Slw gmunttr* itttrtttßinrw, Published every ■Wednesday by H. G. SMITH A CO A. J. Steinman H, G. Surra, TERMS—Two Dollars per annum, payable In all oases in advance. The Lancaster Daily Intelligencer la published every evoniug, Sunday excepted, at 85 per Annum in advance. OFFlCE— Southwest corner or Centre tj QUAKE. THE TROUT.IinCCK From a hollow in the hillside where the rocks aro green with bosses Of those velvets wrought by Nature in her twilight nooks, the mosses, Cavern-cradled, mad for sunshine, and too full of life to dally, With a shout of ellln-laughter leap i the brook let toward the valley. There it links, a skein of silver, that tho rough stonos iret and feather Meadow, thicket, grove, and corn-field, as with loops of light together; And many a crystal runnel sliding noiseless through the grasses, Proud to swell Jl'> bolder current, pays bright tribute as it passes. Where it deepens shapes of beauty from the pools and eddies glaueiug, Every moment star mo shadows where Itio summer-files are dunelug; Or on filmy fius, thrice sv.dfter man the pinions or the swallows. Shoot like meteors from the durk depths up tho sun-llluiiiiii'd shallows. Hero It runs through briery arches wlnro the wild rose buds and blushes, There, unseen, its course Is signaled by the bending of the rushes ; And anon where swing at anchor the Nym phuta’s green lloLilias, 11 renoses. Mivcr-curiaineu. ’neatli The foliage of the willows. As Its volume waxes stronger, Thrill, the mer cenary y.*»:ilol, Un the mountain’* freeborn c.fisprlug puts the fetters of the helot, And compels to penal service, from its heaven appointed duly. Nature’s child tuM filled tin: valley with light melody and beauty.* ' Frc iy p all ufoam with r.iy;u Jinyi-r, Willi Hdfculuulijy ros.r it, kIUW-k tin; old milf wuei'i'.s cit 1 L: 1 1 ilani;<»r, And tiir 1 lie s‘.ream that inn.. Indore idm. l.igiilly swoops lil-s si< i.>i;-r i.troii, ils baibed temptation winging, Where tin: i;lr< nrnleis’ spanr.-lfd harlequins Room ]>n U or lit: are springing ; And t're y the br.mksidu ! here are 1 rnc.-s ; Running brooks v.n (>• lP.e’s sc’-! mirrors; and to glad In r son:, nt.it dnu/til.-rs, Hull t lie In ign: ness <>l her n.;-nly i* st.li lin gering MI Un 1.- Wall'!.-.. hi’oihpi v. hi* h it j">ir:.e>s For then: m:. iic, Hie fair sire;: No and now r. j - ee--.. And, the while, its living r:;i lent, turns the v.niey in a mi'.!! n, 1 o iin evei -enai.g. nr. nn.s.e ad-:., t ire* poetry ui • inoll.m. glisetUancmt's. Tin; tielioulmnsUT of tioucliurcii. .Uonchuroh, in tho Isle of Wight, is a picturesque village on the upper dills of Vcntnor. Here, suinn years siuce, lived a pool schoolmaster, who routed a cntlugCyof two rooms for a dwelling, and u ham for the school. Jle was self-edu cated in l lie com mon elements of knowl edge, and had made the human heart his sillily; ami it was his delight not merely to tench the mechanical parts of reading, wiiting am! arithmetic, but also to inllueticf Lite moral and intellec tual powers of his children, and to strengthen, elevate and purify them, in this aim lie had hut one text book - tiie (Jospe! of tin* (livat Teacher; and in this lie learned one les-on in especial —that “it is good to save that which is lo d.’’ Like a’! of his older, the master, iu his school, h.sd b- contend with boys who could not learn, ami boys who would not. lint the boy who gave him the most trouble c-.uld u:ul did learn; only lie was so inimitable in liisgeneral conduct, au-.l . to li an imp of mischief, that it was a ci useless perplexity with the good master what ought to be done withfiiim. The master had no worldly motivefor roclaiiningso.dinicuit a charge since he gained not a penny by it; but he foil a Christian yearning toward the lad, who was an orphan, and was not without promise of hotter things. “Harry, Harry, look in ray face, sir! ” exclaimed the master, one day, in his very sternest tones. Harry lifted up his bold, handsome, and always dirty face, surrounded by a tangled mesh of dflrk, curling hair, and made a comic grimace ; but when his bright eye met that of his master, he glanced aside, as if something pained him. “Harry Bonner, you were last night stealing neighbor Watson’s apples.” “ Was I, master'. 1 ” His tone of mock innocence and sim plicity excited sudden laughter in the school, and the frown of the master could scarcely check it. “Yes, you were, sir; ami I tell you, Harry,” said the master solemnly, “ if you go on in this way you will come to some sad end.” “ I hope not, master.” A stout leathern strap was produced. “Hold out vnur hand,” said the mas “ No, thank you, sir.” “ Hold out your hand.” “ Rather not, if it’s all the same to you, air.” “ L insist.” The hand was held out very firmly, Harry winking hard; the strap de scended, and then, with an affected howl, ending in the laugh ol a young savage, the culprit went hack to his. form,— only to plan new offences. “ 1 feel this is not the way to reclaim that boy,” said the master, after school hours, to his sinter, an invalid depend ent on him, who sat all duy in an easy chair, generally employed in knitting dappled-gray worsted stockings; “yet what else am I to do with him ; he is excessively' hardened, full of courage and cunning; I never met with a boy bo precociously wicked ; everybody prophesies evil of his future life. Ho defies restraint. In any quarrel all the boys fearliim ; but Lie fears no one. He invents wild fun enough for all the mischievous boys in England. He has robbed every orchard within ten miles; and, realty, I often fancy he does it out of mere love of adventure uud peril.” “ Your strap will do him no good,T said the sister, Iquiotlv. “ What then will?’’ “Patient kindness, and instruction, and time.” “ Why, does lie not know that I have almost paid his uncle, the blacksmith, to let him come to school; that I send him vegetables out of my garden, every now and then, to keep him in a gbod humor?” “ Harry knows you are his only true friend, and thinks more of one gentle • word from you than of all your blows with your strap. He hn3 far too much of violent usage at home.” “ That is true ; you are right.” One afternoon, Harry Bouner left his seat at the head of the high form, lluug his book aside, and planted himself at the! window ; whence he enjoyed a view of (he sea, and of a man-of-war that had approched near the shore, in order, as Harry had heard it rumored, that its crew of seamen for the Frencli war might be recruited by forcibly impres sing men along the coast. Harry was engaged in easy contem plation of this prospect, when the mas ter espied how he was passing his time. “ What are you doing there, Harry Bonner? Whero is your book ? Have you learned your lesson ?” “ No.” “Then, sir, you shall learu a double lesson before diuner.” “ I like double lessons,” said Harry, flinging himself back to his place, and learning rapidly a long row of words and meanings. Before dinner-time had come, the double lesson was perfectly mastered, and hard sums got through, —for sums and lessons were all play to him. The master looked at him with feel ings of pity, regret, and admiration. “ Oh, my boy! ” said he, how can you throw away eucli abilities on mischief and wickedness ? ” Harry colored up to his temples; his eyefiaßhedand moistened ; hewasgolng to make a passionate reply, but turned short round, and went out of school whistling, with his hands thrust among the marbles and whip-cord in the pock ets of his ragged corduroys. Beside the, pond, in the centre of the viliage he stopped and looked jealously around, ana seeing he was unobserveu, hepulled oufc|the marbles and a top from his pooket, and flung them into the water 1 . 41 There,” *aid he. ” now I shall give t A l A BtTBIOTSS 3:1) c lancasttT intelligencer. ■ LSG> — - ■ - -- ■ ■ . ' - - ■. , - , ■ - - . -- 7 OLUME TO LANCASTER PA. WEDNESDAY MORNING JULY T 1869 NUMBER 27 , up nonsense, and show the master, and show everybody, what I can do. I’m thirteen years old and shall soon be a man, and must look out for myself, a 3 the master says I am clever, and all that; and so I am clever, and have got abilities ; I feel it, —that I do! ” He walked on, still talking with him self ; presently he burst out— “ What does uncle hate me for, I should like to know? What harm have I done him ? What’s he always thrashing me for? Why don’t he let me alone ?” Again he went on, every now and then loitering to think. “ I wish,” said he, turning his pock ets inside out, “ I only wish I had some money there.” With this fresh wish on his ljps, he went into the dirty cottage of his uncle. It was a homestead that did anything but credit to its occupants. The floor was uuswept, the hearth covered with coke and potato peelings; the remnants of a dinner of the meanest kind were k scattered over the table. Tiie boy felt disgusted. He looked at his aunt, sit ting in a dirty cotton gown and discol ored cap in the chimney corner, and compared her to the schoolmaster’s suf fering sister, who ever looked so neat and clean. Tiie passion for change and improve ment that had been silently taking root in Harry’s breast was momentarily be coming more developed. All at once he said to his aunt — “Aunt, can you give me a little mon ey —ever so little?" “Money!” She looked at him in ut ter surprise. “What do you waut with money?” “.Never you mind; only see, though, if I don’t pay you hack some day, and plenty to it.” A violent blow from behind sent the boy reeling against the wall. There stood his savage uncle, with his list doubled, and his faeo distorted with in toxication. “ I’ll teach you to ask for money,” said he, and other Mows and fierce abuse followed. The boy started forward into the cen tre of the room, and gazed with steady boldness into the ty ran and said — “You have done nothing but ill use me, since my father died. I have never done you auy harm, and I shan’t bear any more of it.” The blacksmith caught up a heavy stick. •‘Will you not?” “No, 1 will not; so take care what you are about.” “I’ll break your spirit, or I'll break every bone in your body.” “You won’t do cither.” "Wd'll try that.” The blacksmith rushed forward to grasp Harry hy the collar, uud Harry sprung to meet him with wild resist ance. They stood foot to foot and hand to hand, wrestling for tiie mastery, when the door opened, and the schooi masterof Jsonchurch entered. Instinct ive reverence for the good man made the blacksmith pause, aud the hoy broke from him trembling violently, ami now subdued to tears. “ 1 am sorry to see this,” said the master. “What is the matter?” Tiie blacksmith muttered something, and his wife took tho stick from his baud. “ Tlu-y :u*o always quarreling ; she. “ What have i done'.’” exclaimed Harry; “but it don't, matter, master; l like you —you have been good to me, ntul I Hindi think of it; but as lor him — i hate him ami despise him, and 1 have nothing to thank him for; and after this, day I will never sej his face again, nor eat of his bread.” in an instant the lad was gone. Some hours after, the master returned home, ami the first thin# he did was to take Ids strap from the table and put it in the lire. His'.sister smiled, hut said nothing. Afterward they conversed together respecting the poor boy, aud the master expressed some uneasy apprehensions as he repeated Harry's words on going oIU Those apprehensions increased when it became known thvou.ii the village thatTLai'ry Bonuor was missing, aud could not he found. At dusk the villagers were traversing the road with lights—that old upper road, which, viewed from the lower cliffs, appeared but as a lofty terrace out on the green mount side. At that time, the now nourishing town of Ventnor had scarce begun to exists ; only a few houses relieved the pictures que wildness of the scenery, amid which the shouts of the villagers formed an exciting accompaniment to the dash of the waves among the numerous break ers, ami tiie fury of an equinoctial gale. Up and down the steep acclivities of that old road, winding about the face of the upper cliff, did the villager continue moving with their lights until loDg after midnight, for the parting threat of the boy had caused a general belief that he had committed some rasli act —perhaps thrown himself over the cliffs, or into the sea. What’else could havebccomeof him’.’ He had neither money, nor food, nor clothes, nor friends, nor any hope of hell) of any kind that any one knew out of Bonchurch. One person hinted at gypsies, another at smugglers, aiul the bold, energetic character of the boy made the master fancy it might be possible that he had joined one or the other. But gypsies had not been seen iu Bonchurch for many months, and j the smugglers of that part of the island 1 were well known to the residents, and on good terms with them, and they de nied any knowledge of the boy. Gradually the search ceased, except on the part of the schoolmaster, who walked in every direction, inquiring and examining. But at last, he, too, lost hope; and as he stood in Ventnor Cave when a 3tormy night was darken ing around, and the winds and the waves raged in fearful unison, he felt a melancholy conyietion that Harry Bon uer was lost forever. Twenty years rolled away, and the disappearance of the boy v.as still a profound mystery. The blacksmith had died of intemper ance, aud no one lamented him. The schoolmaster’s sister needed nothing more in this world. Most of Harry’s schoolmatesweredead.ainiof those who survived, scarcely any remained in the village. All was changed, but still the schoolmaster lived in liis humble cot tatre, and kept school, but he was grown old, and solitary, and infirm ; and so poor that he was almost reduced to a shadow with hard living. In his beat days he eked out his little income by cultivating a few vegetables and common fruit; aud this was still his resource when lie could hobble out on fine days into his patch of garden ground. Hisspirit had been unusually depress ed by the decliue of his strength, his poverty, his forlorn condition, and the memory of his sister, when at sunset, one day, he stood at his school-room window, looking toward the sea. The lattice was open, for the weather was warm, and his withered face felt re freshed by the breeze that played over it. But that which cliielly detained him there, and held him iii a kind of fasci nation, was the unusual appearance of a ship of war, one of the most imposing size, moored near Ventnor. The old man’s memory was quicken ed by the spectacle, and he thought of Harry Bonner, who on the day of his disappearance, had been detected by him watching just such a vessel from this window, whilehis neglected book was thrown aside on the form. Gazing and musing the master stood while the shadows of twilight gathered over the scene; the masts and rigging of the chief object of his attention grew indistinct, darkness camequickly, and with it a storm which had been in preparation some hours. The master hastily closed the lattice as a flash of lightning broke jn upon his musings. He turned to leave the school-room and to enter his cottage; butwhatfigure was that which, amidst the obscurity, appeared seated on the identical spot, on the chief form, where Harry Bonner sat when he learned with such surprising rapididity his double lesson, after watching the man of-war from the window? The schoolmaster had grown nervous and rather fanciful, and X know not what he imagined it might be; but his breath came quick and short for an in stant, and then he asked in a faint voice, “Who iB here?” A manly voice replied, “ Only Harry Bonner ! ” The lightning lit up the whole of the large, dreary-looking school room, and revealed to the schoolmaster the figure of a naval officer, on whose breast glit tered decorations of rank and honor. Darkness instantly succeeded, as the officer Btarted from the form and grasped 1 the hand of the master with a strong and agitated pressure; then the two moved quickly and silently together into the cottage while the thunder crashed overhead. The excitement of the moment con fused the faculties of the old man ; and as the officer, still holding his hand with that fervent grasp, gazed in his eyes by the dim light of the cottage fire, he uttered some incoherent words about Harry Bonner and the ship and the double lesson ; but when he beheld the officer cover his face with his disengaged hand and weep his brain rallied its dis ordered perceptions. He lighted a rush light that stood on the mantle-shelf, and as the officer withdrew his hand slowly from his face, the master passed the light before those brown and scarred, yet handsome features, in whose strong workings of feeling, if in nothing else, he almost recognized his long-lost but unfortunate scholar. The officer suddenly clasped the old man’s hand. “My dear old master!” he exclaimed. The old man was too weak for the sudden surprise; he put his hand to his brow, gazed vacantly, gasped for breath, and his lips moved without a sound. The ofiicer placed him teliderly in the old wicker chair, in which the knitter of the dappled-grey worsted stocKings used to sit; then the old man grasped one of his arms, and looking tip, said mournfully and shook his head ; she is not here. She said to the last Harry Bonner would he found some day ; and now she is noc here.” “ Dead, is she ?” “Oh, yes.” There was a short silence, solemn ami sad. “And why hast thou hidden thyself all these years ?” asked the master. “ I have been redeeming the past. I haye been working my way from lags and infamy to this”—touching with fin air of dignity, his gold epaulette and the insignia that glittered on his breast— “ and I have been gathering this,” showing a full and heavy purse, ‘‘to ro venge myself for the stick and strap, and make thy latter days happy.” “ The change seems wonderful to you, no doubt,” continued the officer, after au agitated pause ; “ it it wonderful to myself, but it is to you 1 trace it. Your benevolent instructions, your patient endeavors to reclaim me, your observa tions on my wickedness, your encoura ging praise of my abilities—all appealed to my heart and conscience, and stimu lated and roused me to resolve on going to sea and try ingto lead a new life. The sight of the man-of-war from the win dow and the last Hogging I had from the blacksmith, decided me. I ran down the dills, I told my tale to a boat’s crew of the war-ship ; 1 was taken on board as cal in boy. The ship sailed directly. I rose ’step by step. I have been in many battles, and here 1 am, a com mander of the vessel you were viewing when I entered; the school-room and found my way to the old seat. “And I hope,” said the master, earn estly, “ 1 hope, my dear Hariy, you arc thankful to that Providence which hits guided your wandering feet through paths so strange aud difficult.” “ I trust 1 am,” rejoined the officer with profound reverence. “ And now, does my uncle live?” “ Jle ami your aunt died fifteen years since.” “1 am sorry for it. I should havo liked to havo talked with them of our past errors—their’s and mine. It would have gratified me to have done sonic -thing for them, and to have heard them retract some of their harsh words to me. How my heart warmed to the old vil lage when I entered it just now! I could have embraced the mossy palings; J could have knelt down and kissed the very ground. But I was so impatient to see if you lived that I paused nowhere till I reached the school door and found you gazing at my ,s7i/p.” “ You have’brought back the heart oi Harry Bonner,” said the muster, ‘whatever has become of his vice.” “ You shall find I have; for whatever money can procure, or affection aud gratitude bestow for your health and comfort-, shall be yours from this hour, my dear old master.” Barbara Freitchie, In his address before the Grand Army of the Republic, when they put flowers on the graves of the dead of the Federal army at Arlington, Hon. S. H. Fisher, Commissioner of Patents, alluded to the “flag”, as “ the flag which Barbara Freiichie waved.” If the “flag” has no more substantial claim than this, then is the flag in a bad way, and had Lest, to borrow Mr. Greeley’s poetry, be torn down as a“ flaunting lie.” Barbara Freiichie never had any flag to wave. Below will be found wbat Mr. Whittier says of Barbara Freitchie, with the “ real facts ” between the stanzas. After narrating the march of the Confederate army into the City of Frederick, the poet says: L'p rose Barbara I'reUeliie then, Lowed wild her lour-scoro years ami ten. She didn’t rise up at all. Bhe re mained in bed, where for four months she had been confined with what she called “au orful rheumatiz in her bone 3,” of which she died soon after. Indeed, the old woman didn’t know that tlie Confederate army had passed through at all till after they had gone. Continues the poet: Bravest of all In Frederick town, She took up the flag the men hauled down. In her’attlc*window the stafl'she set, Tosliow that one heart was loyal yet. Being in bed asleep, suffering from rheumatism, not liaviug left her mat tress since her last “spell,” never leav ing it till carried to her grave, no men “having hauled down” any flag, there being, too, no flag in her house, which likewise had no “attic window,” but only a holeiu the roof, and the lumber room itself being approached only by a ladder, which had been removed, the conspicuous exactness of the verses is obvious. But listen to Mr. Whittier: Up the street tlic rebel tread, Biuuc’.vall Jackson riding ahead. Under his slouched hat, left and right, lie glanced; the old llag met his sight the dust brown ranks stood fast “Firo ! " out blazed the riHe blast. 1 1 shook the wludow-paue and sash, It -entlhe banner with seam anti push. Quick as it fell from the broken si air, Uame Barbara suatched the silken scni J. «he leaned far out ou tho window-sill, And shook It forth with a royal will; “Shoot, If you must, this old grey head, But spare your country's ling," she said. “Who touches a hair ou yon grey head, Lies llk&la dog ! March ou ! “ lie said. The Confederate army passed through Frederick at 4 o’clock iu the morning. No part of it went by Barbara Freitch ie’s house. The portion which march ed nearest to that place where the corps of Stonewall. Jackson, and they and he, at 4 o’clock A. M., came quietly through a street live blocks below the humble liouse of Barbara Freitchie. Every single incident in the stanzas quoted is pure fiction, aud very good fiction it is. Barbara Freitchie, whose bed-ridden state has been described, “was a daughter of a Casper Freitchie, hanged in the Revolutionary war for being a Tory; otherwise, however, tho family always have been and are respectable, worthy folk, of German extraction. Her children still live in Frederick, and are well-to-do and as well thought of as are any of those who deserted the cause of their section and favored the invaders of the youth, The historical house was a’miserable liitle one-story affair, as has been described, which has recently been one-half washed away by a Hood, the other half being sold by the heirs to the corporation,' which needed the site to allow for a necessary enlarge ment of the banks of a creek. Mr. Whittier is understood to have been imposed upon by a nephew of his, an officer on the stall'of a Federal general, who had a prolific imagination, only inferior to that of the poet himself. Such are the facts in the case of Barbara Freitchie, ascertained by a gentleman who had occasion to visit Frederick within a fortnight. A Grand Knsli (or Gold. Letters from Elko, Nevada, to the Cali fornia papers report a grand rush to some gold mines, both quartz and placer, which have been discovered eighty-three miles distant from Carlin. They are situated in the northern part of Elko county, on the north slope ot the divide between the wa ters of tho Owyhee and north fork of the Humboldt river. The specimens brought into Elko are said to be tho richest ever found in tho State. White Pinerß declare that some of tho specimens are just like the ores of White Pine, and the colors of gold pan ned out in the creeks of the new El Dorado have set old California placer-miners on the go. Every man in Elko who is able to get a horse leaves for the new digging, and it is thought the rush will equal that to White Pino, A LEAF FBOH HISTORY. Statement of Edman Spangler, a Victim of Edwin K. Stanton—Kecotd of Mill tary Justice In 1865—How an Inno cent Han Was Treated Dnrins His Trial—Prison Life on tbe l>ry Tortn jjog—rortngas Inflicted Upon Hie Pris oners by Army Officers—JDUffracefnl fuse in Our Annals. rCorre-pomleuce of the .N. Y. World.! Washington*, Jane 23. Edman Spangler, who was tried and sentenced by a military commission in May, 1565, on a charge of being engaged in the plot'to assassinate President Lin coln, and pardoned by President John son, has prepared the following state ment, asserting hi 3 innocence of all knowledge of the crime, and detailing the cruelties practised on the prisoners before and after conviction. Spangler was a scene-shifter at Ford's Theatre, and wason the stage when John Wilkes Booth shot Mr. Lincoln and jumped from the box. He also at times took care of Booth’s horse. The evidence against him was of the flimsiest char acter, not being even circumstantial, for it did not appear in that trial, or in the subsequent civil trial of Surratt, that Spangler had any connection whatever with any of the other, so called conspirators. Moat everybody believed him innocent then, and the Military Commission doubted his guilt by sentencing him to six years at the Dry Tortugas, and giving the others a life term. The Military Commission was organized to convict, and it c-on victcd. Abundant testimony is now at hand to show’ the vast amount of per jury of that trial—perjury exacted by fear and dictated by malice. Spangler’s allusion to the witness Weichmau being in the abduction plot is import tant. Weichman’s testimony, it will be remembered, hung Airs. Surratt. The following is the statement sworn and subscribed to: STATEMENT OF ED.MA.N SI’AN'GLFit. I have deemed it due to truth to pre pare for publication the followiugstate ment—at a time when I hope the temper of the people will give me a pa tient hearing—of my arrest, trial, and imprisonment, for alleged complicity in the plot to assassinate the late Presi dent Lincoln. I have suffered much, but I solemnly assert now’, as I alw’ays have since I was arraigned for trial at the Washington Arsenal, that I am en tirely innocent of auy fore or after knowledge of the crime which John Wilkes Booth committed —save w’hat I knew in common with every body af ter it took place. I further solemnly assert that John Wilkes Booth,,or any other person, never mentioned to me auy plot, or intimation of a plot, for the abduction or assassination of President Lincoln; that i did not know when Booth leaped from the box to the stage at the theatre, that lie had shot Mr. Lincoln; and that I did not, in. any way, so help me trod, assist in his es- j cape; and 1 further declare that I am \ entirely innocent of any and all charges ; made against me in that connection.— I never knew either .Surratt, Payne, Atzerodt, Arnold, or Harold, or any of the so-called conspirators, nor did I ever see any of them until they appeared in custody. While imprison ed with Atzerodt, Payne, and Harold, and after their trial was over, I was al lowed a few minutes exercise in the prison yard. I heard the three unite in assertiny Mrs. Surratt's innocence, and acknowtedye their own yuilt, co njininy the crime., as they did entirety to them selves, but implicating the witness, Weichmau, in knowlcdyc of the oriyin al jilot to abduct! and with furnishiny information from the Commissary of Prisoners* Department, where Weieh man was a clerk. r was arrested on the morning of the 10th of April, ISUo, and with Eitters patigh (also a scene shifter) taken to the policestatiou on E street,betweeuNinth aud Tenth. The sergeant, after ques tioning me closely, went with two policemen to search for Peanut John (the name of the boy who held Booth’s horse the night before) and made toac company us to the headquarters of the police on Tenth street, where John aud I were locked up, and iUtterspaugh was released. After four hours’ coniine- | meat I was released, and brought be- 1 fore Judges Olin and Bingham, and told them of Booth bringing his horse to the theatre on the afternoon of the 1-4 tli of April (ISCS.) After this investi gation I said: “What is to be done with me ?” aud they replied: “We know where to lind you when you are . wanted,” and ordered roy release. I ! returned to the theatre, where 1 re mained until Saturday, when the sol- I diers took possession of it; but as the j officer of the guard gave an attache and j myself a pass to sleep there, we retired j at lu p. m., and at 1 a. m., a guard was ! placed over me, who remained until 9| a. m., Sunday morning, when I was re- | leased. I did not leave the theatre un-1 til Sunday evening, and on our return ! this attache (Carlaud by name) and my-! self were arrested by Detective Larner. Instead of taking us to the guard-house I he said ho would accompany us home j to sleep there, but we all went to Police . Headquarters on Tenth street,and when : Carlaud asked if we were wanted, au , officer sharply said “No.” I returned to the theatre that night, and remained the next day till I went to dinner, corner Seventh and U. streets. That over I remained a few minutes, when Ititterspaugh (who worked at the theatre with me) came, and meeting me, said : “ I have given my evidence, and would like now to get some of the reward.” I walked out with Ititterspaugh for half an hour, aud on returning to lie down left word that if any one call ed for me to tell them that I was lying down. Two hours after I was calleddown stairs to see two gentlemen who had called for me. They said that I was wanted down street. Ou reaching the i sidewalk they placed me in a hack and j drove rapidly to Carroll Prison, wherj ! I was confined a week. Three days af- 1 terwards Detective, or Colonel Baker came to my room, and questioned me about the sale of a horse and buggy I (which belonged to Booth), aud I told | him ail about it freely and readily. Ou the day following I was called into the office of the prison in order to be recog nized by Sargeant Dye, who merely i nodded his head as I entered and then lie left. (Dye subsequtntly testified that he was sitting on the steps of the theatre just before Booth fired theshot, and to seeing mysterious persona about.) I was allowed on the fourth day of my imprisonment to walk the prison yard, but from that evening I was closely con fined and guardod until the next Sat urday at midnight, when I was again taken to the office to see a Detective, who said : “ Come, Spangler, I’vesome jewelry for you.” He hand-cuffed me with my arms behind my back, and guarding me to a hack I was placed in it and driven to the Navy Yard, where my legs were manacled and a pair of Lillie hand cuffs placed on my wrists. I was put in;a boatand rowed to a moni tor, where 1 was taken on board and thrown into a small, dirty room, be tween two water closets, and on to a bed of filthy life-preservers and blankets, with two soldiers guarding the door. I was kept there for three days. I had been thus confined three days on the vessel when Captain Munroe came to me and said: “Spangler, I’ve some thing that must be told, but you must not be frightened. We have orders from the Secretary of War, who must be obeyed, to put a bag on your head.” Then two men came and tied up my head so securely that I positively could not sec daylight. I had plenty of food, but could not eat with my face so mufiled up. True, there was a small hole in the bag near my mouth, but I could not reach that, as my hands were wedged down by the iron. At last, two kind-hearted soldiers took compassion on me, and while one watched the other fed me. On Saturday night a man came to me and, after drawing the bag so tight as to nearly suffocate me, said to the guard, “ Don’t let him go to sleep, as we will carry him out to bang him direct ly.”. I heard them go up on the deck, when there was a great rattling of chains and other noises; and while I was try ing to imagine what was going on, and what they intended to do, I was dragged out by two men, who both pulled me at times in opposite directions. We, how ever, reached a boat, in which I was ? laced, and were rowed a short distance. could not say then where we stopped, for my face was still covered. After leaving the boat, I was forced to walk some distance, with the heavy irons still on my legs. I was then suddenly Btopped, and made to ascend three or four flights of stairs ; and as I stood at the top waiting, some one struck me a severe blow on the top of the head, which stunned and half threw me over, when I was pushed into a small room, where I remained in an unconscious condition for several hours. The next morning some one came with bread and coffee. I remained here several days, suffering torture from the bag or paaded hood over my face. It was on Sunday when it was removed and I was shaven. It was then replaced. Some hours after General Hartranft came and read tome several charges; that I was engaged in a plot to assassinate the President, and the day following I was carried into a military court and still hooded before all of its members. I remained but a short time, when I was returned to my cell for another night and day and then again presented in this court. Mr. Bingham, Assistant Judge-Advocate, read the charges against me, and asked if I had any objection to the court, and I replied “Xo," and made my plea of “not guilty.” They then wished to know if I desired counsel, and, when I answered affirmatively, General Hun ter, the president of the court, insisted that I should not be allowed counsel. He was, however, overruled, but it was several days before I waspermitted legal aid, the court in the meanwhile taking evidence with closed doors. On every adjournment of the court, if only for an hour, I was returned to my cell and the closely-fitting hood placed over my head. This continued till June 1(3, ISU-3, when I was relieved from the tor ture of the bag, but my hands and limbs remained heavily manacled. On one Sunday, while I was confined at this place (the Washington Arsenal), I was visited by a gentleman of middle stature, ratherstout, with full beard and gold framed spectacles. He noticed my manacles and padded head. I after wards learned that he was Mr. Stanton, the Secretary of War, It is proper to state that when the hood was placed on me, Captain Munroesaid it was by order of the Secretary of War. My first thought was that I was to be hung without trial, and the hood was prepar atory to that act. The first time that I ever saw Mrs. Surratt was in the Carroll Prison yard, on Capitol Hill. I did notseeheragain until wo were taken into court the first day at the arsenal. My cell was on the same corridor with hers, and I had to pass it every time I was taken into court. I frequently looked into her cell, a small room about four feet wide by seven feetlong. The only things in her cell were an old mattress laid on the bricks and an army blanket. I could see irons on her feet, as she was gener ally lying on the mattress, anti was the last one brought into court. She occu pied a seat iu court near the prison door. The seat was twelve inches high, and the chains between the irons on her feet were so snort that she always had to be assisted to her seat. She was so sick at one time that the court was compelled to adiburn. ()u the 17tU of July, about midnight, I was conveyed to a steamboat, and ar- 1 rived the next day at Fortress Monroe, and was thence taken to the gunboat Florida. The irons on my arms were temporarily removed, but Captain Dut ton, in charge of the guard, ordered heavy Lillie irons to be placed on me, when General Dodd, chief officer in charge, more humanely countermanded his order, aud had the irons again re moved from my arms. I was placed for security in the lower hold of the vessel, aud compelled to descend to it by a ladder The rounds were far apart, and, as the irons on my feet were chained but a few inches apart, my leg 3 were bruised ami lacerated fearfully. The hold where I was confined was close and dirty, but after two or three days I was allowed on deck in the daytime, but was closely guarded. I was allowed to speak to no one of the crew. We arrived at Fort Jefferson, on the Dry Tortugas, and were handed over to Colonel Hamilton, commanding, who placed me until the next day in a casemate. The next day I was brought before Colonel H., who informed me that he had no more strin gent orders concerning me than other prisoners confined there. I managed to get along comfortably for a while, though to some of the pris oners the officers were very cruel. One man by the name of Dunn, while lielp ! ing in unloading a government trails i port, got held of some liquor aud im- I bibed too freely; for which he was taken I to the guard house and tied up to the i window frame by bis thumbs lor two hours. General Hill then ordered him to be taken down aud be made to carry a thirty-two pound ball, but as the hanging had deprived him of the use of his thumbs, he wa3 unable to obey. The officers, however, put two twenty-four pound balls in a knapsack, and compel led him to carry them until the sack gave away from the weight of the iron. He was then tied up by the wrists and gagged in the mouth by the bayonet from S P. M. until the next morning. He was then taken down aud thrown into the guard house, but was so ex hausted that he had to be removed to the hospital. It was decided to ampu tate three of his fingers, but this was reconsidered. .He lost, however, the use of his thumb and two fingers. This punishment was inflicted by Major Mc- Connell, officer of the day, and was carried out by Sergeant Edward Don nelly. Another poor prisoner named Brown, way once excused by the doctor from work on the plea of illness, but the Provost Marshal insisted and finding him too ill and lacking strength made him carry a thirty-two pound ball. He staggered under the weight and was compelled from weakness to jmt it down. Ho was then taken to the wharf aud with his legs tied together and his hands tied behind him, a- rope was placed around him and he was thrown into the water and then dragged out. This was done three or four times, he begging for mercy most piteously. He was finally jerked out of the water afid ordered to return to his ordinary work. The poor wretch crept off apparently thankful for any escape from such tor ments. Captain Joseph Rittenhouse was officer of the day, and his orders were carried out by Corporal Spear. During the latter part of last October I was placed in irons and compelled to work with an armed sentinel over me. I did not know the reason for this, for I was unconscious of having given of fense, and had conformed to every reg ulation. I wa3 then closely confined aud allowed to communicate with no oue for fuur months. The pretence for this, I afterwards learned, sprang from an attempt of Dr. Mudd to escape. Colonel St. George Leger Grenfel, aged Go years, was taken sick and went to the Doctor to getexcused from work. The Doctor declined to excuse him. He then applied to the Provost-Mar shall, who said that he could not ex cuse him if the Doctor couldn’t. Gren frel then tried to work and failed.— They then took him to the guard house, tied him up for half a day, and then took him to the wharf, tied his hands behind him, tied his legs togeth er, and put a rope around his waist. — There were three officers, heavily arm ed, who drove spectators from the wharf; I could see and hear from my window. The Colonel asked them if they wore going to throw him into the water, and they answered, “Yes.” — He then jumped in, and because he could not sink, they drew him out and tied about forty pounds of iron to his legs, and threw him into the water again, and) after he had sunk twice they pulled him out again, and com- pelled him to go to -work. The officers who had him in hand were, Lieutenant Robinson, Lieutenant Pike, and Capt. George W. Crabb, assisted by Sergeant Michael Gleason, and assistant miJitary storekeeper G. T. Jackson, who tied the iron on his legs. Captain Samuel Peebles tied up Grenfel for saying that “ he was capable of doing anything. n Colonel Grenfel was forced to scrub and do other menial work when he proved he was so ill as to have refused to eat his rations for a w£ek. All of the offi cers hated Grenfel on account of a letter which appeared in a New York paper, which they said Grenfel wrote, about tying up the prisoner Dunn — which letter was truthful, as others and myßelf were witnesses to the details it related. One very stormy night Grenfel, with four others, escaped in a Bmall boat and was evidently drowned near the fort. His escape was discovered but the storm was so severe that it was deemed too dangerous to pursue them, although a steamer was at the wharf. Grenfel fre quently declared his intention of run ning any risk to escape, rather than, to use his own words, “ to be tortured to death at the fort.” These are only two or three instances of the many acts of cruelty practiced at the fort. During my imprisonment at Fort Jefferson I worked very hard at carpentering and wood ornamental work, making a great many fancy boxes, &c., out of the pecu liar wood round on the adjcent islands; the greater portion of this work was | can only reply that it is impossible.— made for officers. By my industry in | Some men like it, some don’t; but if a that direction, 1 won some favor in their : man once chooses literature as his pro eyes. I was released in March of the fession, he must stick to it. Like every present year by Executive clemency, other calling, it requires perseverance 1 (Signed) Edmax Spangler. : and talent. Writing for Money Has the general public any idea of the labor involved in the production of : the light literature dished up for its amusement? any notion of the wear and tear, physical and mental, on the unhappy men who are compelled to seek a precarious subsistence by admin istering to the entertainment of a not too appreciative clientele f It has been the lot of the present writer for some years past to eke out a very small income by occasional contributions to the press j and the magazines; and my experi-! ence, so far as it goes, teaches me that : the writer of the ephemeral literature of tho day is proportionately at once the hardest worked and worst paid of any of the “working classes,” not except ing that unhappy and long-suffering i specimen of humanity, theagricultural ! laborer. Ido not, of course, speak of j the man who has made his reputation, j whose name is known and whose fame ; is recognized, but of the worn and weary i hack, or the unfortunate outsider, who I has his way to make—who, having put ■ his hand to the plough cannot turn back, I but must either work or starve. He it is ! whose brains must always move on in | the groove appointed by his taskmaster —who cannot choose his own course, but must drag along under harness which galls him, not hoping to reap the harvest of fame and success until a long drudgery of apprenticeship has taught him the virtue of waiting. He must write well, too, or he will neither be read nor fed ; while the man : who has a name may relax his mind, j while he fills his pocket with tiie veriest trash that can be conceived as flowing from imagination of an intelligent be ing. I have read poetry, for instance, which was worthy of the name, and was rejected; and I have seen verses pur chased at fabulous prices which, but for the names attached to them, would have been considered rubbish unworthy of a schoolboy. It is not that I complain much of this. To have gained the name is a work of labor and of years. Ido not even com plain that some who have labored as long and as well should fail where others succeed ; literature is, to some extent, a lottery, in which the prizes presuppose numerous blanks. My ob ject ratiieristodeprecato the over-severe indignation often expressed against the man who sells his brains for bread—the man who, without actually selling his opinion n, consents to write upon mat ters which are indifferent to him in the sense required by his employer. I know that I shall be met by an angry denial that many sucli men exist; that it is to be hoped, for the sake of the dignity of literature, that there are but few such persons, and they but the hangers-on of the profession—the camp-followers of the noble army. But I distinctly state that there are many such—that they are to be found even among officers, and that the rank and file abounds in them. And how can it be otherwise when men have but their pen on which to rely for their daily requirements? It is not •pleasant to have to turn your attention to a matter which does not interest you; still less agreeable it is to take your cue from a master. But it is necessary to live; and so long as a writer does not violate his personal honor by advocat ing a cause which in his conscience he condemns, ho is no more worthy of re proach than an advocate who holds a brief on behalf of a criminal. No one who has not experienced the feeling can conceive the annoyance that | it sometimes is to a writer to have to write upon a distasteful subject. He has met with some sickening disappoint ment maybe, and his heart is heavy. He would naturally choose, therefore, if he had a choice, aud must write, some light aud cheerful, even comic, subject. f But the inexorable will of bis editor re- \ quires him to contribute a political arti- 1 cle or a statistical review ; aud, much I against his taste, he is fain to comply. | 1 remember soraeyears ago, having beau | for some time “ outof luck,” I received instructions to contribute a paper to a ' well-known magazine upon a subject of j great importance which was then agi- ; tating the public mind. I was much j interested in the matter, and, fortifying , myself with the facts in the British Museum, I set to work, and at the end of three days’ hard work I had com pleted what I considered a very fair dissertation upon the subject. My dis- j gust may be imagined when, ou taking ; my paper to the office, I learned that j I was too late. Of course there was j , nothing for it but to return to my lodg ! ings, and there hold a committee with myself on ways and means, for, truth to say, my next day’s dinner had depend ed on the result of my labor. I was on the point of turning disconsolately into bed when a knock at the door ushered in a printer of my acquaintance, who, hastily informing himself that I had no objection to work, introduced me forth with to the sub-editor of a weekly news paper, who was iu a state of distraction at the non-arrival of a “ leader” he had expected, and for which space had been reserved. I speedily obtaiued from him the materials necessary for the produc tion of my article, set to work, and, iu less than two hours, had completed— satisfactorily to him —tlie quantity of “matter” which he required, pocketed my guiuea with satisfaction to’ myself, and the next day —dined. Sometimes it is almost impossible to write. 'When suffering from gout it is dfficult, and I suppose it must be at least equally hard when a man Is laboring under deep mental affiiction. A case of the latter sort occurs to my memory, which, so far as I was concerned, had rathera ludicrous termination. A friend of mine named Smith had in .an evil hour adopted literature as a profession, ] and, to add to this impiudence, had ( married a ballet-girl. Much against his ] inclination he was compelled to allow ; his wife, after the first year of their ; married life, to resume her engagement on the stage. Being very young aud inexperienced, aud withal exceedingly 1 pretty, she succumbed to the tempta tion of a brilliant offer, and left him. The very day she took this fatal step Smith had obtained a lucrativeappoint ment oil a daily newspaper. On the evening of the same day, I,' utterly igno rant of what had occurred, called upon him. I’often recall the haggard look and the almost desperate air with which ! he received me. He was sitting at his table, with papersand'books before him, his head resting upon his two hands. He explained briefly and tearlessly his good and his bad fortune. I neither congratulated him on the one nor con doled with him on the other, content ing myself with simply asking him how I could help him. “ This leader must be sent to-night,” he said, “and I can't do it.” “ All right, old fellow ; what is it ?” I asked. “ It’s something about the X. Z, list; \ but I don’t know what.” “The X. Z. list! What on earth’s that?” “Well, it’s a class of officers in the navy, and the initials refer to an Order in Council with which these officers are dissatisfied; the Navy Lint will explain all about it. I can't write. For God’s sake, help me!,’ . So I sat down to study the Navy List, and by dint of considerable research discovered that a flagrant act of justice on the part of the Admiralty of the day had been perpetrated against the offi\ cers on the list referred to. Having written to that effect, I dispatched the article to its destination; and a very good sound article it looked, I thought, as I read it in the paper the next morn ing, and I have reason to believe that it was considered so by better judges than myself. Only, as it turned out, I had made one slight mistake. Smith’s in structions had been to defend the Ad miralty. In his grief he had forgotten to tell me the line of argument I was to use, and I had made a most fierce on slaughter upon their lordships. As to my friend, I induced him, after a few days, to write a paper for Punch pour se aistraire —“ the poor have no other medicine.” It waß a success ; and though his wife’s faithfulness laid him low for a time, he soon began to distin guish himself In his profession, and is now known and recognized as one of the most brilliant and caustic writers of the day. But it may be asked, If the troubles ’ and the humiliations and the disap ' pointments and the poverty of an un ' successful press or magazine writer be • such as herein described, why don’t ; these educated men give up literature, • and take to some more certain and more ; lucrative employment? To which I Portrait of a Famous Qneen of Wash ington Society. A Washington correspondent writes us as follows: “ Sitting the other night in the thea tre, there was pointed out to me for the first time the once famous and fashion able Adele Douglas, the woman about whose beauties and graces the young ladies of every city in the country heard and talked; around whom ten years ago polite society here encircled like an eddy. As I looked toward the seat indicated by a friend, I Baw a wo man dressed iu plain black, Roman matron cast of face and head, still fine and graceful looking, with the full ten years upon her celebrated beauty, and suggesting it only as a faded ribbon calls up a forgotten romance of a by-gone fashion. Not observed more than the ordinary, she sat There quietly, looking not beyond the face of her husband for the looks and smiles that in the old time made her eyes the center of every assembly. The contrast of the picture with the one in memory recalled her ro mance, a 3 real and vivid a one as the best out of George Sand. Your lady readers of twenty-five remember the name of her family well enough. It was that of Uutts, and old Southern stock here, that by the rule and grace of chivalry, was accounted good though none of its members ever grew to much wealth or prominence, and Adele’s fath er held for his life time nothing more than a respectable position in a Gov ernment department here. Her moth er’s family was poor, and ran back for a generation or two in the District. So the daughter’s fortune, as Spanish say, was the dower of beauty, and not much besides. But this she improved with grace aud manners, and a tolerable ed ucation at the Catholic Seminary in Georgetown, and came out on society here a commanding, courtly aired, con quering belle—the rarest thing that ever happens to girls born in Washington. She starred a year or two as she was. Then, when hearts enough had melted and knees had gone down like stubble before her stateliness, the elegant and powerful Douglas benttoo,andshelifted him up with her hand. The “Little Giant” was the pet and the lion of the Senate, a prince in wealth and power, ami she was of blood royal by the gift of beauty. It was a coalition that Washington “High Life” could not resist, so Adele Cults became the elegautMrs. Senator Douglas, the Doug las, the queen regnant of society, the glass of lashion into which the polite world looked for its manners. Douglas and Breckinridge, who quarreled dur ing their days in the Senate, where Damon and Pythias then, andbuiltside by side for their residences the splendid row of buildingsin this city, since more famous for the residence of Grant and now for Sherman. Mrs. Douglas gave her receptions there. To be admitted to them w r as to be in company; to be secluded was not to be known. A wave of her dainty fan in those days might have condemned you from the ton *as effectually as the patrician Roman ladies turned the gladiator to death with their thumbs. The queen of “ Douglas] Row ” made no pretentions to wisdom or brilliancy, but Senators and foreign ministers have scarcely found since at the gay Capital a recep tion room so graceful and attractive as hers. She received everybody there, and never a breath of scandal blew | over her fair reputation. She was en viable. When she lay sick in her lux urious home, the town was in commo tion as over a stricken empress, aDd Franklin Row, the Capitol and hotels vied with each other in sending con dolenGC and kind enquiries for her i health. She was not less the centre of [ society in her Western home. Every ! body gave her receptions when she t came to Chicago Douglas’s bride. Some I one has described her to me standing, | one of the first nights, among the ladies 1 of the dressing room a head taller than ' any, nonchalantly drawingonherkids, ! preparatory to the parlors, hormagnifi ! cence admired by all. Her fine taste j modulated everything. From a poor ; girl she went into enjoyment of the rich Senator’s wealth step by step — nothing sudden or bizarre. AU this was a romantic episode of live years. Then she became the widow 1 of Douglas, in proper mourning, with | the episode behind her. But widow : hood, De la Ramee tells us, is the best ! cosmetic, and she emerged, two or three years later, from her weeds, upon the arm of her second-choice of husband, a quiet soldierly gentleman, from a quiet department bureau herein Washington, and stole off with him and her heart — they say—into a.-qdiet, beautiful home, and we cacth a gimpse of her now-a days faintly aud rarely. Her home is an elegant one, petite and cosy, a gift of Douglas to her mother, and not far away from the palatial one she entered so often, long years ago, with her more loved companion. Passing it sometimes in the evening, you catch the glimmer of soft lamps through closely drawn curtaius. We will not tear them aside, though they say that behind them are beautiful children playing, and more happiness than ever the stately, courted Mrs. Douglas knew. A Romantic Love Story The Count de St. Croix, belonging to one of the noblest families in Frauce, became engaged, after a long courtship to a lady his equal in position and for tune, aud famous for her beauty.— Shortly after the happy day was ap pointed which was to render two loving hearts one, the Count was ordered im mediately to the seige of Sebastopol; so he girded on his sabre, and at the head of his regiment marched to the battle field. During the Counts absence it happened that his beautiful affianced had the smallpox; after hovering be tween life and death ; she recovered, but found her beauty hopelessly lost.— The disease had assumed in her case the most virulent character, ami left her not only disfigured, but seamed and scarred to such au extent that she became hideous to herself, and resolved to pass the remainder of her days in the strictest seclusion. A year passed away, when one day the Count, immediately upon his re turn to Frauce, accompanied by ills valet, presented himself at the residence of his betrothed, and solicited an inter view. This was refused. He, however, with the persistence of a lover, pressed his suit, aud finally.the lady made her appearance, closely mufiled in a veil. At the sound of her voice the Count rushed forward to embrace her, but stepping asideshe tremblingly told him the story of her sorrow, and burst into tears. A heavenly smile broke over the Count’s handsome features, as raising his hand above, be exclaimed: “It is God’s work! I am blind!” It was even so. When gallantly lead ing his regiment to attack, a cannon ball passed so closely to his eyes that, while it left their expression unchang ed, and his countenance unmarked, it robbed him forever.of sight. It is al most unnecessary to add that their mar riage was shortly after solemnized. It is said that, at this day, may often be seen at the Emperor’s receptions an officer leaning upon the arm of a lady closely veiled, and they seem to be at tracted to tho spot by their love of music. Romance of the Crevasse, Aromanceof theChicotNoircrevasse is told iu the New Orleans papers. The belle of a neighboring county seat on the banks of a river was assiduously courted by two eligible young gentle men, to one of whom she gave her heart, but to the other her parents insisted upon giving her hand. Sho vainly re monstrated, but the day was fixed, the party assembled, and the unfortunate girl, in a bewildered and half uncon scious state, compelled to “stand up’ for the ceremony. Just as tho clergy man approached that part of the service which required her assent, there came a roar and n crash. The river had burst its bank 3 close to the house. The guests lied in terror, the bride fainted before she had said “ I will,” and the rejected suitor, rushing in, carried her off, and before night had her safely married. The other, who had promised on his part to love and cherish, without re ceiving the reciprocal pledge, thinkß of prosecuting. Gen. Canby issued an order yesterday ex* tending the Stay law in Virginia to Janna* ry Ist., in cases where one year’s interes! on the debt is paid before August. Correspondence of tho N- Y. Herald. AN INTERVIEW WITH ANDY JOHNSON HIS OPINION OFiGBAST. Terrible Denunciation of tlie President. BUTLER’S CUNNING. The Famous Stanton Quarrel. Washington, Juno 27, 1569. Ex-President Johnson arrived hero this evening and was waited upon soon after reaching the Metropolitan Hotel by your correspondent, who found the ex-President comfortably quartered in one of Shelly’s best parlors, and looking quite fresh and hearty. Andrew Johnson, plain citizen, received your correspondent with the same cordiality and kindness that distinguished him so highly while au occupunt of the White House. “ Glad to see you, sir,’’ said the ex-Presi* dent, at tho same time handing a chair to your correspondent and sitting down him self. “Sit down, air.’’ Correspondent—l came to pay you my respects, Mr. Johnson, and, at the same time, to learn if there was uny particular object in your visit. Andy Johnson —Nothing public, sir. I have some privato business to attend to here, and I have also a sou ot Georgetown College, the only sou left to me now. 1 came to see him and attend the Commence ment of that college. Correspondent—l believe, Mr. Johnson, you are the first President since tho time ol John Q jincy Adams who lias revisited the Capital after retiring from the White liouse. Andy Johnson—(laughing)—Really, sir, I don’t‘how that is. My attention way nover directed to tho point before. It may bo so, however. Correspondent—Weil, Mr. Johnson, to chunge the subject, what do they now think of this administration down in Tennessee? Andy Johnson—l don't know that you ought to ask mo hucli a question. People would be very likely to attribute an un favorable opinion from me as prompted by improper motives. You know very well, sir, for you were familiar with my views while I was President, what my estimate cf Graut was, and I don’t know ot any thing that has since occurred that has caused me to change my mind tho slightest. I know Grant thoroughly. I had amplo opportunity to study him when I was President, aud I am convinced he is the greatest farce that was ever thrust upon u people. Why, the little fellow—excuse me forusing the expression, but I can’t hot]* pitying him —tho little fellow has nothing in him. Uehusn’t a single idea, lie has no policy, no conception of what the coun try requires. He don't understand the philosophy of a single great question, ami is completely lost in trying to understand his situation. Ho is mendacious, cunning and treacherous. Ho lied to me flagrantly. by God, and I convicted him by my whole Cabinet; but that even would have been tolerable wore H the only instance, but it was net. Ho lied on matiy other occa sions. I tell you, sir, Grant is nothing mure than a bundleof petty spiles, jealousies and resentments. And yet they say Grant is a second Washington. < inly think ol it, when you compare him with Washington or Jt*l ferson whore is ho? Why ho is so small, you must put your linger on him. lie, a litile upstart, a coward, physically and intellect ually, to be compared to George \\ ushmg ton! Why, it makes mo laugh. I have more pity for tho man than contempt, lor I have no spite nguinst him. Hut 1 fear lor the country when such a man is likened to the father of his country. Why, just look at the inaugural of Washington. He speaks about his fear and trembling in ac cepting tho Presidency, even alter all his experience and success. Hut this little tel low Grant, an upstart a mere accident ot tho war, a creature without tho ability to com prehend tho philosophy of a single great question, says in his inaugural, '• I know tiro responsibility is great, but I accept it without fear.’’ Is thut like Washington or Jefferson? Pshaw! It’s monstrous to think of. Grant, I toll you, sir, lias no ideas, no policy. Why, Washington con sidered that a man’s greatness was meas ured by his morality, by the standard ot his soul. And I have always considered that tlie more soul a man hud, tho more he developed the soul or intellect within him, tho inoro Godlike ho became.— But, sir, Grant has nothing. Physically and mentully and morally he is a nonentity. Why, sir, his soul is so small that you could put it within the periphery of a hazel nut shell and it might float about for a thousand years without knocking aguinst the walls of tho shell. That’s tho size of his soul. Just look at tho man sitting at u Cabinet council. He has no idea, no policy, no standard, no creed, no faith. How can ho guide the people? How can he impress uny great improvements or moral ideas upon the nation? He has no object to look forward to, no leading aim to draw tho people towards any particular end. Ho sits there with his Cabinet. One member has bought him a house in Philadelphia, another has given him ?G5,000, another bus given him a carriage, and so on. It is do grading to the office of President of tho United States to have such a man there. Thoy talk about bis generalship. Well, he was a mere incident of the war. Men and arms were supplied in abundance, and bis forces were so massive that they simply crushed out tho rebellion. It would havo been done had Grant never been born. — Therefore he was a mere incident. But the little fellow bus come to think he is some- body really. I can’t help pitying him when I think how well I know him and what on infinitesimal creature he really is. I often think thutjubout tho fittest place for Grant is at some place in the country whero there are cross roads. I hare been at those places aud have often noticed the scenes. At one corner perhaps there is a small blacksmith shop. At another corner of the cross roads there is a grocery otoro, and ut another a hotiso whore tho squire moots to settle cases. Well, I have often noticed at such a junction of several roads that when the squire's busiuess isovorsomo fellows will propose a horso race, and to give interest to tho thing a barrel of cider and perhaps v half gallon of whiskey will bo staked ou Hie result. His ideas are of the cross roads or der, and lie bus not a thought above that. Coi respondent—What do you think of the general situation now? Andy Johnson —Well, T think we are tonding to despotism or anarchy, unless a proper direction is given to tho disorderly elements at work. We are threatened with un aristocracy of bondholders. A money ed aristocracy, they say, is the most detest able : but a credit aristocracy, which is only the shadow of tho substitute for money, is worse still; for it is the moneyed aristocra cy diluted and adulterated. I say the bond holder is a credit nristoernt. Here is the producer, raising his wheat or his corn. — What is it worth to him ? lie sells it foi the credit of tho bondholder. The bond- holder gives his credit to the producer in exebauge for tho latter’s goods, and says “ You may take our credit, but wo will pul thogold and silvorintoour pockets ami take yourproduceulso.” When by and by the producer finds the credit valuless, what will he bo worth? When tho great revulsion comes, what will bo our condition ? Where is all the gold and silver that has been dug from our owrUsoil and coined in our own mints? Where is it all gone? Can you tell mo sir ? 1 don’t speak of such as we imported, but wbat we coined ourselves— that vast amount dng out of our own earth. Why, it is locked up in the vaults of the credit aristocracy. Now, sir, ii is a singu lar thing that no country yet has ovor paid oil'a great national debt without repudia tion, It may startlo you to hear it, but it is true. Look over history und you will find I am right, and wherever you will find u permanent national debt, one that lias not been paid oil, you will find there is no freedom. Spain is not free, Franco is not free, Russia is not free, England is not free, because each of those countries lias a per manent national debt. It is iu the nature of things, for wherever there are power and moneyed aristocracy there is always a do- siro for u union between tho two. ilero wo havo an executive power controlled by the bondholders. Grant is ruled by a misera ble set of hucksters and bondholders. lie is in their hands completely, and therefore we are in danger. The country is In peril for the bondholders aro striving to rule the government. The pcoplo ought to be made to understand this condition. The people need to bo indoctrinated with tho truth, and you, gentlemen of the press, can do it. You write a great deal aud all thut, but sometimes you writo things and shoot oil' to tho public without duo consideration.— You do n good deal of harm, and it takes a good deal of time to remove tlie elleet. Now you have au opportunity to do good by explaining tbeso mutters to tho people through tho press. Tho farmer und pro ducer, no matter how humble, are always disposed to do what they think right. You cun show them tho right. They have an interest in doing what is best, but you must explain what tho best course is, und then thev will adopt It. Ko you must make them understand wbat produce is worth aud what tho credit of the bondholder is good for. You must give a proper direction und these will follow. Correspondent—What do you regard as the proper courso lor the crisis ? Audy JohnsoD—Why, sir, I sometimes wonder whether there bo not some strange hallucination over mo. I put my hand to my head and ask myself if lam sane. I find myself use arguments that worodeem ed sensible and irresistible by some of tbe greatest minds of the country, and yet they are unheeded, perhaps laughed at. I Mve found myself obliged to think deeply, when I was President, over great constitutional queatious. I have called to my aid the most capable minds In the country, and have drawn from them their advice and wisdom, and then comparing all, and adding what little ;might arise Un my own mind, I have endeavored, to present a close cogent, logical statement to the people, and yot I have seen such arguments fall upon the public mind Just like water on aduck’s bacK. They rolled off without making au Impression, as drops of water from the back of a duck. I have been almost stunned at tbe apathy in tbe public mind. Talk of tbe BATE OF ADVERTISING Ad via* i, 913' a year per iare of ten lines; 19 por year for eachad- Itlonal square. tsAi. Estate Adyzhtisirq, 14 cents a Uneffor the first, and Soenta for each subsequent in* sertlon. IESiEBAL ADTBBTiaiJTO 7 cents a lino for the first, and 4 conta for each subsequent Inser tion, .’eoial Ifoctera Inserted In Looal Column 15 cents per Unu. ( /ecial Nonoss preceding nmrriages and deaths, lo cents per line for first insertion* and 5 cents for every subsequent insertion^] ZOAlt A2CD OTHER NOTICES— Executors’ notices Administrators’ notices, Assignees’ notices .. Auditors’ notices, Other "Notices,''ten Hues, or less, . three times, 1.50 constitution and liberty, or rights that used 10 be held sacred and inviolable, and you are doomed scarcely worthy of an answer olhe: than laughter. What wo want, what ' ihecountry’.deiinmds.i.sjsolid, constitutional government. Take my own Stato of Ten nessee, and I only use It ns an illustration, there all the wealth, all the element that I ays the taxes, that combines the intelli gence and respectability of the State, is de prived of the ballot. Fifty thousand no groes, with twenty thousand whites, make a government there for one million two hundred thousand people. Seventy thous and out of a voting population of two hundred thousand make the laws, whilo that soventytbousand represent the wealth, respectability or intelligence of the State. Seventy thousand voters enslavo one hundred and thirty thousaud voters and a population of twelve hundred thous and. Correspondent—What do you Ihiuk will be the result of the contest in Tennessee ? Andy Johnson—l think Seuter will be elected. Thousands who remained quiet bofore are now actively at work in the State. Thousands who kept nwnv from the polls are now ranking themselves hoard aud are determined upon boing benrd if they bo not allowed to vote. They will talk and talk until they make public sontimertt unanimous for justice and fair play. That is what is being done in Tonnesseo now, — Even old Brownlow is coming around, wishing to be on the winning side and see ing tho change coming. You notice ho op poses further proscription. Ifo docs this not from principle, but from policy. It is precisely tho same way iu Virginia and other Southern States. 1 tell you, sir, If this country is to be kept from despotism, an archy or imperialism, tho nucleus has to come from the South, when restored. It will bo small ut lirst, but mark mo, sir, it will come that w;w. Grant would *t»o this if he had un ideumi his head, but ho has not. lie lias no political creed at all. 1 would rather have a good heretic than a man without any faith. I would placomoro dependence on such a man. As 1 said be fore be is a mero incident. There has neon a great social upheaval and Grant is left on the top and thinks there is something in him. It is procisely like a volcanic disturb ance. Tho natural condition of the earth is broken up, strata after strata is broken through, things aro displaced and turned upside down and what should bo at tho bot tom is thrown high up. That is just Grunt's case. Why, Bon Butler had a wonderfully correct idea of Grant. Me used to come to s*e mo much at one tiinolimo aud express ed the profoundest contempt for Grant, llis estimate of Grant was about thosamoas my own. He thought Grant could bo made do anything, that bo could bo made u com plotejool and that if he desired ho could have himself invited to Grant's house. It happen- ed precisely so, afterward, just ns Butler boasted. You reinembt r Butler was invited to Grunt’s house, and it was brought about by Butler himself. Butler understands Grant thoroughly. I have no hesitation in declaring lliat Grant is a mean, avaricious, cunning, spiteful man—a coniploto bundle of petty jealousies, spiles ami lies, lie has no courage. I made him fairly quail before my glance at that Cabinet meeting when I linked him about that famous correspon dence concerning Stanton. Jl asked him question after question, and*ho quailed.— When 1 finished he stood up, took his hut in liis hand, and in a meun, snouking way, said, “Gentlemen, have you any more questions to ask?” and slunk out of tho room. I convicted him of lying and cow ardice then, and you remember all about it, sir, for you published it fat the tirno. THE PKESIDENT'S FAJIII.T ASI) THE CUHTOJI IIOUME. Gon. Grant’s Brotlior-ln-Lnw Put* lit* Finger lu the Pie—Collector Grlunell Itcmilrcil to Submit— ln It* re*tlnu Strug gle for ttie Profit* ol' tile General Wurc llOTlMC UllSlllOS*. In May last, Judge Dent, tho brother-in law of the President, sent from Washington to New York a man named Harvey, then a clerk in the Treasury Department, to nose out what profitable jobs there woro about the Custom House in this city, and to in form himself regarding tho intluentiul men of New York whoso political strougth could bo combined with bis personal inlluencu and so carry with them all tho pecuniary tenelits of tho Collector's patronage. Harvey arrived in Now Y'ork, aud tho first placer ho discovored was the general order business. His tirst effort was to got himself introduced to a well-known ware houseman, and to learn from him all tho workings of the general order system. This warehouseman was thon taken to Washing ton by Hurvov and introduced to Judge Dent. Tho Judge wanted to know all about the business, what it was worth, aud how it was managed, as ho was bound to con trol it, aud if Urinncll did not (jive it to him. another Collector should be appointed who would. The Judgo was so well satisfiod that there was money in the project that ho wanted to post oil’to New York that night, but con cluded to wait until ho could get letters to Collector Grinnoll from all tho Cnbinot, which would at once settle tho matter und secure tho rich prize. Uurvey In the mean time, having been appointed “inspoctorofcigars” by Collector Grinneli, took up his quurters at tho office in the Appraiser’s stores, whore, in tho course of business, ho became acquainted with the carting firm of Keyes, Deane A Co. more familiarly known as Collector Smytho’s “pots.” Tho “pets,” loarning that Harvey was a confidential pioneer of Judgo Dent, got very intimate with him and openod up to him a series of jobs all full of money, im pressing Hurvey with tho notion that tho most influential man in tho city with Grin ned is ono Mr. John Muralius, whoso inti macy with the late Collector Draper being very close had made him superintendent of warehouses, a position which ho tilled with great credit to blmsolf. Collector King did not view tho Superin tendent so fuvorably, and dispensed with hiH services. Muralius rotirod from public life taking with him, us mementoes of his past sacntices for the public good, certnin silver plated budges which had been dis posed of to tho licensed cartmen of tho city. Harvey, satisfied that this was the man for Dent’s purposes posted Maralius off to Washington to bo near the grand mover of tho project. It became necessary that somo man should bo associated with them, of groat political strength, whoso name would satis fy the political public and impress Collector Grinnel. Keyes, Deaue A Co., agreed to furnish such a man, and join with them Mr. Win. H. Albertson aH tho tower of strength, po litically (if not financially), as Mr. Albert son had onco tho honor of being defeated us a candidate for Shoriff of this county, but had polled a largo vote. Tho shrewd aud observing Hurvoy was satisfied that tho firm of Dent, Maralius, Albertson, Keyes, Doano A Co., wore suffi ciently powerful, and concluded that tho services of the warehousemen first engaged were no longer of any value, and that In lieu of tho twenty-five per cent, of profits which wus offered thorn for tho genernl order business, they could tako the wholo of that, and coutrol besides tho public Btoro and general order carting, tho labor con tract, and anything else that could bo work ed to advantage. The firm aro now besieging Collector Grinned, while the bead of the concern mains in Washington, to arrange matters with the Treusury Department.— N. Y. Hun. An In*»oue Drldcgroom. On Tuesday a wedding-party arrived at the Dolevun House, Albany, from Luke George. Thoy wore from New York, and had been on a tour of about one week’s du ration. Tho married couplo were accom panied by a sister of tho bride und some other acquaintances, and all seemed happy enough until they reached Albany. Dur ing the day the bridegroom manifested a decided repugnance to his wife. Ho threat ened to use her violently if sbo came near him. His strange conduct led his friends to think ho was insane, and this idea wus strengthened by the fact that he had beon in that condition some five or six years ago. Ail attempts to reconcile the man to his wife were in vain. No one could quiet him at all, except the bride’s sister. When she came near him ho would sit down und cease to be boist erous for a time. Ho rapidly grew worse, however, and in tho evening locked himself in hia room, and threatened to shoot any person who might make the at tempt to outer. His friends were alarmed at this state of affuirs, and called upon Mr. Lelund to interfere. He did so, and wus compelled to force the door before gaining admittance. The man was found to be raving crazy. More help was called for, und alter a desperate struggle, the insane man was bound with cords to prevont him from doing injury to himsolf and others. Tho whole ;party took ;the night train for Now York. The bride was inconsolable in consequence of the sad condition of her hus band. She wept bitterly, and her friends and others who saw her feared that she too might become insane. Altogether it was a sad ending of a honeymoon. Tbe Geology of Tennessee. The report on the geological survey of Tennessee shows that State to be rich in mlnoral resources. A cave in Sevier county furnishes salt and alum by the cart load. In the same region are golu-bearlng quartz veins. In East Tennessee are extensive beds of marble. The coal measures are co extensive with the tablo land, occupying an area of fifty-one hundred square miles, and underlie more than one-eighth of tho surface of the State. The coul bods aro often three, four, five, and sometimes nine feet In thickness. The quality of the coal Is generally good. It Is not often highly bituminous. Of the iron deposits the re port says that their variety, amount and fine quality entitle tbe State to rankamong the first os an iron-producing region. Copper, load and zinc ocour at many points In East and Middle Tennessee, but gener ally in unimportant quantity Gold has been found in Blount, Monroe, and Polk counties, but not in paying quantities.