which I was to make a choice. On Thurs day morning, April 1, I received the fourth ancl last one. Since that fatal hour that I bade my mother good night I have been surprised aud stunuod to find that mother murdered in her own house; I have been imprisoned many sad days and gloomy nights, charged with the crime of having murdered my own mother. My husband has been convicted of that crime ; my home has been utterly destroyed ; I myself have been put on trial for my life ; my husband has committed suicido; I have been judged not only by tho tribunals of the country, but fearfully judged by those who have been warned by the Master to “judge not;” I have been accused by ray husband, who did it in a desperate effort to save his life, of killing my mother. Ho did this, I re peat, in uu effort to save bis life. In the defence of all that makes life desiruble, I urn compelled to submit these letters to the public to show them bow utterly unreliable was such a statement, made by my hus band under the circumstances in which he was placed, and how little I should have been behoved, lmd I oven mado such a statement mysolf. I have felt and I continue to feel that there is no sympathy for me. I am a wo man believed to bo u guilty one, and lor such tho gates of human sympathy are shut. My only hope is that in the little life that is leit of me, and daring those times I may bo compelled, reluctantly though it may be, to come in contact with the groat world, I may be spared the distress of hear ing, as I have heard, unconsciously to those who spoke of me, myself denounced as a murderess in thought as well as action, tbe murderess of ray mother and destroyer of my husband. Camilla E. Twitchell. Georgo 8. Twltctioll’* Letters to Ills Wife. [first letter] Sunday Morning, March 7,15G0. My Dear Wife: I hare just listened to tih exhortation upon the Ist Chapter of James, and though it was not very elaborate, yet it was sufficiently plain to make it evi dent to an attentive hearer the great need we havo of a Saviour. The situation that I am in makes me feel that great blessing, for oh, dear Camilla, no earthly help can afiord me the consolation that I can receive from an all-wise and ever-mercifnl God, through the righteousness of His Divine Son, our Lord Jesus Christ. lam aware of the fearful doom which awaits mo by the condemnation of the law. No hand can stay Jt,except guided by God. I feel that my time on earth is short, bat, blessed be God, there Is a better land above, where, by faith in the great atonement, the trials, suf ferings, and awful death of that Being, sin less in Himself, yet who, in obedience to the will of His Divine Father, took upon Himself the sins of the whole world, and endured the punishment In order that we poor sinners might escape the righteous law of God, and yet that law be vindicated by saoriflce, that we might have a home above throughout the countless ages of eternity. Oh, Camilla 1 thin : of this great love for us, and then think how it is repaid by ns. Dear Camilla, please don't neglect the salvation of your soul, though we must soon'part here. Oh ! let me feel before Igo that yon will try to live so that you will meet me above, where there will be no more sorrow nor parting—where man cannot intrude his will or power to make his fellow mourn. Dear Camilla, I want to feel before I go that when your time shall come that I can stand and meet you on the pearly shores of heaven, and sing, as I see you on your way, wel come home.” “ Gowben the morning thineth, Gtrwhen the moon it bright, Go when the eve deoiineth. Go In the thadee of night. Go with pure mind and feeling, Ming earthly thoughts away, And in thy chamber kneeling, Do thou in tecrct prof/” Dear Camilla, seek the mercy seat alone, and often, and there pour out your sorrows, griefs, and trouble, and He will answer your prayers, perhaps not as you wish, but in a way which will be best for you. There, be lore His all pervading eye, lay bare your heart; roll your sins on to Jesus, He can and will bear them, if yoa will only believe it, and He Is your “ Advocate with the Father.” What a blessed thought that we can individualize the Saviour, that we can say: “My Saviour 4 He bore my sins on the cross, He died to save me,” and, dear Camilla, when evil thoughts and doubts aud fears come over you, go and pray to Him for help to overcome them, and for strength and faith. If you will do this He will enable you to endure all that you may be called upon to bear, with pa tience. I am right well, and I expect Charles Perkins to spend the evening with me. Please give my respects to Miss Kute, Please don’t forget me at six o’clock in the evening. Keep this letter and often look at it. This will probably bo the last one that I will be able to send you, and when I am gone please read it very often. I am, ns over, yours, with love unto death, George. [SECOND LETTER.] Monday Evening, March 8, ISG9. Dear Camilla: Mr. Bringburst spent about two hours with me yesterday after noon, and we had a very pleasant' time, as we alwuys do, although he has not been yery well. Last evening Charles:Perkins came up about 7 o’clock, and stayed uutil quarter of nine. We had a lovely Evening, singing some hymns, and each one offering an humble prayer to Almighty God, in which you were remembered. Oh, Camilla, I al ways remember you in my prayers, hoping that God will direct your heartarigKt, and He will if you will only ask Him. Father, John McCully, Frank Moore,and my warm friend, George Neiman, were here this morning to see me; they let Geo. Neiman stay about a half an hour, and we hud a de lightful time, he offering np a prayer, aud then we sang several hymns. I have boon very happy to-dny. This afternoon Mr. Furr camu in about half past two o’clock and stayed about an hour. Mr. Bringburst did not got here till about three o’clock. Before Mr. Furr left we had one hymn, and he led us in prayer. 110 prayed very sweet ly, yet very earnestly, for me, and you wore also remembered in it. Mr. Farr is a very sweet Christian character; he is about seventy years of age, and Isa member of the committee of tbe Prison Society. Ho is Very interesting in his conversation, having travelled considerably. He formerly kept the Jewelry store in Chestnut street, below Fourth ; his sons now keep it. My dear Camilla, I feel that God has been very kind to me in my affliction, having blessed me with many warm friends, and many peace ful and pleasant and happy hours. Oh! dear Camilla, Ho has made my soul very happy; He has made me teel enabled to auy that, come what will, whether it be life or death, I know in whom I trust, aud though the lleah is weak, yet 110 will give me strength to meet all, and enablo me to feel that it is but a moment of pain here, and then an eternity of everlasting life in that bright, glorious kingdom which is prom ised to them that believo. These are blessed thoughts, and dear Camilla, let me again entreat you to prepare for this. A few hours may, a few years must bring you to the close of life; und if Igo first I waut to meet you where there is no more sighing, neither any sorrow nor any crying. Deer Camilla, the spirit of Christianity is good to live with, as well as to die with. You may think this very strange language from one who has been such a skeptic and scorner as I have been, but in my calamity God has changed my heart and shown me the lullacy of my wuya. Oh, Camilla! I have been a very greut siuuer, but God’s mercy has been far greater. lam a very dlllerent man from the George S. Twitcnell of five months ago, aud a far happier one, even with the dark earthly prospects ahead. Jesus says, *• Fear nothing, those who kill the body can after that do nothing.” Please don’t forget God, for He, through tbe bless ed Saviour, is your only salvation. Dear Camilla, if the worst should come, I think I would like to sleep in Mout Moriah, near that beautiful stream of water, Brook-Hed ron, I think it is called, far away from the noise and bustle of the world, where you can come und commune with me, mid I want you to putno costly monument over my grave, but plant some rosea and some thing thut will be green in winter. G. [third letter.] (Received Wednesday before Good Friday.) Dear, Dear Camilla: I know that you tbiuk that you would not be believed if you made a confession ; but I know if you will make such a one us I tell you to, and do exactly as I telLyou, it will be believed. If I were acquitted, and you wore convicted, I would mako one to save you, if it would be death to me. Now, I ask you to do tho same thing, Camilla. You have my life in your hands. If you do as I direct, you will save it; and if you do not, no’power under Heaven can save me. A friend of mine who talked u long lime with tbe Governor, said that be told him that he bad to curry out tbe law, but If any mitigating circum stances should arise he wou[d spure me. I nm pledged not to tell who be is. Tho Gov ernor told John McCully that tho sentence would linve to beoarried out. unless some* body suys they did it. Camilla, I hour that while you were in prison you said somo very Injudicious things. Mr. Bringburst says you lmve dono the suino thing when talking with him ut his’house. I hope for tho sake of charity ami mercy that you will do so no moro. You muni nover say to him anything about this, for ho tolls me In confidence, and 1 only toll you to show how careful you ought to bu; und If he should know that I told you It would do mu u grout deal of harm. I want to tell you plainly, thathothlnkHyou knowsomo thing about it. and a greut many others think ho, too. This is one reason why you will be bolloved, Homo of tho leadlnglaw yers of Philadelphia have told him that if you made a confession it would huvu me. Among them is a man who used to be Gov. of this Slate, and also one that has known Gov. Geary ull his life. Now I will tell you what stepH I have taken to prepnre the way. I have been urged to ask you here, in the the presence of somebody, whether you know anything about it. Mr. Bringburst thinks 1 ought to do ibis, and many other prominent men. Ho to-dny I sent for Mr. Perkins, the Superintendent of the Prison, and asked him about it. Ho said I ought to do it. lie said lb was probable that you would say no; but if you would admit it, it would save me, and it was tbe only thing that would. I also asked Mr. Chandler; he said the same thing. I tell them that I expect you would deny it, although I don’t btlleve that you know anything. Thin Hula their minds at rest about me. You must never say uuythlng to Mr. Bringhurst, fur that would ruin it all. I will write out a confession for you, and give it to you on Friday; and you must learn it thoroughly. I will also give you all the directions how to act and and pffien you will do it. Mr. O’Byrne told me that he did not want you to know anythmg about it. You must not say anything at all about this, not even to father. It must be kept perfectly secret, or it will do no good. Camilla, spare me this horrible, awful death. Y'ou, and you alone, can do it. Oh I do not disappoint me; it would bo more than I could bear. Oh! Camilla, I have tried to be kind to you ; you cunnot forget tho days and nights that I have nursed you when you wore sick—the nights I walked the road with you in the country when you had the asthma, and I did not complain. And, dear Camilla, you haye been a good wife to me. Do not, oh ! do not, I pray you, dosert me now. Havel oh! save me. You have got a noble heart, and I know that you will do this. Camilla, you would be awful lonely without any one, and in your present position. Oh, if you will save me, or at least make the effort, for if you do not mako the effort you know that you can’t do it; but ob, for my Bake make this last effort—it’s all you cun do. And if it saves mo I will starve if it la necessary to give you comforts; and in another State and under another name we may yet be happy. Dear Camilla, if you really in tend, to do this you must have a trunk packed all ready to leave the city at the shortest notice. I think I would go to Baltimore aud stop at a second-class hotel. Of course you will have to change your name. Please urge Mr. O’Byrne to come down this afternoon, and get here as soon after four o’clock as he can. Good-bye; don’t let any one see this. Burn it as soon as you have read it. It is an awful thing to ask you to do this, but dear Camilla, it is for my life. If it wub for anything else I would not ask you to do it. Please, oh ! please spare my life. Save me, oh I save me. Yoa are the only one who can. Ca milla, think of this. 1 am young, and in tho full flush of health, and i&is not too late yet to try and make you happy. I would go in rags to do It, if you will save me. Oh I remember this, aud save me if you can.— Oh! don’t let your courage fail you; re member that you cannot give me life after lam dead; and oh! dear Camilla, do as I ask you to in this case. Don’t forget it is for my life* George. [fourth letter,] (This was received on Good Friday.) My Dear Camilla: You must make the following confession if yon would save me, and you mast do just exaotly as I tell you here; nothing else can save me but this,and this will positively do it. You have said yen would give your life to do it, but that will not do unless It was accompanied by a confession, I would rather die myself than have you to die; but you can do this without death, and this is the way to do It*. You must write out the following confes sion-write it out twice—put oue away in some secret place so thst after you have done as I tell you you can have one to look at so that you will not forget it in case you should ever be wanted; if the Governor or any of the authorities should ever send for yon to ask you any questions you could an swer them correctly. You must also learn this, so that if you are asked any questions yon can answer so as net to eentradlet them or this. CONFESSION, One afternoon last spring, my mother aud I were walking up Chestnut street, as we passed the Continental, Mr. Gilbert came out aud a gentleman with him. He came up and spoke to us, and Introduced his friend to us—bis name was Lee, Mr. Lee. They walked up Chestnut street to Tenth with us, they went on up Chestnut and Ten pi street cars and came home. A few days after I met Mr. Gilbert in Ninth street; he came over and walked with me toCbest nnt street; he went into ttie Continental; he asked me how my mother was; he always did whenever I saw him, and asked me if sbe was any better natured yet; be spoke about his friend Mr. Lee, and said he was a very elegant gentleman, and worth a great deal of money; that he always had plenty of money. I asked where Mr. Lee lived, Hnd Mr. Gilbert said that wheu he was in this city he stopped ut tbeGirard House, but bo was a great traveller. I saw Mr. Lee- as I was going down Cbestuut street; he bowed to me ; he was a fine looking man, rather tall, with a moustache aud military side whiskers, and dressed in the lop of the fash ion. I oftenjsaw him after this,sometimes on Chestnut street, and sometimes on Eighth street; occasionally h* would join me; he was a splendid talker, and I got to like him very much. After I got right well acquaint ed with him I found out that he was u gam bler. He always asked me bow my mother was. After we got well acquainted I told him how my mother treated mo when my husbaud was away; how cross she was. He asked me whv I did not put her out of the way, and I said I could uot do that. He then said, 44 Get your husband to do it.” I told him that my husband would leave me if I eveu hinted such a thing to him; and be replied, no groat loss, for you cofild get another one as good as him any (lay.” I then told him that my husband was very kind to me. This conver sation took place iu Arch street betweeu Seventh and Ninth streets. I was looking at tho pictures *iu Gutekuust’s window when be came up aud spoke to me, and from there we walked up Ninth street, where lie took a car. I mado an appoint ment with him to meet me that day one week, which waa Tuesday. at three o’clock in the afternoon, in Franklin Square. I told him I would bo standiug arouud tho fountain. Ho came at the time appointed, and we took seals aud talked manors over. Ho asked me a great rnuuy questions about my mother; what her habits were; when tho servant was out; what time she came in; if my husband stayed up to let her in; how much money my mother carried about her and where she carried it; ifiny husband slept soundly, &c. He then said ho would fix it for me ; but that he must have all the money aud I must let him see the house. I told him to come to tbe house about half past four o’clock on Thursday afternoon ; that the girl would be out, and I would get mother to go out ho that no l ody would De homo but me. He came, aud I showed him all over the house aud the yard. Wo then fixed the time for the next Sunday week; bo HRid Sunday night was the best time, because there would not be so many people about and this would be tho girl’s night out. He told me to unbolt the gate ou Teutbstreetas soon as it got dark.and that ho would bring somebody with him ; that I must have tho ilogs fed as much us they could oat, and put away where they would make no noise, and that then liiuy would coine in aud hide themselves. I told him to go into Jhe b ick privy ; that no one ever weutin there, and thut wheu mother was up Htairs I would get them iuto the cellar. Our plan was that I was to come out of the kitchen singing if the way wus clear; und if be was there, he was to give a slight cough. This was to be done before I went to bed ; then after my husband was fast asleep I was to como down aud tell them. This waa our plan, and everything seemed to favor it that night. I asked him when I would see him again, and ho said wo must not soe each other ugain till lho night we had fixed on, tor if we were soon together it might look suspicious, lie stayed at the house about half un hour, ami that was the last time I saw him till thut.Sunday night. Everything passed off as wo bad expected. After my husband was lastusleep, I got up and went down stairs very quietly iu my bare feet, and looked iu the dining-room.— The door was partly open, and the gas was turned low, but I saw mother lyiDg down ou the sofa. I went up to her and found she was asleep. I went right downstairs ns quietly us I could, opened the cellar door and told them to come as quickly and as quietly as they could; that she was asleep in the dining loom, aud now was their time. Mr. Lee told tbe man who was with him to go out In theyard; he then went up stairs into the dining-room, und I shut the door and staid outside. I heard several blows given, but do not know how many, and then all wus quiet. I waited a moment and then went In. He said he guessed that would do. When I went in I did uot see auy blood, and I said to him, 44 let us throw her out of the window, and when the girl comes home sbo will think she fell out.” I weut and pulled up the blind and raised tho window. He then came and gave a kind of low hiss, which tho man in the yard answerod. He wished to see if any body was about. The mun in Lho yard got on tho ash barrel, und in a minute ho gave a klud of low whistle. Mr. Lee told tno to take hold of tho feot, and ho caught hold of her body und carried her and threw her out. Then I turned up tho gas and for lho first time huw blood on tho floor. I Huid I would wlpo It up. We wont down stairs, and the mun in lho yard catno In,and Mr. Lee took his overeout from tho man. I think I called him John. I opouod tho front doer and lul thorn out, nnd then shut it very quietly, I don’t know whether I locked it or not; I don’t think I did. Then I wont out to tho hydrunt und got a towolihut was there, and went up HiulrH to wlpo up tho blood. Wheu I saw it wus splashed around lho room, I know It was no uso, so I went down stuffs again with tho bloody towel and washed it umlur tho hydrunt, and let the hydrant run a min ute or two. I thought I saw mother move, aud was afraid that hbo was not deud. so l wont and got tho poker from besiuo the range und struck her on the sldo of the beud with the point, laid it down there, washed my bunds, and went to bed, where I found my busbund fast usloep. In übout fifteen or twenty minutes lho bell raug.and I knew it was the girl, but I was afraid to go down and let her In, so I waited, thinking that maybe sbo would wake George, but after she rang several times I woke him and usk ed him if he would not go down and let her lu. He asked where mother was. I said : 44 1 guess she is asleep ; I will look in her room.” He put on his pants, his coat, and boots and went down and lether in What happened after that is already known. Mr. Lee is rather tall and spare, oroad should ers, dark eyes and straight dark hair ; he bus lair skin, and dark military sido whis kers and moustache; The night of the mur der he had whiskers on his chin, so that I hardly knew him. I never saw hitn have them there betore. The man he had with him he called John. I would not know him if I was to see him again, for I took no notice of him except to seo that bo was not u» tall as Mr. Lee. Mr. Lee was a low flu ent talker, und luughed a greatdeal, which showed bis teeth, which were very pretty. INSTRUCTION*. When you come in on Monduy morning Mr. Perkins will come in with you, instead of a keeper. Mr. Chandler may bo with me, or bo may not. I will meet you theeumo as usual, and will talk to you about general maLters. You must not appear to be the least suspicious while I utn talking to you. I will ask you, very suddenly, “Camilla, do you know anything about this murder?” Mr, Perkins will watch you very closely, and on your actions now the result depends. You must act ck it themselves, it was a spring padlock. You mnst not come to seo me uny more after you toll this. [FIFTH LETTER.] [Received ou Wednesday succeeding Good Friday.) DearCamilla* I have concluded to alter tho plan of makio£.a confession. Idoit in prder to make it easier for you. Instead of asking you here, I want you to go and see Mr. Bringhurst to-morrow morning; go early, he does not know that you will be there, and make a voluntary confession to bltn; tell him you oannot endure the thought of iny being exeouted without tell ing what you know about tbiß murder; you mußt be positlvo about my beiug In bed and asleep when it was done. If, when you go there, the girl should tell you that he oan not bo seen, you must insist on seeing him, giving your namo. Camilla, you must mnke tbe confession that I gave you on Fri day, but I wish you toaltor it some. I wish to make this alteration: Instead of being Introduced to Mr. Lee by Mr. Gil bert, you must have it that you got ac quainted with him in un Eighth streetcar in this way: You got in tho car at Eighth und Spruco streets to take a ride, us you ofion did. A gentleman got in ut Chestnut stroot, nnd took u seat alongside of you.— After riding u short dlstanco tho cur became very much crowded, nnd you dropped your parasol, and this gentleman picked It up.— You tkunkod him, und ho spoke übout the nuUunco of riding in u crowded car, This opened a convolution, und you' tullced along quito pleasantly, until ho got out of the c.ir at Spring Garden stroot. Ia tho courxo of conversation hotold'you his uurae whs Leo, 111111 then askod your name ; you told him. /After this you often saw him on und ou Eighth street; ho always bowed to you and you roturnod his bow. Aftor awhile bo would spoak to you, nnd finally shook hands with you, anu af tor that you got quite familiar, and used to meet like old friends. This will avoid Buy ing uuythlng about Gilbert, and will not bring him in tho matter at all. You can connect this theory with your after conversation with him by de grees, until you make him tho person who was in tbe house on that night. This will uot seem strange, as such acquaintances are often made, and tho people think you lmd enough for anything; but you must not mind this now, lor you havo my life to save. You need not be afraid of this, be cause there is no such a man as I have mentioned, so he| can’t come forward und prove where he was, and Philadelphia Is a large place to find such u man; besides, such a man as you will describe him to be would be likely to travel, and It is such a loDg time since thut oven if there was such a man ho could not bo found now. You can use any other nurao if you like. If, ufter you have mado this confession to Mr. Bringburst, he should want you to make it to any else, you must do it Ask him to go with you, und be will do it, and be will treat you kindly for my Hake; but you must not oven bint to him that I know anything übout this. He thinks that you know something about this ; con sequently this will have weight. You must uot forget thut it was you who pro posed to throw the body out of the win dow ; this is plausible for a woman, but not from a mun. Now, Camilla, I wish you to tell this if you oan ; but if you think you will fall then write it, and giyo it to him or any one he tells you to. If you wuuld bo asked if you have seen Mr. Leo Hince, you must say no. Now Camilla, don't make auy mistake, und don't atop to say yoa are ! afraid that it will not avail, or thut Mr. O’Byrne thinks so, for I tell you it will save me. I have got it from tho beat authority. I will mention Homo authority, but jou must keep it Hecret from O’Byrno or any ore else, lor 1 am bound in confidence not to reveal it, but I tell you to assure you. A lawyer, whose word cannot be doubted, bus spent a night with Governor Geary’s private secretary, Dr. Gibon, and he told him that both himself and tbe Governor|thinks that you are the guilty party, und that if any thing new wus to turn up, or you was to come forward and confess, the Gover nor would spafe me. This is from too good a source to be doubted.— Now you can see the need of a confes sion ; it is the only thing that can save me, and you must make it to-morrow morning, for ttiere is not an hour to be lost. I have laid tbegrouDd for this, and you must do tbe rest. Here are some questions that you may bo asked, bosides those I gave you be fore : Question. Which way did those men go when thoy left the house? Answer. I don’t know ; I did not look ; I Ktood behind the door. Q. How were those men dressed ? A. In dark clothes. Q. Were tbe clothes black ? A. Idoq’tknow; they were dark; I did not take particular notice. Q. Was the overcoat he had on long or short ? A. I don’t know ; I did not notice. Q. Did you get any blood on you ? A. I get some spots on my night cap. Q,. What did you do with the night-cap ? A. Burned it. Q. Where? A. In the range in tbe kitchen. Q. When did yon first Bee that you had blood on your night-cap? A. As soon us I came in the kitchen. Af ter washing my hands I looked in the look ing-glass and saw it Q. Have you seen Mr. Lee since that night ? A. No. Q. Have you heard from him ? A. No. Q. Did your mother and husband ever quarrel ? A. No. he never quarrelled with any one, Q.. Did you have a candle ? A. Yes; my mother had the entry gas tnrned off, and the candle lit standing on a chair in the entry. 1 took It out to the hy drant when I went to wash my hands, and took it and put it on the kitchen table. Q. Did vou hear the blows very loud when you stood at tbe dining-room door ? A. No ; I could just hear them, that was all. NUMBER 16 Q. Was the door open or shut ? A. Shut. Q. Who shut it? Camilla, these quest lon may be asked and they may not: Q. Why did you say to your husband, when you were going to prison. “George, if you know anything about it, tell it aud save me ?” A. To throw suspicion off myself. Any other questions of a like character about remarks you have made, you must answer the same. Q. If that was so, why do you make this confession now ? A. I can’t endure It uny longer. If niv husband should bo hung for this I would kilimyself, because I am thconethntought to w hung. Q. Dou’l he know something about it ? A. No. Now, Camilla, here isnnother coufesaion, and you can make which oue you please, but you must make one or the other to morrow morning, as I have directed you. [SIXTH LETTER.) CONFESSION NUMBER TWO. You will know what to say about our go iDg to'bed that night,becauseit has all bren produced iu evideuce. Now, you must tell the following story: After my husband went to sleep that night, which whs in h very short time ufter he got in bed, I could not go to sleep; so, after lying theie a long time, I looked at my watch. It was u quar ter to nine o’clock. I thought I would get up aud go down uud see what mother wus doing, and sit and talk awhile with her. I often used to do this when George was usleen, and he know nothing about it. I found her in the dining-room, sittiug be side the fire. Wo talked awhile, when >vo got to quarrelling. {Catnillu. you know whut you used to quarrel about, so If you are asked whut it was übout.you will know what to aay). Wo ofteu quarrelled when my husband way not about—while we wero both angry. She said that if it wus not for her that 1 would bo a beg gar, and would have to go to the alms house. This made me so angry that 1 did uot know what to do. 1 saw the poker lying beside the grate, and I ran and got it aud struek her with it seventl times before I knew what I was dolug. She fell on the sofu | then I got frightened and did not know whut to do. Then I thought I would throw her out of the window, and people would think she fell out, und 1 would wash the blood off the floor. I went to the win dow in thesmokiugroom, because I thought the willow tree would bide me. I pulled up the blinds and window and went aud tried to lift her. At flrst 1 could uot move her; and then I got desperate, uud it seemed that I hud live times my natural strength, and I lifted herns eusy us though she had been a buby. I Old uot feel her at all. I could 'have currfcd throe times us much. After I threw her out, 1 felt ho weak for a moment or two that 1 had to hold my self up by the wall. Then I felt stronger, and went down stnirs to get Homethmg to wipe the blood off the floor. I took a towel that buug up neur the hydraut, and* went up and began to wipe it; then T saw that I could not do it. and when I looked around and saw the blood on the walls, I knew it could not bo hid. It thou occurred to me to go down aud take her money ; then it would look us though it had been done by some one for her money. After I took her money, she moved, uud I went up to the dining room and got the poker and came down and struck her in the temple with the point of it, und then left it lying there. When I went up after the potter I luid the money on tho tuble. After I struck her in the yard I washed the towel mul my face aud bunds under the hydrant, uud Jet the hydrant run a short lime. Then I saw I bad a groat deal of blood on my night gown, so I took it off. and my night cap also, and put them in the ruugo auu saw him was about three weeks after. Y<>u met him on Eighth street below Race, lie again asked about your mother; how she was? It she was not rather childish? This lime he usked if she did not carry a good deal of money about her. You asked him how ho knew anything about it. Unsaid thatyour husband accidentally ineniioucd it once when he was talking about her, aud ulso that Mr. Henderson had told him. Ho left you at the corner of Filbert street. About a week afterwards you met him in the car on Ninth street. He spoke and asked how your mother was. You got out at the corner of Niulh and Arch streets aud left him iu it. Twoorthrooduys afterwards you suw him ugalu. You were lookiug in the window at the pictures at Gutekunsl'*, iu Arch at rent, above Seventh, when he came up and spoke to you. lie then usked you If you were going up the street? You told him you woro. Do said he would walk up with you. Ho walked up to Tenth, where-you took the car to cotnu homo. On this walk ho asked you how your mother wus? and again said how nicely you and your huubuml would be tlxod it she should die, uud how imprudent it was for your inuther to curry her money about with her, and usked you if she did not stuy up very lute at night? aud whether you ami your husband stuyed up with her? You told him thut wo went to bed very early. -This was all about tho trouble with him about the will. He apologized to you for reading It to your mother. You never told your husbund of meeting him, for ho did not like him, and said ho was a bud mun. You did not see him aguin for about two weeks, when you again mot him In Eighth street, above Chestnut. Ho spoke to you, ami walked up Eighth to Arch, whoro he left you, going down Arch. Ho ugalu got to tulking übout your mother; how troublesome she must be, und If sho was to die bow nlco we could live, nothing to trouble us. He also usked übout our sorvunt; whethor wo had a good one; bow hard it wus to get a good one Thut tbuy always wanted an alternoon und evening ovory week. He usked you if wo gave our survunPtbiH ? You told him that she hud every Thursday afternoon and ovoniug, und ovory Hunday ufteruoon undovuulng. Hu then usked you if your mother allowed her to slay out lute? You suld she cauio homo generally betweon nine and ton o'clock. Ho ulso usked you if you wultod up for her or gave hor h key I You told him your molhor ulways wultod up for hor— that you und your husband went lo bud. Ho asked what time? You said übout 8 o'clock. He then tohl you that ho had boon on lo New York, and hud un elegant time. He suld thut ho took tho world very eusy ; that nothing ever troubled hltm You saw him u few days ultur this In ChuH’.nulalruul —ho going up und you going down. Ho bowed lo you. You suw him ugnln.tho Thursday boforo the murder, at Eighth and Chestnut; he Jolnod you und walked up us fur us Cherry, when ho loft you uml went up Cherry street. On this occasion, us usual, ho tulkodofyour mother, lie ask ed you how muuh money she curried übout her? You told him you thought übout five thousand dollars. He suld It wus u nice pile. You asked him how ho would like to huvo it. lie suld first rule. You told him ho could huvo it if ho would send for it at a proper time. He usked wheu u proper time was? You told him tills evening. He suld it was 100 soou. You then toid him Sunday evening. Hu sold he would do it. He usked which door he should send to. You told him thut tho front gute might be unboiled, liusald be would send somebody to make everything right. On the evenlug of the murder you went uud unlocked the pudlock, which wus a spriug lock und would lock itself, aud unbolted the front gute. You went to bed and your husband came a few minutes after, ho went to sleep, und wus not out of the room till ho wont down stairs to let tho girl In. You was uwake, but heard no noise except about a half hour before tho girl cuiuu boms, when you thought you heard the front door shut.— These conversations you hat! with Mr. Gil bert were always lu the ufteruoon, between throe uud tlvo o'clock. Gkoiiuu. nivcdiaueoiiN Nolo. Tho following wore rucolvud ut various times, written In tho smallest possible hum), on diminutive pieces of paper : Camilla, ifyou should bo asked why you did not lull before this, say you were afrfiid Hint tbo people would tear you to pieces, and that you cannot conceal it any longer; that you are sorry that you ditl It, und that it is killing you by degrees. This looks very rational. Everybody knows tlmt when a person Is uudor a strong oxoitomunt they are stronger than at any other time, and when the excitement leaves they be* come very weak This will account natur al ly for your supernatural strength ut that dine. Don’t think that you will wait a day or two to see If some of the oilier plans that are being done will answer, lor If you do U will bo lutal; ©very moment counts now. Ifyounro asked what time It was when you struck her, unswer that vou suppose It was after U o’clock, but you were too ex cited to notlceabout time. Okohue. Camilla, If you make the first confession you can, ifyou like, say that you made Iho acquaintance of Mr. Lee by being Intro duced to him by Dr. Kuton Hboul ten years ago. You know all about Dr. Eaton, and you know that he la dead, so he cannot con tradict this. If you should do this you can say that sometimes you would sue Mr. Lee very often, and sometimes not for months. Geougk. Oh, Camilla. I am afraid your telling mo that you will uo anything for me is all talk, because, If you fall to do as I request, no thing under Heaven will save me. For God’s sake and my life, do this without luil. If Mr. Bringhurst should usk you why you came to him to tell him this, answer that you do not know who else to go to. If you are asked about your former life refuse to answer. If you are uskod how you knew Mr. Lee was a gambler, unswor, •* You asked him one time, and-he s.iid he sometimes played to pass away lime.” Don’t furget to have the time of the days of your meeting with Mr. Lee all right. If asked, I would say that through the middle of the summer you did not see anything of him. Dou’t for Heaven’s sake fail now ? Geouqk. “ A certain queer genius whosd prom inent speciality was an aversion to water, happened home late one night, with that peculiar, furry Bensation about his tongue and tonsils which gentlemen who rejoice in Clubs will remember as part of fhelr experience. His wife had left standing upon a bureau a tumbler, in which—for some purpose known to house wives—she had put a small ball of silken thread to soak. Without ob serving this fact Bibulous seized the tumbler, and swallowed its contents. Feeling a thread in his mouth, he began pulling upon It. To his horror, yard after yard came stringing forth, until, in an agony of excitement, he orled out: 1 Luoy. Lucy, for God’s take feme here! I’m unravelling , !L6O 2.50 2.00