Sbr gftwsina gnumgutm,
PUBLISHED evert Wedeebdat bt
n. G. SMITH « CO
A. J. Steihman
H. G. Smith,
TERMS—Two Dollars per annum, payable
In all oases in advance.
Tub Lancaster Daily Intelligences la
published every evening, Sunday excepted, at
§5 per Annum In advance.
OFFICE—SOUTHWEST CORRIB OF CXNTBI
aatfAßE.
IN MY-GOAiK TEAKS.
JiY 1)S. C. D. OABDETTE.
“In by-gone years—alas, how far they seem.
Eacu steadiest season ran Its wonted course:
Then Winter sternly stayed the struggling
earth frost-bound till the winds
were hoarse
With the loud mirth of March; but then gave
way,
And Had. at las’, before the smiling May.
“ Then teeming Summer spread the hmd with
leaves
From fruitful June to cool September’s
verge,
Till Autumn garnered in her latest sheave 1 ,
And chauted as she passed the harvest s
And so.kfrom storm to sun, from smiles to
The seasons waxed and wanted In by-gone
years.
“ But now, methinks. all nature Is awry ;
December’s ice is gild id by the sun
Of April noons, and doll November’s sky
Glooms on the golden harvest scaice begun.
All things are chaug-.d; the world hath gone
astray
fclnce we weie young—aloa, this mcDy aoay !
Thns, unto me, a man of full
Hli down nppliDg ah in silver sprays
Fioin Up and '*lnu— aid >• siere’en deplore
Ka tb's sad dec 'donce slnco the by-gonedays
Then I, beforo his reverend ngelnclin'd,
My sell mlKduudilng, strove to speak my mind.
Q,UOlh I: ‘*l crave fair pardon ol your yearn,
And yot, museems, you note tho seasons
uhiiogo , ,
Unduly. Through the sU-ndtast march of
They have uwlHtruycU hc-yond their wonted
range;
But you, forgetful of their record grown.
Accuse your God of errors all your own.
“And, with nil deference, I am fain to say
Taut you, on wuom grim rune hath seta seal,
As n of wisdom -you, wiin yui.rs grown gray,
Do 011O 1 1 deny tm-Joys you caunot led,
Anil ever s:-o the I’ieseut's shy o’ercaM.
Hy clouds up-conjured from a fancied Fast.
"Hollevo ine—l ain young, und havesl'ght skill
ill reading Die, mid yet my l'ahh doth tell
My heart Unit Nat uro’u laws nre govoruidsLllJ
Infixed by Him who doetn all things well;
Anti if we think the seasoua change or halt,
Lo! ’Us our own weak memory at fault!"
/ •
gUiscclLnccuo.
TUc Lavender Crape Shawl,
I was up iu my room, tying ra y bon
uetutrings rather nervously beforo the
mirror, and thinking how much more
becoming lavender would be than the
pluk and gray 1 had worn for two sea
sons. Mother was quite ready and in
the parlor waiting lor me ; for it was al
most three, und ut three o’clock we
were all to meet at Will’s to choose our
shawl boxes.
It was in the days when sea captaius
used to bring home wonderful tilings
from foreign polls, with the scent and
the lluvor of me tropics still clingiug to
them ; ivory fans curved to a miracle
of delicacy by iho cunning fingered
Chinese ; clumsy tea poys covered with
queer arabesques of the most fanciful
llowers und vines that the artists of Ja-
pan could devise : frugraut trifles of
aaudal-wood ; ami dress goods of curious
fabric and more curious pattern. Undo
John had al vvayn brought us something
to remember him by when he came
homo from ills long sea voyages ; and
now this lime when lie had exchanged
ships at tho Sandwich Islands, thus
lengthening his three years’ abseuce to
six years, he sent his gifts to us by his
firat mute. So when the Mary Ann
was spoken outside the bar, and when
with tho next tide she came sailing in
to the harbor, wo were all ou the look
out for dear old huu burnt Uncle John,
aud instead there came Steve Beldeu
with a letter and some erapo shawls.
We had heard so much about Steve
Belden that he did not seem like a
stranger, aud, besides, sailors’ people
are uot very ceremonious iu their
friendships ; so lie hud already spent an
evening at our house and at Will's, nud
cousin Neil had met him too. More
over, lie was invited :<> bo present at the
lottery of I say lottery, be
cause Uncle John hud writteu that we
were to divide them among us, adding
iu his funny way that ho “had hidden
a charm in one fur the luckiest.” It |
wa9 easy enough to say, divide them;
but when we came to open the boxes
Noll, ltose ami 1 each wanted the pret
tiest —tho lavender shawl—and each
wero frank enough to say so. There
were four shawls in all, of the very
finest quality of crape, soft and creamy
to the touch, aud each iu its own black
perfumed case. The cases were as like
as peas, hut not the shawls. One wa9
black, rich and lustreless; one was pure
white, like the white of calia lilies, and
embroidered heavily with thesame ; the
third was while too, but a wreath of
pink rose buds ran around the border
pink rose buds and green leaves dainti
ly worked ; the fourth was the lavender.
That was the beauty. It was before our
own manufacturers knew what exqu*
ite shades could be produced, ana v I
bad only the commonest purples. But
this—it was ineffable, the shimmer of
palest violets iu tlie sun. Rose threw
it over my shoulders, und us I looked
in the glass I felt that if ever anything
in the way of clothes could make me
perfectly happy it would be this shawl.
My eye loved todwell upon it, my hand
loved to touch it; it made me look al
most pretty too, and I had so few be
coming things. But there! Itwasjust
as beeomiug to Nell or to Rose, aud
they wauted it as much as J. So we
decided on a sort of lottery.
Rose was my brother Will’s wife—a
gay, drossy, good-natured little thing;
ami Nell was iny only cousin. Nell was
tall aud stalely and beautiful, with a
proud, clour look in her eyes, and a
snowy grace in all her ways ; by which
I moau shu was graceful and lair, like
the snow, aud cold like it too. But the
cold of snow is uot like the cold of frost,
you know, for llowera live uuder its
drifts sometimes.
Kach shawl was to be locked up iu Its
own black ca«e, aud then \\ ill was to
lay the cases promiscuously on Ills par
lor table, aud tlieu wo were to choose
each for ourselves. Mother ami I were
to be there at three o’clock. I gave a
last pull at the old gray and the pink
ribbons, then run down to join her, and
we started.
They were waiting for us.
“ Ob, take oft' your bonnets quick !”
cried Rose; “ I'm wild to have it all
settled. Will has 1 shulllcd’ the boxes,
and I’m teasing him to make me a sign
which la the lavender, but he won’t.”
“Aunt Mary will choose first, of
course?” suggested Nell.
‘'“Not unless her name is drawn first!”
said Will, with mock solemnity, writ
ing all our names ou slips of paper and
holding them behind him.
“ We wait your pleasure,” said Nell,
retreating to a corner of the sofa. Khe
spoke indifTereuty; but I knew in her
■heart she was-seerctiy auxious to gain
the lavender.
“ Belden hasu’tcomo yet,” said Will.
“ Oh, never mind Beldou/' exclaimed
Rose; what does lie care? he would
only laugh, ami it is really very impor
tant. It’s after three. Come, Will!”
. “ Very well,” he replied ; “then let’s
proceed. I presume you won’t call
mother unfair, bo she shall draw the
names, and the one that comes first
chooses first.”
Had the moment really arrived? My
heart palpitated; it was almost like elec
tion day when they begin to count votes.
Mother, in her placid, gentle way, drew
one of the slips, and we all shouted, for
it held her own name.
“Oh, mother,who would have thought
you were sly !” laughed Will. “Well,
come to the table and choose your box.”
I thought to mysef, if mother got the
lavender she Would give it to me. But
the suspense was notlong; she took the
box nearest her and open it. It he.d the
white crape embroidered with pink rose
buds!
Rose laughed uneasily. One of us
would have to draw the black one now.
It was growing serious.
Mother drew another slip. It bore
Rose’s name, and the color went and
came in her cheeks as she looked at the
three boxes aud hesitated. You may
think it was curious we should care so
much; but we were none of us rich, and
a handsome crape shawl would be a very
great addition to either of our ward
robes. Rose at last, all in a flutter, took
' the box farthest from her. It contained
the white shawl, the pure creamy white,
and Rose pouted.
** What made me take that odo !” she
said, regretfully. But the deed was
done.
Mother drew another slip, and read
my name—Georgia Waite.
Just at that moment a cold tremor was
seizing me; It was not that my name
was being called ; it went deeper than
that; It was that I recognized which
box held the lavender! The slightest
mark, the merest pin scratch, down In
one corner of the lid ; bub letters of fire
could not have seemed plainer to me at
that Inßtant. I had notloed It in the
rooming without speaking of it, with
out really thinking of It, when we were
VOLUME 70
so busy planning the distribution; it
had passed out of my mind at once, and
I had not remembered it since. But
thereitwas; ithadsuddenly caughtmy
intent eye, and now I could look at
nothing else. It seemed m> plain as if
every one must see it, as if every one
must know that that one of the two held
the precious, the beautiful lavender
shawl! And there was mother calling
my name, and the rest waiting for me
to make my choice. Oh, didn’t they
see, didn't they know ? Suppose I took
it would It be a shame fastened upon
me forever? Should Ibe magnanimous,
and choose the. other box? Then I
must go moping about in the black
shawl; and I imagined cousin Nell, al
ways fairer and statelier than I, making
herseli yet more fair and stately, wrap
ped in that exquisitely tinted drapery,
a vision of loveliness all summer long,
whenever Bhe went abroad in the streets
of our little town. Only the night be
fore I thought from something Steve
Belden said that he thought I was pret-
ty; but now no one would notice me
any more—no one would have eyes for
anybody but Nell. But —I had not
chosen yet!
“Como, hurry, Georgie!” exclaimed
Rose; aud mother looked at me won
deringly. Oh, what should I do?
Would it be so very dreadful ? Perhaps
the tiny dint was providential, on pur
pose to guide iny hand to what I wauted
so much. And Nell always looked
handsome iu black ; she would not
mind very much. There she sat, taste
fully dressed as usual, and I in my poor
old pluk and gray things! No, I would
not make tho sacrifice! Down, con-
science, down!
I stepped forward, aud laid my hand
on the black Chinese case.
“Open it!” cried Rose, impatient.
But I absolutely could not, and Will
opened U for mo. There it lay, the
beautiful wonder that I had bought
with a price.
“Oh, Georgie, Georgie, you got it after
all! ” said Rose. “ Lend it to me once
in a while, won’t you? And Nell must
take the black. Poor Nell ! I hope it
isn’t a bad omen.”
“ I don’t care for omens,” said Nell,
quietly, drawing the remaining box
toward her.
“I will take the omen myself,” said
dear mother; “let us exchange, Eleanor.
The black will be much more suitable
for me ; aud what could I ever do with
this shawl covered with rose-buds?”
“I don’t know what to do with the
rose-budseither,” replied Nell, ruefully.
She never made choice herself of such
gay contrasting colors.
“ I do, theu,” interposed Rose. —
“Come, let’s arrange it in this way.
Let mother take Nell’s, and me take
mother’s, aud Nell tuke mine. Then
we shall all be suited, though not so well
suited as Georgie, of course.”
So tho exchange was effected, while
I sat apart brooding over the coveted
lavender, now my own. Of course it
was my own ; no one doubted that.
Mine, with its soft, curdling, silkeu tex
ture; mine, with its fascinating color;
and Rose said how queer I was not to
triumph more in my success. But
something kept ruuuing through my
brain and beating iu my heart—a haunt
ing memory of the high honor of our
Winthrop race; aud the portrait of a
great-auut, who died before any of U 3
were born, hanging on Will’s wall,
seemed to look me through and through
with stern blue eyes. That portrait hud
a look of Nell, so people said ; but Nell
did not look me through that way. »Sbe
seemed rather to shun my gaze when I
glauced at her. Perhaps she was en
vious.
Iu camo Steve Belden, bringing a
rush of fresh air with him, vexed at be
ing too late for the drawing; but he
had been detained hy au unexpected
encounter with an old shipmate on the
street. Rose dauced about before him
iu her gaily-broidered shawl, and Nell
pensively allowed her mother to drape
her in the creamy while. Steve giauc
ed at me. I emiled, and held up the
coveted lavender.
“ I’m glad you got the one you want
ed,” be said, pleasantly.
“Now,” said hospitable Hose, “you
are all to stay to tea, Steve Beldeu and
all, and we will have a good time. I’m
going to make some French biscuit.”
So away she flew. The rest of us sat
a little talking and then mother went
to help Rose, and Will said he had an
errand down street.
“Put on your bonnets, girls,” said
Steve to Nell and me. “Put on your
bonnets and your new shawls. There
is just time for a walk before supper,
and I shall be proud to have your com
pany if you will go.”
Our new shawls ! Nell smiled assent,
and slowly refolding her white crape
placed it around her shapely shoulders
with the air of princess. I thought to
myself it was fortunate wore my black
silk, for the lavender would go so nicely
with it; and Rose, putting her head in
at the door to see what we were doing,
exclaimed that I must not wear my old
bonnet, but take her stylish little hat
with the ostrich plume. So I equipped
myself, and took a sly peep in the mir
ror to be sure that the lavender shawl
was really as becoming as I hoped, and
then, with a flutter in my heart, started
out with Nell and Steve, and I was the
one nearest to Steve.
We walked down the principal vil
lage street, and then turned oil'by the
wharves—the wharves where I had
played so often asa littlegirl, but where
now I had to walk with careful dignity
for fear of brushing against the damp
barrels aud the spars lying there. The
Mary Ann lay at anchor a little way out
In the harbor, and Steve said the old ship
looked more like home to him than any
thing else in the world.
“ What a red sunset we are going to
have,” said Nell, looking dreamily sea
ward ; “thoskyia ruby aud cornelian!”
“It reminds me,” said Steve, “of a
redder sunset six months ago, the after
noon we set sail from Hawaii. The men
were singing as they pulled at the ropes,
and I joined In the choruses ; but 1 felt
and we had almost lost aii:lit olSthe is
land and the Albatross lying at anchor,
with your uncle John on board and Ben
Gardiner.”
“ Who’s Ben Gardiner?” I asked: for
I knew all the sailors’ families,- and no
one of that name had ever sailed from
our port.
“Ob, Ben shipped from New Bed
ford,” replied Stove ; “ he and I were
just like brothers, and we hated to part.
But the Hawaii owners gave him every
inducement, and he was anxious to get
to be captain before coming home; so
he staid out.”
I had never been in New Bedford,
but Nell had, and I glanced at her to
see if she knew Ben Gardiner ; but she
appeared not to be listening; she was
looking faraway eastward, with flushed
cheeks and parted lips.
“He's the best fellow I ever saw,”
Steve went on, enthusiastically ; “a 3
brave as a lion and true as steel. I don’t
believe he ever had a cowardly or dis
honest thought In his life!”
And Steve's eyes kindled as he
praised his friend, while I thought to
myself I did not believe his friend could
possibly be any nobler than he. For
,within these last few days Steve Bel
dan had suddenly become my one ideal.
Bat oh, these clinging folds of the lav
ender crape shawl! They seemed to
wrap me away from him after all, to
separate us forever ; for was it not a poor
dishonest heart beating behind them
which never could bear the clear search
ing sunshine of his love? Even if he
had loved, and that probably be never
would now. Maybe he would love Nell.
Oh, how lovely she was at that very
moment, looking wistfully out over the
sea!
“ What big blue eyes you are making
at the waves, Georgie,” said Steve, soft
ly, coming a little nearer; “and your
cheeks are as pink as the rose-shells we
used to gather at the islands!”
“ Tell me more about Ben Gardiner,”
I said, desperately, “more about how
noble he was.” *
Nell looked around rather surprised,
aud Steve asked, soberly:
“ Why, do you know Ben, Georgie ?”
“ No, I don’t; I never heard of him
before; but I want to bear about how
good he is because he Is your friend.”
And with the last word it dawned upon
me that I had better be more careful of
my Bpeech, but Steve was already an
swering me.
11 Why I don’t know exactly how to
begin about him,” he said; “he is so
unselfish he is always ready to help any
one out of trouble, from a mate down to
a monkev. I have seen him jump
overboard time and again to save poor
oreatureß from drowning, and I have
Been him Btop to take a wretched buz
zing fly out of a spider’s web. And you
couldn’t get him to tell a He, not for all
the mines of Peru. Shall I tell you
about the time he was bo honeßt and
fair, when we were drawing cots who
should have a furlough on shore* and
we were all pining to Bet foot on land
once more, he more than any of us ?”
“Oh, no, never mind!” I answered,
hastily, with a little shiver; “ wait till
we get home. I’m going to pick up
those little scallop-shells there on the
sand.”
“ They’re only dead ones,” Baid Steve.
“I have some beauties in .my chest I
will bring you to-morrow.”
“ Come back, Georgie. Don’t go down
on the wet sand,” called Eleanor after
me; “you’ll spot your new Bhawl. And
it is time we were going home. Rose’s
biscuits will be *done, and she won’t
like it if we’re not there while they’re
hot.” , , .'
So we turned away from the wharves,
the red sunset, and the salt breath of
the sea, and walked up again through
the village to Will’s, I keeping a little
ahead all the way, yet Dot so far but that
I heard Nell asking Steve to tell her
about the drawing cuts and what Ben
Gardiner did, and then Steve’s answer.
I don’t know exactly whatitwas; some
thing about nine being the lucky num
ber, and a six turned upside down so
that it looked like nine. I tried not to
listen; it was enough to know that Ben
had not cheated, as I did about the
shawl boxes, and I felt worse every
moment.
“How grandly you sailed up the
street!” said Rose, meeting us at the
door with a laugh ; “quite my Lady
Beautiful, dear Georgie! JBut Dow hurry
iu as fast as ever you can, for tea’s just
on the table.”
Nell and I carefully folded up our
crape shawls as we took them oil’, and
laid them back in their perfumed cases.
It seemed to me that I was In the very
depth of wretchedness, and I almost
hated the exquisite lavender tint; for
hud it not set me worlds farther apart
from Steve than I ever was in my old
pluk aud gray ?
Then I could not eat anysupper, and
Rose noticed it and would not let me
alone. She did not like to have her
dainty fare slighted, her light white
rolls, her .honey in the comb, and her
marvelous little cream cakes. It was
dreadful to be looked at aud commiser
ated, and I feeling all the while like the
wickedest little hypocrite that ever
lived. I began to ask myself what would
Ben Gardiuer do if he were in my place,
and had got the handsomest shawl of
all unfairly ? It did uot take very long
to answer that.
We went back into the parlor, and, of
all topics in the world, Steve aud Will
begau talking about a neighbor of ours,
a ship-owner, who had been wrongiDg
his employees and dealing deceitfully
with his firm.
“He was always tricky,” said Will.
“ Why, when the innocent farm-boys
from up iu the country would come
down to ship from this pqrt, he would
put on the smoothest face, and make
them think life before the mast was
Paradise. ‘ Hobart,’ he would say to
his clerk, in their hearing, ‘have you
seen to putting the barrel of raisins on
board for the sailors’ plum-puddings ?”
But once hired aud of! at sea it was a
different story.
“ It runs iu the blood,” oaid mother-,
complacently; “ there is a streak of
knavery in the family, and his father
was just such a man before him.
I knew she was thinking to herself
that no such spot had ever stained the
honor of the Winthrops, aud I felt
baser than ever. Then I stopped list
eningr to their talk, and thought of what
lay before me.
For did I tell you I had resolved to
confess it all ? I had made up my mind
to it after E had folded the shawl away,
and after I thought what Steve’s friend
would have done. It meant good-bye
to the lavender crape, of course, but
that was only a trifle now—it meant
good-bye to fcteve Belden, too, and that
was the misery of it, for he never would
think of caring for any one who had
fallen so far short of being honest and
noble. This one short day had crushed
me so completely! But I mu9t tell
them, that was certain, and throw the
shameful burden off, and then maybe I
could begin life all over again in a quiet,
humble little way, and be a better girl.
“ None of my children ever deceived
me!” said mother, finishing the con
versation, and rising in her dignified
way. “ Come, Georgie it is gettiDg late.
We must go home.”
There! I don’t know what I said,
but I told them ; I told them all, and
my own voice sounded clear, and strange
to me as I pushed the lavender shawl
box toward Nell, and implored her
never to let me see it again. Then
somehow I got into mother's arms, and
the tears and sobs came as if they meant
to kill me; for it was all over—so much
was all over!
I think I should never want to look
back to that strange, troubled day, if it
had notendedao beautifully. For when
they had all forgiven me, and Hose had
said good-naturedly that she should
have felt like doing thesame thing her
self, if she had had a chance, and Nell
had whispered that she too saw the
dent, and was glad her turn came last
that she might not be tempted, (though
dear Nell never would have been tempt
ed), and mother gravely told me it was
a lesson I must never forget—after all
that we started for home, and Wi|,l
walked with mother, but Steve Belden
walked with me. And during thatvery
walk it was all settled ; for he loved me,
you see, and it did not seem to make so
very much difference about the shawl
after ail. Indeed everything happened
to me better than I deserved about that,
for when Nell and I changed shawls,
Stove told me he always liked the white
one best. What is the use of fighting
against the great principles of right?
It is “kicking against the pricks” in
real earnest. If I had only been good
and true in the matter of the shawls, I
should have had the one that pleased
Steve most from the first, anu been
spared all the error and shame. But,
us mother would say, it was a good mo
ral lesson.
When Uncle Jack came home from
his voyage, and knew about Steve and
me, he Baid his charm had worked to
perfection, and it was.in thatvery box
he did it.
A New Idea for Jerry,
Jerry S kept a livery stable not
very far from our city. One bright
morning a well-dressed gentleman, a
stranger to Jerry, called for ahorse and
carriage, to be used for the day; and he
was particular to be accommodated with
the best.
“I can let you have as good a horse as
there is in the city, sir, 1 ' said Jerry;
“but you are a stranger to me, and I
must have some —some —”
“Security, you waut, eh ?”
“Exactly.”
“Very well,” said the well-dressed
gentleman, “what do you call your
horse worth?” *
“Six hundred dollars—the one I will
let you have.”
“Then suppose I leave with you that
amount?
“That will do, sir.”
“All right. Bring out the horse.”
The horse and buggy were soon at the
stranger's service, and having looked
them over he remarked to Jerry:
“ I think I am safe enough to take
that horse at six hundred.”
“ Every dollar is there, sir; and you'll
say so when you draw the lines on the
road.”
The well-dressed gentleman took from
his pocket book a five hundred and a
one hundred dollar green back, which he
passed over to the stable keeper, after
which he jumped in and drove off.
At night the well-dressed gentleman
returned, having had a fine drive of
about forty miles,
“Ah —got back, eh?” said Jerry, as
the gentleman entered the office^
“ Yes, sir,—and I would like for you
to come out : and see if the horse is as
it was when I took it. We want these
things all done straight, you know,— :
no after-claps.”
Jerry was pleased with the well
dressed gentleman's manners. He went
out; and, after due examination, pro
nounced the horse as good as ever.
“Worth as much as it was when I
took it, isn’t it?”
“ Certainly.”
All right. You may give me that six
hundred, if you please.”
They stepped back into the office,
where Jerry passed over the two green
backs. The w. D.G. put them into bis
pocket-book; buttoned his coat; gave
his hat a brush ; and said:
“Good evening, air.”
“Hold on I” cried Jerry, “Yon
haven’t paid me for the übb of the horse,
sir.”
“ Paid 9—use ?—use of what horse?”
returned the well-dressed gentleman, in
surprise.
“ Why—the horse you’ve been using
—lv¥T
LANCASTER PA WEDNESDAY MORNING JULY 21 1869
all day! ’ ’ answered Jerry, emphatically.
“Blessyou, my dear man,” said the
W. D. G., with an affable smile, “I
have been driving my own horse. I
bought the horse, buggy, and harness
of you, this morning, at your own price;
and you have now pronounced them
worth as much as I paid for them, and
have bought them, in turn, of me.—
Really, sir, it is a legitimate transac
tion. If you don’t think so, you can!
consult some legal friend. Good eve
ning, sir.”
And the well dressed gentleman went
away, leaving our venerable stable
keeper sorely puzzled over this new
problem. Jerry had flattered himself
that he was thoroughly posted in all
sorts of equine mysteries ; but, certain
ly this was entirely a new idea. — N. Y.
Ledger.
Was He Guilty !
“ Sheriff, remove this prisoner!” com
manded the Judge.
“Fiveyears, five loDg ye%rs in the
penitentiary! Great God! I am not
guilty ! I am not! ” cried Reginald For
rester. as he was led away.
He had been sentenced to five years’
hard labor for the crime of breaking
the dam of John Cluny’s flouring mill.
Two brothers, James and Charles
Crocker, were the principal witnesses.
They swore that late one night about
six months before, as they were walk
ing home, they saw Forrestor walk
ing rapidly along the path leading
across the dam. Thinking that some
thing had happened to the sluice-gates,
they were about to follow in order to
assist when they saw that he began to
cut away the props thatupheld the tim
bers. Horror-struck, they stopped. It
was too late. The dam gave away.—
Rushing down the road towards the
mill they shouted:
“ The flood, the flood !”
The miller heard the shouts, aud bad
just time to save himself and nis fami
ly ; shortly afterward the flood reached
the mill and swept it away. A mer
chant of the village close by swore that
Forrester bought au axe, a shovel and
a pick ou the evening previous to the
breaking of the dam. The axe was
found hidden among some bushes close
to the path, and was identified by the
merchant to bo the same which Regi
nald bought of him. The miller swore
that Forrester had several times been
seen lurking around the mill. The
miller further stated that at the time he
discharged him, he (Forrester) swore he
would bo even with him.
“And he destroyed my property be
cause I discharged him for daring,
against my wishes, to make love to my
daughter, Amy,” concluded he.
Only one person believed Forrester to
be innocent—Amy Cluny, the miller’s
daughter.
It was twelve at noon, just four years
after the conviction of Forrester, when
the door of the State’s prison opened to
him. A pale, bowed-down man, whose
eyes were constantly seeking theground,
walked down the road towards the ferry
boat. The crowd that stood on the
wharf quickly moved aside as the man
tottered towards a bench.
“A pardoned convict!” ran from
mouth to mouth.
Yes, Forrester, for it was he, had been
pardonedlby the Governor. Four long
years he had toiled in the brick-yard of
the prison. Thoughts of self-destruc
tion often-flitted across his weary mind.
Often, as he stood near the furnace of
thebriokkiln, be thoughtthatonly one
bold leap into the roariDg flames, aud
his misery would be at an end.
He had received only two letters dur
ing his imprisonment. One was from
Amy.
The other letter came from New York.
It was from a lawyer, and read: “ This
is to inform you that Allen Forrester,
Esq., your uncle, has departed this life.
He died intestate, and you are the sole
heir to .” The letter was. received
two days before he was pardoned.
“ Fortune avails me nothing, the
world thinks me guilty,” cried he.
“ Forrester has comeback. I wonder
why in the world he wants to come to
thisplace again; he’s rich and has threat
ened to shoot Jim Crocker if he calls
him a convict again.” Such were the
reports that spread over the village like
wildfire.
At last the news came to the ears of
the miller. With a muttered curse upon
his enemy, as he called Forrester, he
ascended the stairs leadiDg to the second
story of the new mill that he had erected
in place of the one swept away. His
steps were noiselessly as he approached
Amy’s bedroom. He looked tnrough
the key hole. A minute afterwards he
wrenched open the door and rushed into
the room—he had seen Amy signaling
to somebody. As he rushed to the win
dow he caught aglimpse of the figure of
a man as he disappeared behind a pro
jecting cliff—it was the form of Forrester.
He caught hold of Amy's arm.
“Who was that man? Quick, tell
me,” came from between his clenched
teeth.
Amp uttered a shriek of pain.
He dropped her arm and rushed from
the room, but soon returned with a
loaded gun in his hands, and dragged
her to the open window. The head of
a man could plainly be seen rising slow
ly from behiud the cliff’. Amy sank up
on her knees. The miller released her
arm and slowly raised his gun. He had
recognized the features of Forrester.
“Signal!” shouted her father, “so
that I cau be sure of him. I want to
shoot him through his black heart!”
“ Mercy!” shrieked Amy, raising her
bands.
Forrester, who ouly saw Amy, now
crept slowly towards a projecting shelf
of the cliff. He did not know what
Amy meant by raising her hands. Boon
he stood attire extreme edge of the cliff,
Bot moT& than fifteen or sixteen feet In
a horizontal line from her window.—
Thirty feet below him the water of the
canon roared over huge boulders, and
behind was a solid wall of granite,
twelve feet high. The shell; was only
two wide.
“Die, convict!” shouted John Cluny.
Forrester heard the word “convict,”
saw the old man, saw the bright barrel
of the gun as It was pointed towards
him, heard tho report —then all was
blank. , ,
When his consciousness returned, he
found himself lying on the top of the
cliff. It was night. A form was bend
ing over him. By the dim starlight he
could distinguish the features, but a
cold shudder passed through bis body
as be felt a hand upon his face, and
heard the well-known tones of the mil
ler :
He’s dead ; and I ain’t a bit sorry, for
it, either. But what am I going to do
with the body? I can’t throw it over
the cliffs. Well, I guess it’s best to stick
to my first plan.”
The miller took a rope fromhis pock
et. passing it beneath the arm-pits of
Forrester, and dragged the body to a
cave known only to himself. This cave
was situated close to where one end of
the mill dam was fastened by means of
heavy timbers to the cliffs; the opening
was concealed by a clump of bushes.
“No one will ever find him there,”
muttered the miller.
When he entered the bedroom of his
daughter he found her lying upon the
floor insensible.
When Forrester awoke from his death
like swoon, darkness was around him.
Painfully he lifted himself upon his el
bow. Bending aside the boughs he saw
the glimmer of a lantern which stood
upon the dam close to the Bluice gateß.
When Forrester’s eyes became more ac
customed to the darkness, he perceived
the forms of two men who were bend
ing over the breastwork of the gates.
Soon the sound of voices came to his
ears—he heard his name mentioned.
He was about to creep through the open
ing* of the bushes when the men began
to walk towards him. About four feet
from where he was lying they stopped.
“ What time is it, Jim?” said one of
them.
“ Time enough for our little job,” re
plied the other with a course laugh.
“ This time he’ll be cooped up for life
—you bet,’Wsald Jim.
‘ “Or else he’ll swing for it,” remarked
the other.
“ He’ll swing for it,” echoed Jim.
“Look there Jim,” interurpted the
other.
“ What the devil’s up, you fool?”
“ I thought I saw a man’s face peep
ing at me from the manzanlta.”
Forrester had protruded hie bead. —
He saw by the light of the burning
match the bloated faces of James and
Charies Crocker.
“Stuffand nonsense. Go to work.
Have you fixed the plank so that you
can shove it across the gulch to iier
1 window ?
“ Yes,” growled the brother; “but it j
was develish hard work.”
*• Then we are sure of the gal. I
for the dam,” said Charles moving away. |
Like a flash of lightning the plot of
the villains was revealed to Forrester.
They first intended to cat the dam;
then they would rescue the family of
the miller by means of the plank. Of
course this latter would insure the grat
itude of the miiler. The breaking of
the dam would again be charged upon
Forrester, who, as one of the brothers
remarked, “ would be sentenced to the
penitentiary for life, or else would swing
for it.” ,
A look toward the’ dam showed that
the water was nearly level with the path.
He heard the creaking of the timbers
and planks as the two men were prying
with an iron bar at one of the beams.
A rumblind Bound to his ears—it was
the pent up water as it began to over
flow the dam. He rose to his feet, and
drawing aside the bushes he sapped
upon a shelf-like path which ran along
side of the cliff.
“Villains!” he shouted. The two
brothers looked up, but saw no one, lor
the light of the lantern was illumina
ting the sluice gates. They resumed
their work. Again Forrester shouted;
and again they lifted their heads, when
therecame a terrible crash miDgled with
the roar of the water. Forrester heard
a cry of despair, aud saw James Crocker
fall headlong over the dam into the
seething water below.
With a prayer upon his lip 3 for the
safety of her he loved, he ran along the
narrow path until he cameopposite the
mill.
“The flood! the flood* For God’s
sake, save your lives! Tho water is
coming! They have cut the dam!” be
cried.
The window of Amy’s bedroom was
thrown open and the miller with light
ed candle in band was standing before
It. Too late. The rushing water had
already encircled the mill, which was
now swaying to and fro.
“Help! help! shouted John Cluny.
raising the light above hie head. A cry
of terror escaped his lips as the light
Bhone upon the pale face of the man
whom he thought he had killed. The
candle dropped from his haud as he
sank upon tue floor. Meanwhile For
rester was searching for the plank. At
last he found it, He tried to shove it
across the gulf, but his strength failed
him.
“Oh God! Is there no help here to
asslstmo? Help! help !” he cried, still
tugging at the plank.
“Come on, boys,” shouted a voice.
Soon a dozen men with lanterns were
rushing towards Forrester.
“ The convict,” cried the foremost, as
he held the lantern to the face of the
prostrate man.
“ He has cut the dam again ? ” cried
amlner; “ I'm sure of it.”
“Impossible; see, he has been
wounded!” cried the first speaker.
Forrester pointed to the plank aud then
toward the mill.
The men understood his gestures.
Soon one end of the plank found a rest
ing place upon the windowsill, i» , i. 1 . a
man with lantern in hand walked across
the swaying bridge and disappeared
through the window. Another and
another followed. A few minutes after,
two men crawled back acrosstheplank,
bearing between them the insensible
form of the miller, another followed
carrying the brother of Amy. But
where was the miller's daughter? The
last man came across empty-handed.
She could not be found.
“Amy, dearest Amy!” shouted For
rester. His shrill voice sounded above
tne awful roar of waters.
A whiteform was seen at the window. [
It lifted its handß as if to warn some j
one away. The light of half a dozen ;
lanterns illuminated her ghastly face, I
which was partially concealed by her ‘
long black tresses. I
Forrester saw her. With superhu
man strength he rose to his feet aud
staggered towards the plank.
Amy stepped upon the window sill.
Bhe had heard the voice of him whom
she loved. Slowly she walked across
the plank until she was within a few
feet of the men. She stopped. Again
her lover pronounced her name. She
recognized his voice. Aery of joy came
from her lips asshe gave a bound which
brought her within the reach of the
outstretched hands of the men.
Another cry answered from the gulf
below; it was a cry for help. Imme
diately after the mill sank with a fear
ful crash in the canon. But soon the
rising water overcame that slight ob
struction and carried it down the chan
nel. » ,
Toward morning, when the water had
somewhat subsided, a party of men
found the mangled body of James
Crocker, which had lodged between two
boulders. Close by they found his bro
ther with both legs broken. ITe was
yet alive. A cry of intense pain came |
from his swollen lips as the men lifted |
him upon a rude stretcher. i
“ Let me die here ! Let me die here !’’
cried he. “I feel that I’m hurt inside.
Put me down. I have only a short a
time to live, and I want to confess.
Reginald Forrester is innocent of tbe
crime for which he sulfered. It was I
and my brother who cut ”
These were Charles Crocker’s last
words. A stream of blood welled from
his mouth. Once more he tried to raise
himself, then he breathed his last.
An entire week passed away before
the village doctor pronounced Reginald
out of danger. The ball fired from tbe
rifle of the miller bad glanced from his
temple. It had made an ugly but nota
mortal wound. His over-exertion on
that terrible night had greatly increased
his illness, but he gradually regained
bis former health and strength.
Three months after the breaking of
the dam, Amy, her brother, father, and
Forrester, left California forever.
Tho Bachelor In Love.
A bachelor in love loses a dimple or
two, grows melancholy, reads poetry,
and looks at the moon; Is nervous about
his necktie and his gloves; consults his
aunt a 9 to what kind of hat girls most
admire; changes the style of his fre
quently, but is never satisfied.
His countenance is as changeabla as
his necktie: now she has smiled, and
he Is radiant; now she has frowned, and
he wears a furrowed brow, and looks in
at the apothecary’s windows and thinks
of laudanum. He resolves to settle
down, and limits himself as to cigars.
If his laundress sends him home a bo
som not quite perfect, it grieves him to
the heart’s core. He passes the most
golden haired-damsel without a glance.
He goes no more to see burlesques. His
bouquetß are anonymously sent to the
object of his adoration. He is hourly
afraid ofrevealing his condition of heart,
but makes it manifest unconsciously to
all beholders. Fiendish passions dwell
in his breast. He hears that she has
been at the opera with young Fiasco,
and wants to kill him. He says fiercely
in society that he approves of duelling,
and that, should he call a man out, he
would aim at his heart.
When Vilkins asks him, “if Diana is
not lovely?” he says, “Good Heavens,
nol” Only one is beautiful to him.
He would like very much to work
hard and make a fortune, but he can
not do it. He horrifies his employer by
entering as an item in the Ledger “1000
Angels.’’ He is suddenly seen to clasp
his brow at dinner time, to
of the waiter, who, believing hnn to be
choking,- beats him on the back and
offers him water. He goes surrepti
tiously to so-called clairvoyants, who
describe “a light complected young
lady, sir, and her face turned your way,
and your heart in her hand, if only you
can get over the cross betwixt you.”
He thinks the cross is young Fiasco,
and grows dangerous.
Suddenly you see the bachelor in love
amazingly altered. He smiles, looks
happy, eats comfortably, and nods to
his old enemy Fiasco. Then you may
be sure that he has, somewhere in his
bosom, a certain carte de vmte , and
that the original of the picture has
blushingly advised him to “ask Pa.”
L. T. Adams, of Now York, has been ap
pointed U. S. Consul at Malta.
An expedition of over two hundred men,
with arms and ammunition, is reported to
bavej sailed from Long Island for Cuba
yesterday.
The Chinese Labor Convention met at
Memphis, yesterday, and Ex Governor
Isham G. Harris, of Tennessee, was chosen
permanent President. Col. Clapp delivered
an address, denying that the purpose of the
Convention was antagonistic to efther white
or black labor, and showing that Chinese
immigration was needed to develop the re
sources of tbe South. After organizing, the
Convention adjourned until to-day. A
i Chinese ooolie contractor from California
1 will attend the Convention.
Not a Ghost Story.
BY JUDGE CLARK.
George Marley having none bat fash
ionable vices, was not what the world
calls vicious. He drank without being
r sot, gambled without being a black
leg, and if not a saint, was no profligate.
He had recently come into a hand
some fortune, and was spending his first
winter, and a good deal of money, in
New Orleans. AmoDg others whose
acquaintance he formed, was a-young
Frenchman, a few years his Benior,
named Antoine Giraud, between whom
and himself a similarity of tastes soon
causedan especial intimacy to spring up.
Young Giraud was perfectly ac
quainted with the city and its ways,
and was nothing loth to place nis
knowledge at his friend’s disposal.—
When the theatre and opera grew tire
some, as they did at last, and masked
balls and wine suppers began to lose
their zest, fresh excitement was sought
and found in those temples where the
fickle goddess nightly distributes her
•‘♦buffets and rewards” without troub'
herself whether or not they are re'
ceived “with equal thanks.”
Giraud played porslsteutly against
his friend. Marley thought it was be
cause they were friends. There was
another reason, perhaps. However, if
money was the Frenchman’s object, he
was signally disappointed, for he was
uniformly unsuccessful. Though
evidently ebargined at his losses
he seemed to bear them with equani-
mity, returning each night to the en
counter, led by the blind hope that has
lured so many to destruction, that
luck, at laet, must change.
One night their play ran unusually
high. Marley was flushed with wine,
while the expression of his companion’s
face betokened a still deeper excite
ment. With a nervously trembling
hand, tho latter deposited on the table
a sum largerthanany hehad yet risked.
It was promptly covered by his adver-
sary.
“This time I have won!” cried Giraud
eagerly, throwing down his cards.
“Not so fast!” exclaimed the other;
“your hand is almost invincible, but
this beats it.”
It was true; the Frenchman had lost
again.
“Ruined!” lie muttered to himßelf
between his clenched teeth; and after
glaring a moment fiercely at the win
ner, he rose hastily from the table.
“Come, George,” he. said, with a
forced laugh, “it is time to go now;”
aud taking his friend’s arm, the two
left the place together.
It was past midnight, and the streets
wero almost deserted, when a drowsy
watchman, pacing hla accustomed
round, came suddenly on a Beene that
startled him into life, an-d caused him
to signal for assistance, which happily
proved to be at hand.
A man was stopping over the pros
trate form of another. At the sound of
approaching footsteps he raised himself,
recoiling quickly as if in flight. But
the summoued help wa3 already on the
.spot, and the fugitive was intercepted?
In his hand he held a bloody dagger .
and at his feet lay the inanimate body
of the victim, still warm and bleeding.
On finding himself in the hands of the
officers, the prisoner’s self possession
entirely forsook him. His answers were
so incoherent as to be wholly itajntelli
glble. Nothing could be gained by
questioning him in his present condi
tion, and he was at once taken to the
nearest station-house and locked up.
The body was conveyed to the Morgue,
where, on the following day, it was
identified as that of George Harley.
At the inquest, Glraud testified to
having accompanied his friend as far as
their way lay in common, and that they
had then separated for the purpose of
going to their respective lodgings. The
facts sworn toby the policeman were
those already stated. If the crime had
been committed with a view to robbery,
the perpetrator had been interrupted
before accomplishing his object, for the
murdered man’s watch andpocket-book
were found on his person unmolested,
and nothing identified as his was dis
covered in the prisoner’s possession.
Eugene Aubrey, the person accused of
the atrocious deed, was a young artisan
of hitherto unblemished character, and
the only child and sole support of his
widowed mother. The day after his
arrest he gave an explanation of the
i circumstances against him, which, had
it been given at once, might have re
ceived credence. As it was, it was looked
upon as acunning afterthought.
His story was this:
I-Ie bad been spending the evening—
and so much he was able to prove —in a
! visit to a young girl to whom he was
betrothed. On his return two men,
walking arm in arm, turned into the
street before him, continuing in the
same direction asbimself, butsome dis
! tancein advance. Suddenlyoneof them
disengaged his arm and dealt his com-
I panion a swift blow with some instru
i ment, which, as it descended, gleamed
inthegaslightlikethebladeofaweapon.
The one stricken reeled and fell, utter
ing a faint cry. The other glanced
hastily around, and seeing the prisoner
approaching, turned and fled.
When the latter reached the body, life
was distinct. He had just withdrawn
the weapon, which had been left in the
wound, and was about to run or call for
help, when he was apprehended as al
ready stated.
But a prisoner’s statement, though
all-powerful against him, goes but a
little way lu exculpation. A verdict of
‘•willful murder” against Eugene Au«
brey was returned by the corouer’s jury,
aud he was fully committed for trial.
It was at this stage of the case I was
retained for the defence. The task
seemed hopelees enough. On the final
trial, the only facts in evidence would
be those which told so damningly
agatnßt the prisoner. His own state
ment, which the coroner had allowed
to be received, would there be entirely
excluded. But one result could reason
ably be anticipated.
The poor widow never doubted her
sou’s innocence. “He was always so
good and gentle,” she said. Still less
would it huve been possible to create a
suspicion in the mind of her who loved
him with all the blind devotion of a
young and trusting soul. “ I know he is
not guilty,” she would again and again
reiterate; “ when he left me that night
with words so tender and loving, there
could have been no murder in his heart.”
It was impossible to witness a faith
so pure and steadfast without feeling its
influence. The young man’s statement,
If true, -perfectly reconciled every fact
with his innocence ; and, after all, less
weight was due to his first confusion
and failure to explain the ciicumstances
than was generally supposed. A man
brought suddenly face to face with au
appalling crime, and while Btlll stagger
ing under the shock, accused of its com
mission, may w.ell lose his presence of
mind. Before saying he looks and acts
guiltily, wouldn’t it be well to be quite
sure we know how an innocent man
would look and act in the like case?
The day of trial came. I hadno wit
nesses, save a few to previous good
character. I had determined to risk
all on a stroke, the wisdom or folly of
which could only be determined by the
event.
Giraud was the first •witness called. *
He gave bis evidence with great pre
cision and clearness. I cross-examined
him very briefly, and he bad just quitted
thestand, when,asif transfixed bysome
instantaneous shock, he Btood the very
impersonation of terror. His hair lit
erally stood on end. His eyes were
riveted on a figure advancing towards
him with slow and measured tread. It
was the exact image of the murdered
man/—his face ail pale and ghastly as
when he lay in his coffin. That such a
visitor was not of this world was the
common feelißg even of those who had
rmver seen Marley, and who knew not
whose was the ghostly form thus mys
teriously revealed.
“Merciful Godt” shrieked rather
than articulated the frightened wretch
who had just steped his boul in perjury
against another’s life, “ but unchain
my senses from this horrible vision,
and let man’s weightiest condemnation
fall upon me.”
Then fallihg on his knees, in disjoint
ed and broken sentences, he poured
forth-a confession that fully justified
the belief I had for Borne time enter
tained, that he, Giraud, and not my
client, was the real culprit.
And now reader, don’t throw away
the paper with a sneer at “ghost
1 Btories,” till you find out whether I
1 have been telling one or not.
1 I had a friend, a young actor, who, if
' living to-day, would be the brightest
star on the American boards. His
| power of imitation was wonderful, Hfe
knew and had Been Marley. A week’s
practice made him perfect in the port he
was to perform, and it was he, and no
ghost, that appeared, as prearranged be
tween us, at the critical moment. I had
read:
*» That guilty creatures, sitting at a play, ‘
Have by tne very canning of tne scene
Been siraclc so to tne soul, that presently
They have proclaimed tbelr malefactions;”
and the result proved that the great
dramatist, as usual, was right. — N, Y.
Ledger,
A Juryman’s Story.
BY JUDGE CLARK.
We had been out twenty-four hours,
and stood eleven to one. The case was
a very plain one—at least we eleven
thought so.
A murder of peculiar atrocity had
been committed; and though no eye
witnessed the deed, circumstances
pointed to the prisoner’s guilt with un
failing certainty.
The recusant juror had stood out from
the first. He acknowledged the cogency
of the proofs, confessed his inability to
reconcile the facts with the defendant’s
innocence, and yet, on every yote, went
steadily for acquittal.
His conduct was inexplicable. It
could not result from a lack of intelli
gence ; for, while he spoke but little,
his words were well chosen, and evinced
a thorough understanding of the case.
Though still in the prime of manhood,
his locks were prematurely white, and
his face wore a singularly sad aud
thoughtful expression.
He might be One of those who enter
tained scruples as to the right of society
to Inflict the death penalty. But no, it
was not that; for, in reply to such a
suggestion, he frankly admitted that
brutal meu like the vicious brutes they
resemble, must be controlled through
fear, and that dread of death, the su
preme terror, is, iu many cases, the
only adequate restraint.
At the prospect of another night of
fruitless imprisonment wo began to
grow impatient, and expostulated
warmly agaiDSt what seemed an unrea
sonable captiousness; and some not
over kind remarks were indulged in as
to the impropriety of trifling with au
oath like that under which we were
acting.
“And yet,” the man answered, as
though commuuiug with himself rather
than repeliug the imputation, “it is
Conscience that hinders my concurrence
in a verdlctapproved by myjudgment.”
“ How can that be?” queried several
at once.”
“ Conscience may not always dare to
follow judgment.”
“But here she can know no other
guide.”
“ I once would have the same.
“AmPwhat has changed your opin*
“Experience!”
The speaker’s manner] was visibly
agitated, and we waited in silence the
explanation which he seemed ready to
give.
Mastering his emotion, as if in au
swer to our looks of Inquiry, he con-
“Twenty years ago I was a yonng
man just beginning life. Few had
brighter prospects, aud none brighter
hopes.
“An attachment, dating from child
hood, had ripened with its object. —
There had been no verbal declaration
and acceptance of love —no formal
plighting of troth ; but when I took my
departure to seek a home in the distant
West, it was a thing understood, that
when I had found it and put it iu order
she woh to share it.
“ Life in the forest, though solitary,
is not necessarily lonesome. The kind
of society afforded by Nature, depends
much on one’s self. As for me, I lived
more in the future than in the present,
aud Hope is au ever cheerful compan-
“ At length the time came for making
the final payment on the home which
I had bought. It would henceforward
be my own ; and, in a few more months
my simple dwelling, which I had
spared no pains to render inviting,
would be graced by its mistress.
“ At the land office, which was some
sixty miles off', I met my old friend,
George C. He, too, had come to seek
his fortune in the West ; and we were
both delighted at the meeting. He had
brought with him, he said, a sum of
money which he desired to invest in
land, on which it was his purpese to
settle.
u I expressed a strong wish to have
him for a neighbor, and gave him a cor
dial invitation to accompany me home,
giving it as my belief, that ho could no
where make a better selection than in
that vicinity.
“He readily consented, and we set
out together. We had not ridden many
miles, when George suddenly recollect
ed a commission he had undertaken for
a friend, which would require his at
tendance at a public land-sale on the
following day.
“Exacting a promise that be would
not delay his visit longer than neces
sary, and having given minute direc
tions as to the route, I continued my
way homeward, while he turned back.
“ I was about retiring to bed on the
‘Dight of my return, when a summons
from without called me to the door. A
stranger asked shelter for himself and
his horse for the night.
“I Invited him iu. Though a strang
er, his face seemed not unfamiliar. He
was probably one of the men I had seen
at the land-office, a place, at that time,
much frequented.
“ Offering him a seat, I went to see to
his horse. The poor animal as well as
I could see by the dim starlight, seem
ed to have been hardly used. His pant
ing sides bore witness of merciless rid
ing, and a tremulous shrinking, at the
slightest touch, betokened recent
fright.
“On re-entering the house, I found
the stranger was nol there. His ab
sence excited no surprise; he would
doubtless soon return. It was a little
singular, however, that he should have
left hl& watch lyiDg on the table.
“ At the end of half an hour, my guest
not returning, I went out again to the
stable, thinking he might have found
bis way thither to give personal atten
tion to the wants of his borsttr-
“ Before going out, from mere force of
habit—for we were as yet. unifeeted by
either thieves or policemen—l took the
precaution of putting the stranger’s
watch in a drawer in which I kept my
own valuables.
“ I found the horse as I had left him,
and gave him the food which he was
now sufficiently cooled to be allowed to
eat, but his master was nowhere to be
seen.
“ As I approached the house, a crowd
of men on horseback dashed up, and I
was commanded, in no gentle tones, to
‘stand /’ In another moment I was in
the clutches of those who claimed me
a 9 their ‘ prisoner .’
“ I was too much stupified at first to
ask what it all meant. I did so at last,
and the explanation came, it was terri
ble!
“My friend, with whom I had so
lately set out in company, had been
found murdered and robbed near the
spot at which I, bnt I alone, knew % we
had separated. I was the last person
known to be with him, and I was now
arrested on suspicion of his murder.
“A search of the premises was imme
diately instituted. The watch was
found in the drawer in which I had
placed it, and was identified as the
property of the murdered/ynan. His
horse, too, was found in the stable, for
the animal I had ju9t put there was
none other. I recognized him myself
when Isaw him in the light.
“What I said, I know not. My con
fusion was taken as additional evidence
of guilt. And when, at length, I did
command language to give an intelligi
ble statement, it was received with
sneers of incredulity.
‘•‘The mob spirit is inherent in man—
at least in crovyds of men. It may not
always manifest itself in physical vio
lence. It sometimes contents itself
with lynching a character. But what
ever its form, it is always relentless,
pitiless, cruel.
“ As the proofs of my guilt, one after
another, came to light, low mutteriugs
gradually grew into a clamor for ven
geance ; and hut for the firmness of one
man—the officer who had me in charge
—I would doubtless have paid the pen
alty of my supposed offence on the spot.
“ It was not sympathy for me that
actuated my protector. His heart was
as hard as his office : bnt he represent
ed the majesty of tne law, and took a
sort of grim pride in the position.
' “As much under the glance of his eyes
; as before the muzzle of his pistol, the
i cowardly olamorera drew back. Per
) haps they were not sufficiently numer
i ous to feel the full effeot of that myste-
NUMBER 29
rlous reflex influence wbish makes a
crowd of men so much worse, and at
times so much better , than ony one of
them—singly.
********
“ At the end of some months my trial
came. It could have but one result.
Circumstances too plainly declared my
guilt. I alone knew they lied.
“The absence of the jury was very
brief. To their verdict 1 paid but little
heed. It was a single hideous word ;
but I had long anticipated it and it
made no Impression.
“As little impression was made by
the words of the judge which followed
it; and his solemn invocation that God
might Have that mercy upon me which
7ixo.il was too just to vouchsafe sounded
like the hollowest of hollow mockeries
“It may be hard for the condemned
criminal to meetdeath ; it. is still harder
for him who is innocent. The one, wheu
the first shock is over, acquiesces in his
doom, and gives hlmseif to repentauce;
the heart of the other, filled with rebel
lion against man’s injustice, can scarce
bring Itself to ask pardou of God.
“ I bad gradually overcome this feel
ing, in spite of the good clergyman’s
irritating efforts, which were mainly
directed towards extracting acovfcssion,
without which, he assured me, lie bad
no hope to offer.
“On the morning of the (Infixed for
my execution, I felt measurably resign
ed. I had so long stood luce to face
with death, had so accustomed myself
to look upon it as a merely momentary
pang, that I no longer lel c solicitous
save that my memory should ouo day
bo vindicated.
“ She for whom I had gone to prepare
a home had already found one In heav
en. The tidings of my calamity had
broken her heart. She alone of all the
world believed me innocent; aud she
had died with a prayer upon her lips,
that the truth might yet be brought to
this I had heard, and It hiul
soothed as with sweet incense my trou
bled spirit. Death, however unwelcome
the shape, was now' a portal beyond
which I could see one angel waiting to
receive me.
“ I heard thosouuding of approaching'
footsteps, and nerved myself Lu meet the
expected summons. The doorofmy cell
opened, aud the sheriff and his attend
ants entered. Ho held In his hand a
paper. It was doubtless my death war
rant. Ho fiegan to read it. My thoughts
were busied elßewiso. Theworda ‘rui.L
and Fiti'E pardon’ were the first to
strike my preoccupied seneea. They
affected the bystanders more. Ilian my
self. Yet so it was; 1 was pardoned
for an offence I had never committed.
“The real culprit, none others, it is
needless to say, than he w r ho hail sought
aud abused my hospitality, had been
mortally wounded in a recent affray in
a distant city, but had lived long enough
to make a disclosure, which had been
laid before the Governor barely in time
to save me from a shameful death, and
condemu me to a cheerless aud burden
some life.
“ This Is my experience. My judg
ment, as yours, in the case before us,
leads to but one conclusion, that of the
prisoner’s guilt; but not less confident
and apparently uuerriug was the judg
ment that falsely pronounced my own.”
We no looger importuued our fellow
juror, but patiently awaited our dis
charge on the ground of inability to
agree, which came at last.
Tne prisoner was tried and at the last
moment confessed his crime on the scaf
fold.
Tho Prospect for Sugar,
Sugar, if not one of the absolute ne
cessities of life, is still of such very gen
eral use in all civilized communities
that it ranks among the first of the
staple articles of commerce; and the
average consumption of it is not a bad
criterion of the prosperity or misery of
a natlou.
The people of the United States con
sume more sugar in proportion to their
numbers than those of any other coun
try in the world. The sugar, almost all
foreign, consumed here last year foots
up the enormous amount of 408,000 tons ;
and for this quantity, at the low rate of
ten cents per pouud, we paid to foreign
ers the apparently fabulous sum of
ninety-three millions of dollars.
The total production of sugar in the
world in 1868 wag somewhat under a
million and a half of tons, and of this
not less than six hundred and thirteen
thousand tons were produced in Europe
from beet root. Until within about
thifty years, during which this beetroot
sugar crop has been yearly iucreasiug
at a railroad pace, sugar was considered
as exclusivefy a tropical production, to
be obtained solely from cane; but the
enormous crop of beet root sugar, nearly
one-haffofthew'holequantity produced,
has long since exploded this idea.
Beetroot sugar is manufactured iu
almostali the countrießof the European
continent, the chief producers being
Belgium, Frauce, the Zollvereiu, ami
Russia. The beets are grown in all
climates, from the Atlantic to the Cas
pian, and from the North Sea to the
Mediterranean, and in soils of which
almost every oneof the States of this
Union can furnish an abundance. And
yet, strangely enough,butlittluornoth-
Ing has as yet been done iu tills coun
try toward an object of such vital in
terest to us as is the retention in the
country of nearly a hundred million
dollars annually. The one exception
to this apparent apathy on the part of
our wealthy farmers aud merchants has
been at Chataworth, in Central Illinois,
where a company, after experiencing
somo difficulties .during tho first two
years, manufactured last season one
million pounds of sugar.
What is required to give a fair chance
to this new industry among us is tho
erection of works foe the extraction of
the sugar. The average amount of
sugar which can be obtained from
the beets is about feu per eeut. ; some
yield considerable more. Now, were
sugar refining works within access of
the farmers, the latter would soou pre
fer beets to all other crops. Taking all
parts of this country together, we could
get an average of 24 J tons of beets to the
acre, and a farmer selling his beets ut
$3.00 per tou, a price which will leave
the refiner a very handsome protlt, can
clear over $2O to the acre.
The report of the United Htatee Com
missioner of the Agricultural Bureau lor
1808 gives the following averages of
cereals throughout the Uniou :
Brice per Value per
busb. acre.
$O.BO •'>'/
1 57
103 15 o*l
U. 5« 10 5:1
BuHhols.
Corn .'52 f J'J
Wheal 14 3-i
Rye 151*4
Outs 23.6(J
Average value.'. $20.h7
This, it will he noticed, is much less
than the net profit to be derived from
the sale of beets from the same extent
of ground. •
We have stated that the refiner could
well afford to pay $3 50 per ton. Thus
fifteen million pounds of beets would
cost some $20,000, and calculating the
sugar extracted at only eight per cent.,
this amount would give, at ten cents per
pound for the sugar, a product of $120,-
000.
We are pleased, in connection with
this matter, to bear of the formation of
companies in Chicago and other West
ern cities, tor the purpose of growing the
beets and extracting the sugar. New
Jersey is said toabouudiu lands admira
bly adapted for this culture ; and in this
one particular, we surely should be able
to undersell all other producers of beet
root sugar In the world, for good lands
can be purchased here for less than the
annual rental of similar lands in Europe.
The principal source from which we
have hitherto derived our supply of
sugar has beeu Cuba. If the revolution
now going on there succeeds, the slaves
are ipso facto freed, and we have no
right to expect a result from sudden
emancipation there different from what
happened In Jamaica, namely, a falling
on of eighty per cent. In the crop. Only
about one-tenth of Cuba is under culti
vation, and the negroes once free will
naturally take to working for them
selves; and If Spain should eventually
succeed in quelliDg the insurrection,
she will regain dominion over a desert
which it will take years to restore to a
productive condition. —W. Y. aun.
A building on Main street, Hartford, foil
yesterday, owing to excavations made for a
new building alongside of it. The loss is
$15,000,
T. J. Kinsella, who investigated the New
Orleans Revenue frauds, has been appoint
ed special agent of the Treasury Depart
meat. _
The sugar seized for revenuo frauds at
New Orleans are valued at nearly $200,000
In gold. One hundred thousand cigars
were seized from ono Importer in that city
yesterday.
KATE OF ADVEBTIMISG.
business ATrvxßTOTkwrrs, fia * yew wc
quare of ton lines; $8 per year for each ac»
ditionmlsquaro. • . -
Rxal Estate Adv*htxsuio, iocents a line;for
thearst, and so*nta for eachinbeeqaent In
sertion. •
OnmAi advertising* 7 cents & line for tne
ffrtf, and 4 cents for each subsequent inter
lion.
Special Notices Inserted In Local Column
15 cents per line.
Special Notices preceding nnlttM jud
deaths, 10 cents per line tor first Insertlonl
and 6 cents (Or every sabseqnent Insertion!]
Legal and othrr notices—
Executors’ notices...— 2*°o
Administrators’ notices,....— —— g-®*
Assignees’ n0tice5,........... Z.HJ
Auditors’ u0Uce5,...««.....^~——...—•
Other “Notices, ’ten lines, or less, m
three times,. 1-60
Frnnklio and marshall College.
BY THE PRESIDENT OF THE INSTITUTION.
ARTICLE 111,
The denominational distinction of F. &
M. College, I repeat makes It far more im
portant for the city and county of Lancas
ter, tbau It would bo if it were established
under any Biuiply local character and form.
The fact that it stands umoug us as the un
dertaking and work of a whole Church
gives it a significance for the community
at large, altogether beyond what it could
overbuys as the creuture say of private
liberulity orof n Joint stock company, look
ing odlv to local interest and ends. True,
there is wealth enough with us to found a
second Yale or Harvard, wilhoutgoing be
yond our own county ; and its balls might
in truth bo respectably filled with students
from this county aloue. But every body
knows how vain it would bo for us, to think
of building up any such institutions for tho
city or couuty in this separate way. Sim
ply local enterprise here is not enough as it
might be lor a railroad or a cotton mill.—
We need thojwider basis of a general cburcu
life on which to encourage ourselves in
such au educational movement with tho
prospect of success. Not that this should
then cool our sense of tho object, or par
alize our zeal in favor of it, as though it had
becoinu for us a foreign, alien care In any
way. But just the reverse; that we should
see in it rathbr a vast enlargement of op
portunity aud promise for the object re
garded as local uml be all the more engaged
to put both hand anti heart to the tusk of
making all that 7nuy bo now so easily mado
of it lor tho credit and benefit of our place.
That plainly is tho only'tfright view to bo
taxon of tho relation which F. A M. College
holds to the German Reformed Church. U
makes the Institution for tho city and
county what no amount of merely local in
terest and enterprise cmild make It other-
WHO. , , ,
The Church has not ilono yot, Indeed, as
much as sho ought to have ilono in favor of
the College, but sho has ilono something,
and quite enough at nil events, to show that
she has both the power and Ibo will to pluce
within tho reach of our Lancaster citizen
ship (If only our Lancaster cltircuship be
proporly awake to Ha own Interest) a lllor
ary institution, wblob shall he equal, to say
the leant, to any other in tho Slate.
Tho old Fruuklln College was hero, and
hud been boro for more limn half a century
before its consolidation with Marshall Col
lege. It bnd also what was considered for
die time a tolemble Pennsylvania endow
ment. But it was nil along u college In
muuo only, and not In fact; anil It Is not
ton much to soy, that In its simply local
character and form it never could have got
beyond such merely nominal distinction.
It rose Into real importance, only when the
Of rtmin Reformed Church, by special
arrangement for the purpose, came to
bo Invested with tho care of it, through
tho croalton of what has since been
Known as l’rauklln und Marshall College.
Since that lituo there has beeu a slow, hut
on tho whole steady progress, In the build
ing up of tho now literary enterprise. It has
been indeed heavy and up hill work to
carry It forward. Its resources wore novor
fully equal to its wauls. It had to puss
through much discouragement from our
late war, disturbing as it did all values and
ibo wholo ordinary run of life. Then tboro
wore doubts and prejudices raised agalnßt
it in different parts of the Church, which
aftor the war camo still more near swamp
iug it altogether. These grew up no one
could well say bow, causing it to bo felt
widely that Lancaster was no proper placo
for such an institution, and that It was pretty
suro to become in tho end a general failure ;
hence some natural distrust also botwoon
the two groat parlies jointly concerned In
tho College, namely, tho body of the tier
man Reformed Church on thoonehand and
tho people of Lancaster on the other hand ;
und so a certain tardiness of action in tavor
of the institution on both sides, each justl
fvlng its owu fault by blaming tho like
fault of tho other. A hard euse of courso
for the College, which had thus to boar tho
sins of both. ,
But this Is now past; and all may easily
see that the Collage) is no failure, but more
full of promise for the fuluro to day limn
ever before. It has lost no funds On tho
coutrnry its endowment has grown to bo
nearly double of what it was at the start,
while ltd grounds and buildings have also
greatly Inoreosed in value. It is altogether
iree iroin debt, and muy bo sot down as
worth this day not less than one hundred
and seventy thoiismid dollars.
But this is not all. The Collego baa weath
ered successfully also, its moral troubles,
as well as thoso which, woro financial.
There has been wide righting of sentiment
throughout tho Church In regard to it. Tlio
prejuuiceswhich prevailed against Lancas
ter have silently yielded to better informa
tion and more considerate thought. It is
generuily felt now that no locution could bo
more favorable for tho purposesof a Collego
representing centrally ihe educational in
terests of the Gorman Reformed Church;
and so there is a disposition all round to
return in good faith to the original policy
of the Church, by making It such u contro
in tho fullest souse of the term. The Synod,
us with one voice, has milled to Its help.
The Theological Seminary is soon to ho
transplanted to its side. An effort is In
progress to add to its endowment ut least u
hundred, aud if possible a hundred uud
lifty thousund dollars. Along with this, it
is easy to see overywnero a tido of confi
dence and good will rising in its fuvor. The
occupation of cioakers and growlora In re
gurrl to it Is pretty much gone. It Is felt to
carry with it on all sides now tho prestige
of success. The danger is rather on the
side of too much presumption from this,
relaxing in come quarters tho efforts ne
cessary to inako if secure. All this, of
course, iH worth more limn thousands of
money would lie without it to the institu
tion. Its best endowment always must be
the faith and favor of tho German Reformed
Church and tho patronage this ih suro to
bring with it, as long as tho Church is
united and whole, us she is now more and
more disposed do bo, in making Lancaster
tho great centreof all her educational oper
ations.
So much at present on this subject, only
fur the purpose of showing, iih I have Inii
muteil beloro, Iho bearing of the ecclesias
tical relations of Frunklln and Murslml
Co I lego on tho question of its loeal Impor
tance for the people of Lancaster city and
comity. Whutever gives it weight or chin -
ucter, or promiso of strength and power an
a church Interest, should commend It to
attention ns an object deserving also tho
liberal interest and zeal of the civil com
munity in whoso bosom it holds a plaeu;
und it Is under this view that 1 boro bring
it into untico. For lam not now mldr6sHtng
the German Reformed Church directly as
•meb, nor is it my business hero Immedi
ately to press tho claims which the institu
tion has on religious body. That I have
aireudy done elsowhere, and expect to do
again. But my concern now is with the
people of Lancaster. As ono of thorn solves,
I wish to spcaK wlih thorn plainly and
freely of what tho College is, aud of what
it ought to be, for our gHiierui elil/.'jryibip,
us a local or sectional interest. We at largo
tho citizens of Lancaster city and Lancaster
county, hold a relullon to It, aud huvo
u duty toward It, quite us deserving of our
serious consideration eertninly, (to suy the
least,) as uny of the business or political
interests, with which we are In common so
easily engrossed. This 1 hope to bo able to
j show, in u way to put it beyond all question
or doubt.
A 3ljhtcrlou* Aflhlr.
Yesterday morning, says the Philadel
phia Age. a gentleman standing on tho
banka of. Smith's Island, discovered a yawl
boat flouting in tho river. At his Instance
the boat was secured. It was not until the
boat was brought to the shoro that there
were any suspicions of foul play having
been done. It was then discovered that tho
sides of the yawl were spattered with blood ;
on the bottom there were clots of the same
murky fluid ; while tho seats were covered
with bloody fingermarks. But this was not
all to excite suspicion. Two caps wore
found upon the bottom of the yawl, ono of
yellowish fur, and the other of dark blue
cloth. These articles of apparel were sollod
with bloody stains. Upon tho lining of ono
of them there was a large stalu. Regarding
these strange discoveries, tho opinion of
those who witnessed them were all alike
—that there had been some desperuto
atfray in the tout during the night,
in which the participants, might, for all we
know, have perished. If wo may rely on
the circuuistuptial evidence which tho ap
pearance of the boat und tho huts yields,
one may conclude that a tragedy was com
mitted on the river during the darkness of
Monday night. The'people on Smith’s
Island say that aboxit eight o'clock on Tues
day night, they saw a yawl boat moving up
the river, containing twoj men and two
women. From the blasphemy of the men,
aud their demeanor, the islanders supposed
them to be intoxicated. Whether these
were tho persons who perished thus miser
ably, is a mystery which time may perhaps
clear away. Tho name of the yawl is
“ Amanda Melvina.” The officers aro
making diligent examination of the aflair.
At a late hour last night a man called at
the Harbor Police Station and claimed the
boat. Ho said it wus the property of bis
brother-in-law, and hud until within a few
days been tied up near the glue factory at
Port Richmond. Recently it was lor Bale
in the channel near Point Airy. Lieutenant
Souderhos no knowledge wbatovor of the
yawl boat, and has not seen it at either of
of the places specified. The claimant was
retained at the lock up.-
AJWoraan Suffrage Convention met at
Saratoga, N. Y., yesterday. Miss Anthony,
Mrs. Gage, and Mrs. Morgan were among
the prominent woman’s rights advocates
present.
Mr. George Peabody Is 111 at Salem,
Mass., and his physicians have advised him
to visit the White Sulphur Springs of Vir
ginia. If able, he will attend the dedication
of the Peabody Institute, at Danvers, to
day.