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FAITH IX CHRIST.
BY RICHARD COE.
Close by the bleeding side of Him,
Who bore my sins upon the tree,
I stand with eyes suffused and dim,
To think that he should die for me!
For me, a rebel all my days—
A vile, ungrateful clod of earth ;
(), wondrous mercy, crowning grace.
To breath on me the second birth!
To make a child of one who ne'er.
With childlike confidence and love.
Besought His fond, paternal care,
Nor cast a lingering look above,
The while He showered down on me
The choicest gifts of earthly good-
Health, dwelling-place of fair degree,
Sufficient raiment, needful food.
But when he turned a frowning face,
And took my all of good away,
How quickly then I craved His grace!
How earnestly I then did pray!
Nor did He scorn me as He might,
Nor cast me from Him in distress ;
But turned niy darkness into light,
(l. wondrous power of God to bless !
'l'was then my heart, all hard before,
Became a heart of tender flesh ;
1 was then tny eyes, all brimming o'er
With tears of love, were tilled iii'resh ;
I cried, uplookiug to the Cross,
Behold! the Saviour died for me :
ill earthly gain I count but dross,
Si, that the Lord my portion be!"
And now, or should I livejor die,
1 have a hope that ne'er grows dim :
1 gaze with Faith's far reaching eye,
And fix my earnest look on Hint.
The ••chief among ten thousand fair,
The altogether lovely One
O! blessed thought'. a child and heir.
Coequal with God's holy Son!
What I have—wife, position, indepen
dence—l owe to an opportunity for exercis
ing the very simple and unpretending com
hination of qualities that goes by tlie name i
of ability. But to my story.
My father was a wealthy country gentle
man, of somewhat more than the average
of intelligence, and somewhat more than
the average of generosity and extravagance, i
His younger brother, a solicitor in large !
practice in London, would in vain remon-1
strate as to the imprudence of his course.
Living freely, spending freely, must come j
to an end. It did ; and at twenty I was a j
well-educated gentlemanly pauper. The j
investigation of my father's affairs showed j
that there was one shilling and sixpence in j
the pound for the whole of his creditors,and
of course nothing for ine.
The position was painful. I was half en- !
gaged—that is, I had gloves, llowers, a j
ringlet, a carte de visite of Alice Morton.
That of course must be stopped.
Mr. Silas Morton was not ill pleased at
the prospect of an alliance with his neigh
bor West wood's sou while there was an ex- 1
pectation of a provision for the young
couple in the union of estates as well as
persons : but now, when the estate was
gone, when I. Guy Westwood.was shilling- j
less in the world, it would be folly indeed, j
Nevertheless 1 must take my leave.
" Well, Guy, iny lad, bad job this ; very
bad job ; thought he was safe as the bank, j
Would not have believed it from any one
not from any one. Of course all that !
nonsense about you and Alice must be stop-j
ped now ; I'm not a hard man,but I can't al
low Alice to throw away her life in the
poverty she would have to bear as your
wife ; can't do it : wouldn't be the part of
a father if 1 did."
1 suggested I might in time.
L'ime, sir ! time! How much? She's
nineteen now. You're brought up to noth
ing ; know nothing that will earn you a ;
sixpence for the next six months, and you
talk about time. Time, indeed ! keep her
waiting till she's thirty, and then break her
heart by finding it a folly to marry at all.
" Ah ! Alice, my dear, Guy's come to say
Goodbye ;' he sees, with ine, that his al
tered position compels him,as an honorable
man, to give up any hopes he may have
formed as to the future."
lie left us alone to say ' Farewell!'—a
word too hard to say at our ages. Of course
we consulted what would be done To give
each other up, to bury the delicious past,
that was not to be thought of. We would
be constant, spite of all. 1 must gain a
position and papa would then help us.
Two ways were open : a commission in
India, a place in iny uncle's office. Which ?
' was for the commission, Alice for the offi
-I<■ A respectable influential solicitor ; a
position not to be despised ; nothing but
• Inverness wanted ; and my uncle's name,
and no one to wait for; no liver complaints;
no Sepoys ; no sea voyages ; and no long
Oh, I'm sure it is the best thing."
1 agreed, agreed, not unnaturally then
that it was the best.
Now, you young people, you've had
rime enough to say 'Goodbye,' so be off,
buy. Here, my lad you'll need something
start with," and the old gentleman put
"'to my hands a note for fifty pounds.
1 must beg, sir, that you will not in
God bless the boy ! ' Insult.' Why
danced yon on my knee hundreds of
bines. Look you, <juy " —and the old fel
on come up and put his hand on my
moulder "it gives ine pain to do what I
am doing. I believe for both our sakes it
"st you should part. Let us part as
E. O. GOODRICH, Publisher.
friends. Come now, Guy, you'll need this,
and if you need a little more, just let me
" But, sir, you cut me off from all hope,
you render my life a burden to me. Give
me some definite task ; say how much you
think we ought to have ; I mean how much
I ought to have to keep Alice—l mean,
Miss Morton—in such a position as you
Alice added her entreaties, and the re
sult of the conference was an understand
ing that if within five years from that date
I could show I was worth five hundred
pounds a year the old gentlejnan would add
another five hundred pounds ; and on that
he thought we might live for a few years
There was to be no correspondence what
ever ; no meetings, no messages. We
protested and pleaded, and finally he said :
" Well, well, Guy ; I always liked you,
and liked your father before you. Come to
us on Christmas Day, and you shall find a
vacant chair beside Alice. There, now ;
say ' Goodbye,' and be off."
I went off I came to London, to one of
the little lanes leading out of Cannon street.
| Five hundred a year in five years ; 1 must
1 work hard.
My uncle took notice of me ; I fancied
worked me hardtr than the rest, and paid
me the same. Seventy-five pounds a year
is not a large sum. I had spent it in a
month before ifow, after the fashion of my
father : now I hoarded ; made clothes last;
ate in musty, cheap, little cook-shops ; and
kept my enjoying faculties from absolute
rust by a weekly half-price ticket to the
The year passed. I went down at Christ
inas, and for twenty-four hours was alive ;
came back, and had arise of twenty pounds
in salary tor the next year. T waited for
opportunity, it came not.
This jog-trot routine of office-work con
tinued for two years more, and at the end
ot that time I was worth but my salary of
one hundred and thirty-five pounds per
year—one hundred and thirty-five pounds !
a long way from five hundred pounds. Oh, I
must quit the desk,and become a merchant;
all successful men have been merchants ;
money begets money. But to oppose all
these thoughts of change came the mem
ory of Alice's last words at Christmas :
"Wait and hope, Guy, dear,wait and hope."
Certainly ; it's so easy to.
" Governor wants you, Westwood. He's
sharp this morning ; very sharp ; so look
out, my dear nephew."
" You understand a little Italian,! think?"
said my uncle.
" A little, sir."
"Yon will start to-night for Florence, in
the mail train. Get there as rapidly as
possible, and find whether a Colonel Wil
son is residing there, and what lady he is
residing with. Learn all you can as to his
position and means, and the terms on which
lie lives with that lady. Write to nie, and
wait there for further instructions. Mr.
Williams will give you a check for one
hundred pounds ; you can get circular notes
for fifty pounds, and the rest cash. If you
have anything to say, come in here at five
o'clock ; if not, good morning. By-the-by r ,
say nothing in the office."
I need not say that hope made me "believe
my opportunity had come.
I hurried to Florence, and discharged my
mission ; sent home a careful letter, full of
facts without comment or opinion, and in
three weeks' time was summoned to return.
I had done little or nothing that could help
me, and in a disappointed state of mind I
packed up and went to the railway station
at St. Dontinico. A little row with a peas
ant as to his demand for carrying my bag
gage caused nte to lose the last train that
night, and so the steamer at Leghorn. The
station-master,seeing my vexation, endeav
ored to cousole me.
" There will be a special through train to
Leghorn at nine o'clock, ordered for Count
Spezzato ; he is good natured and will pos
sibly let 3*oll go in that."
It was worth the chance,and I hung about
the station till I was tired, and then walked
back towards the village. Passing a small
wine shop, I entered, and asked for wine in
English. I don't know what whim posses
sed me when I did it, for they were unable
to understand me without dumb motions. I
at length got wine 113* these means, and sat
down to while away the time over a mil
1 had been seated about half an hour
when a courier entered, accompanied l>y a
railwa3* guard. Two more different exam
ples of the human race it would be difficult
The guard was a dark, savage looking
Italian, with "rascal" and "bully" written
all over him ; big, black, burly, with blood
shot e3 r es, and thick, heavy, sensual lips,
the man was utterly repulsive.
The courier was a little, neatl3'-dressed
man, of no age in particular ; pale, blue
eyed, straight lipped, his face was a com
pound of fox and rabbit that only a fool or
a patriot would have trusted out of arm's
This ill-matched pair called for brandy,
and the hostess set it before them. I then
heard them ask who and what I was. She
replied, I must be an Englishman, and did
: not understand the Italian for wine. She
The 3' evidently wanted to be alone, and
my presence was decidedly disagreeable to
them ; and muttering that I was an Eng
lishman, they proceeded to try 013' powers
as a linguist. •
The courier commenced in Italian,with a
remark 011 the weather. 1
handed him the newspaper. I didn't speak
Italian, that was clear to them.
The guard now struck in with a remark
in French as to the fineness of the neigh
boring country. I shrugged my shoulders,
and produced my cigar-case. * French was
not very familiar to me, evident^*.
" Those beaßts of English think their own
tongue so fine they are too proud to learn
another," said the gua:d
I sat quietly sipping my wine, and read
" Well, my dear Michael Pultuski," began
I " For the love of God, call me not by that
name. My name is Alexis—Alexis Dzent
" Oh ! oh !" laughed the guard ; " you've
! changed your name, you fox ; its like you.
1 Now I am the same that you knew fifteen
1 3*ears ago, Conrad Ferrate—to-day, 3'ester
| da 3* and for life, Conrad Ferrate—come lad,
| tell us your story. How did you get out
TOW AND A, BRADFORD COUNTY, PA., MARCH 2. 1865.
of that little affair at Warsaw ? How they
could have trusted you,with your face,with
their secrets, I can't for the life of me tell,
you look so like a sly knave, don't you,
The courier, so far from resenting this
familiarity, smiled, as if he had been prais
| "My story is soon said. I found, after
I my betrayal to the police of the secrets of
! that little conspiracy which you and I join
j ed, that Poland was too hot for rne and my
name too well known. I went to France,
j who values her police, and for a few years
was useful to them. But it was dull work,
very dull ; native talent was more esteem
ed. I was to be sent on a secret service to
Warsaw ; I declined, for obvious reasons."
"Good! Michael—Alexis; good Alexis.
This fox is not to be trapped." And he
slapped the courier on the shoulder hearti
"And," resumed the other, " I resigned.
Since then I have traveled as courier with
noble families, and I trust I give satisfac
" Good ! Alexis ; good Mich—good, Al
exis ! To yourself you give satisfaction.
You are a fine rascal !—the prince of ras
cals !—so decent; so quiet; so like the
cure of a convent. Who would believe that
you had sold the lives of thirty men for a
few hundred roubles ?"
"And who," interrupted the courier,
"would believe that you, bluff, honest, Con
rad Ferrate, bad run away with all the mon
ey those thirty men had collected during
ten years of labor, for rescuing their coun
try from the Russian ?"
" That was good, Alexis, was it not ? I
never was so rich in my life as then ; I
loved—l gamed—l drank—on the patriots'
" For how long ? Three years ?"
" More—and now have none left. Ah—
Time changes, Alexis ; behold me," and the
guard touched his buttons and belt, the
badges of his office " Never mind—here
my good friend the bottle—let us embrace
—the only friend that is always true—if he j
does not gladden, he makes us to forget." j
" Tell rne, my good Alexis, whom do you
rob now ? Who pays for the best and gets j
the second best ? Whose money do you
invest, eh, my little fox ? Why are you
here ? Come, tell me while I drink to your
" I have the honor to serve his excellen
cy the Count Spezzato."
" Ten thousand devils ! My accursed
cousin !" broke in the guard. "He who has
robbed me from his birth ; whose birth it
self was a vile robbery of me- -of me, his
cousin, child of his father's brother. May
he be accursed forever."
I took most particular pains to appear
only amused at this geuuiue outburst of
passion, for I saw the watchful eye of the
courier was on me all the time they were
The guard drank off a tumbler of Bran
" That master of yours is the man of
whom I spoke to you years ago, as the one
who had ruined me ; and you serve him !
May he be strangled on his wedding night,
and cursed for ever !"
"Be calm; my dearest Conrad, calm
yourself; that beast of an Englishman will
think you are drunk, like one of his own
swinish peopie, if you keep on talking so
loud as this,"
" How can I help it ? I must talk. What
he is /ought to be ? 1 was brought up to
it till I was eighteen ; was the heir to all
his vast estate ; there was but one life be
tween me and power—my uncle's—and he,
at fif'y married a girl, and had this son of
perdition, my cousin. And after that, who
had been the pride ol my- family, became
of no account; it was ' Julian,' my sweet
"I heard," said the courier, "that some
one attempted to strangle the sweet, child,
that was ?"
" Me—you fox—me. I wish I had done
it ; but for that wretched dog that worried
rne, I should have been Count Spezzato now.
T killed that dog, killed him, no not sudden
ly ; may his master die like him !"
" And you left after that little affair ?"
"Oh yes ! I left and became what you
" A clever man, my dear Conrad. I know
no one who is more clever with the ace than
yourself, and, as to bullying to cover a mis
take, you are an emperor at that. Is it not
so, Conrad ? Come, drink good health to
my master, our cousin."
" You miserable viper, I'll crush you if
you ask me to do that again, I'll drink—
Here, give me the glass—
" Here's to Count Spezzato : May he die
like a dog! May his carcass bring the
birds and the wolves together ! May his
name be cursed and hated while the sun
lasts ! And may purgatory keep him till
1 pray for his release !"
The man's passion was something fright
ful to see, and I was more that half inclin
ed to leave the place ; but something, per
haps a distant murmur of the rising tide,
compelled me to stay. I pretended sleep,
allowing my head to sink down upon the
He sat still a few moments and then
commenced walking about the room.and ab
ruptly asked :
" What brought you here, Alexis ?"
"My master's horse, Signer Conrad."
" Good, my little fox ; but why did you
i come on your master's horse ?"
" Because my master wishes to reach
Leghorn to-night, to meet his bride, Con
" Then his is the special train ordered
at nine, that I am to go with ?" exclaimed
the guard eagerly.
" That is so, gentle Conrad ; and now
having told you all, let me pay our hostess
" Pay ! No oue pays for me, little fox ;
no, no, go ; I will pay."
The courier took his departure, and the
guard kept walking up and down the room,
muttering to himself,
" To-night, it might be to-uight If he
goes to Leghorn, he meets his future wife;
another life, and perhaps a dozen. No, it
must be to-night or never. Does his moth
er go ? Fool that I am not to ask !
Yes; it shall be to-night and he left the
What should be ' to-night ?' Some foul
play, of which the Count would be the vic
tim, no doubt. But how ? When ? That
must be solved. To follow him, or to wait
—which ? To wait. It is always best to
wait, I had learned this lesson already.
REGARDLESS OF DENUNCIATION FROM ANY QUARTER.
1 waited. It was now rather more than
half-past eight, and I had risen to go to the
door when I saw the guard returning to the
wine-shop with a man whose dregs indica
ted the stoker.
" Gome in Guido ; come in," said the
guard ; " and drink with me."
The inau came in,and I was again absorb
ed in my book.
They seated themselves at the same ta
ble as before,and drank silently for awhile;
presently the guard began a conversation
in some patois that I could not understand;
but I could see the stoker grow more and
more interested as the name of Beatrix oc
curred more frequently.
As the talk went on the stoker seemed
pressing the guard on some part of the
story with a most vindictive eagerness, re
peatedly asking, "His name ? The accurs
ed ! His name ?"
At last the guard answered, " The Count
"The Count Spezzato !" said the stoker,
now leaving the table, and speaking in
" Yes, good Guido ; the man who will
travel in the train we take to-night to Leg
"He shall die ! The accursed ! lie
shall die to-night!" said the stoker. "If I
lose my r life, the betrayer of my sister shall
The guard, returning to the unknown
tongue, seemed to be endeavoring to calm
him ; and I could only catch a repetition of
the word "Enipoli" at intervals. Presently
the stoker took from the seats beside him
two tin bottles, such as you may see in the
hands of mechanics' who dine out ; and I
could see that one of them had rudely
scratched on it the name " William Atkin
son." I fancied the guard produced from
his pocket a phial, and poured the contents
into that bottle ; and the action was so
rapid, and the corner so dark, that I could
not be positive ; then rising, they stopped
at the counter, had bottles filled with bran
dy, and went out.
It was now time to get to the station ;
and, having paid my modest score. I went
And a little in front of ine, 113* the light
from a small window,l saw these two cross
themselves, grip each other's hands across
right to right, left to left, and part. The
stoker had set down the bottles, and now
taking them up followed the guard at a
Arrived at the station, I found the Count,
his mother, a female servant, and the cour
The Count came up to me and said, in
broken English, " You are the English to
go to Leghorn with ine? Very well, there
is room. I like the English. You shall
pay nothing, because I do not sell tickets ;
3'ou shall go free. Is that so?"
I thanked hint in the best Italian I could
"Do not speak your Italian to me ; I
speak English as a native ; I can know all
you shall say to me in your own tongue.
See, here is the train special, as 3*oll call it.
Enter, as it shall please 3*ou."
The train drew up to the platform ; and I
saw that the stoker was at his post, and
that the engine driver was an Englishman.
I endeavored in vain to draw his atten
tion to warn him, and was compelled to
take my scat, which I did in the compart
ment next the guard's break—the train con
sisting of onl3* that carriage and another,in
which were the Count, ids mother, and tin
The guard passed along the train, locked
the doors, and entered his box.
" The Florence goods is behind 3*oll, and
the Sienna goods is due at Empoli Junction
four minutes before 3*011*; mind 3*oll don't
run into it," said the station-master, with a
" No fear ; we shall not run into it," said
the guard, with a marked emphasis 011
the "we " and "it " that I recalled after
The whistle sounded, and we were off. It
was a drizzing, dark night; and I la 3* down
full length 011 the seat to sleep.
As I la 3* down a gleam of light shot ac
ross the carriage from a small chink in
the wood-work of the partition between
the compartment I was in, and the guard's
I was terribly anxious from the manner
of the guard, and this seemed to be a means
of hearing something more. I lay down
and listened attentively.
"How much will you give for your life,
my little fox ?" said the guard.
"To-day, ver3* little ; when lam sixty,
all I have, Conrad."
"But 3*oll might give something for it to
night, sweet Alexis, if you knew it was in
"I have no fear ; Conrad Ferrati has too
often conducted a train for nie to fear to
" True, my good Alexis ; but this is the
last train he will ride with as guard, for
to-morrow he will be the great Count Spez
"How? To-morrow? You joke, Con
rad. The brandy was strong, but 3*oll who
have drunk so much could hardly feel
" I neither joke or ant I drunk ; yet 1
shall be Count Spezzato to-inorrow, good
Alexis. Look you, my gentle fox, my sweet
fox ; if you do not buy your life of me you
shall die to-night. That is simple, sweet
" A3'; but, Conrad, lam not in danger."
" Nay, Alexis ; see, here is the door." (I
heard him turn the handle.) "If 3*ou lean
against the door you will fall out and be
killed. Is it not simple ?"
" But, good Conrad, I shall not lean
against the door."
"Oh Ul3* sweet fox, my cunning fox, my
timid fox, but. not my strong fox ; you
will lean against that door. I know 3*ou
will unless 1 prevent you ; and I will uot
prevent you unless you give me all you
have in that bag."
The mocking tone of the guard seemed
well understood, for 1 heard the click of
" Good, my Alexis ; it is good ; but it is
very little for a life. Come, what is your
life worth, that you buy it only with 3*olll
- money ? it has cost you nothing.
I see you will lean against that door,which
is so foolish."
" What, in the name of all the devils in
hell will 3'ou have?" said the trembling
voice of the courier."
" Only a little more ; just that belt that
is under your shirt, under everything, next
to your skin, and dearer to you ; only a lit
tle soft leather belt with pouches in. Is
not life worth a leather belt ?"
" Wretc.i ! All the earnings of my life
arc in that belt, and you know it."
"Is it possible, sweet fox, that I have
found your nest ? I shall give Marie a neck
lace of diamonds, then. Why do 3*oll
wait ? Whj should you fall from a train
and make a piece of news for the papers ?
"Take it; and be accursed in 3*our life
and death!" and I heard the belt flung on
th- floor of the carriage.
" Now, good Alexis, I am in funds, there
are three pieces of gold for you ; you will
need them at Leghorn. Will you drink ?
No? Then I will tell 3*oll wli3 T , without
drink. Do you know where we are?"
" Yes ; between St. Dominic# and Sig
" And do 3'ou know where you are go
" Yes ; to Leghorn."
" No, sweet Alexis, we are not ; we are
going to Empoli ; the train will go no fur
ther. Look you, little fox ; we shall arrive
at the junction one minute before the Sien
na goods train, and there the engine will
break down just where the rails cross ; for
two blows of a hammer will convert an en
gine into a log ; I shall get out to examine
it ; that will take a little time ; I shall ex
plain to the Count the nature of the injury;
that will take a little time ; and then the
goods train will have arrived ;®and as it
does not stop there, this train will go no
further than Empoli, and 1 shall be Count
Spezzato tomoirow. How do you like my
scheme, little fox? Is it not worthy of your
pupil ? Oh, it will be a beautiful accident;
it will fill the papers. The beast of an
Englishman who begged his place in the
train will be fortunate ; be will cease, for
goods trains are heav3*. Eh ! but it's a.
grand scheme—the son, the mother, the
servant, the stranger, the engine-driver, all
shall tell 110 tales."
" And the stoker ?" said the courier.
" Oh, you and he and I shall escape. We
shall be pointed at in the streets as the for
tunate. It is good, is it not, Alexis, my
fox ? 1 have told him that the Count is the
man who betrayed his sister. He believes
it, and is 1113* creature. But, little fox, it
was not 1113' cousin,it was ni3*self, that took
his Beatrix from her home. Is it not gen
ius? And Atkinson—he, the driver—is
now stupid : he has drunk from his can the
poppy juee that will make him sleep for
ever. 1 will be a politician. lam worth 3*
of office. I will become the minister of a
Bourbon when I am Count, my dear fox,and
3*oll shall be 1113* comrade again, as of old."
1 was, for a time, lost to every sensation
save that of hearing. The fiendish garrul
it3* of the man had all the fascination of
the serpent's rattle. I felt helplessly re
signed to a certain fate
I was aroused by something white slow
ly passing the closed window of the car
riage. I waited a little, then gently open
ed it and looked out. The stoker was crawl
ing along the foot board of the next car
riage, holding on by its handles, so as not
to be seen Il3* the occupants, and holding
the signal lantern that I had noticed at the
back of the last carriage in his hand. The
meaning of it struck me in a moment ; if
by a M 3' chance we missed the goods train
from Sienna, we would be run into from be
hind by the train from Florence.
The cold air that blew in at the open
window refreshed me, and I could think
what was to be done. The train was in- i
creasing its pace rapidly. Evidently the
stoker, in sole charge,was striving to reach
Empoli before the other train, which we
should follow,was due ; he had to make five
minutes in a journey of forty-five, at d, at
the rate we were going 1 , we should do it.
We stopped nowhere, and the journey was
more than half over. We were now be
tween Segua and Montelupo ; another twen
ty minutes and I should be a bruised corpse.
Something must be done.
I decided soon. Unfastening my bag,
1 took out my revolver, without which I
never travel, and looking carefully to the
loading and capping, fastened it to my
waist with a handkerchief. I then cut with
my knife the bar across the middle of the
window, and carefully looking out. 1 could
sec nothing; the rain was falling fast, and
the night was dark as ever. I cautiously
put out lirst one leg then the other, keeping
my knees and toes close to the door, and
lowered myself till I felt the step. I walk
ed carefully along the footboard by side
steps, holding on to the handles of the doors,
till 1 came to the end of the carriages, and
was next the tender. Here was a gulf that
seemed impassible. The stoker must have
passed over it; why not I? Mounting from
the foot-board on to fclie tender, and holding
on to the iron hook on which the lamps are
hung, I stretched my legs to reach the flat
part of the buffer on the tender. My legs
swung about with vibration, and touched
nothing. 1 must spring. I had to hold
with both hands behind my back, and stood
on the case of the buffer-spring, and, sud
denly leaving go, leaped forward, struck
violently against the edge of the tender,
and grasped some of the loose lumps of coal
on to the top. Another struggle brought
me on mv knees, bruised and bleeding on
the top. 1 stood up and at that moment
the stoker opened the door of the furnace,
and turned towards me, shovel in hand to
put in The bright red light from
the lire enabled him to see me, while it
blinded me. He rushed at me, and then
began a struggle that I shall remember to
my dying day He grasped me round the
throat with the arm, dragging me close to
his breast, and with the other kept shorten
ing the shovel tor an effective blow. My
hands, numbed and bruised, were almost
useless to me, and for same seconds we
reeled to and fro on the foot-plate in the
blinding glare. At last he got me against
the front of the engine, and with horrible
ingenuity, pressed me against it till the
lower part of my clothes were burnt to a
cinder. The heat, however, restored my
hands, and at last I managed to push him
far enough front my body to loosen my pis
tol. I did not want to kill him, but I could
not be very careful, and Ilired at his shoul
der from the back. He dropped the shovel,
the arm that had marly throttled me relax
ed, and he fell. 1 pushed him into a cor
ner of the tender, and sat down to recover
My object was to get to Empoli before
the Sienna goods train, for I knew nothing
of what might be behind me. It was too
late to stop, but I might, by shortening the
per Annum, in Advance.
journey seven minutes instead of five, get
i to Empoli three minutes before the goods
I train was due.
j I had never been on an engine before in
my life, but I knew there must be a valve
somewhere that let the steam from the
boiler into the cylinders, and that, being
important, it would be in a conspicuous
position. I therefore turned the large han
dle in front of me, and had the satisfaction
of finding the speed rapidly increased, and
|at the same time felt the guard putting on
the break to retard the'train. Spite of this,
in ten minutes I could see dim lights ; 1
could not tell where, and I still pressed on,
faster and faster.
In vain, between the intervals of putting
on coals, did I try to arouse the sleeping
driver. There I was, with two apparently
dead bodies on the foot-plate of an engine,
going at the rate of forty miles an hour, or
more, amidst a thundering noise and vibra
tion that nearly maddened me.
At last we reached the lights, and I saw,
as I dashed by, that we had passed the
As I turned back, I could see the rapidly
dropping cinders from the train which, had
the guard's break been sufficiently power
ful to have made me thirty seconds later,
would have utterly destroyed me.
I was still in a difficult position. There
was the train half a minute behind us,
which, had we kept our time, would have
been four minutes in front of us. It came
on to the same rails, and 1 could hear its
dull rumbling rushing on towards us,, fast.
If I stopped there was no light to warn
them. I must go on, for the Sienna train
did not stop at Empoli.
I put on more fuel, and after some slight
scalding, from turning thf wrong taps, had
the pleasure of seeing the water gauge
tilling up. Still I could not go on long ;
the risk was awful. I tried in vain to
write on a leaf of my note-book, and after
searching in the tool-box, wrote on the
iron lid of the tank with a piece of chalk.
" Stop everything behind me. The train
will not be stopped till three red lights are
ranging in a line on the ground. Tele
graph forwards," And then as we flew
through the Empoli station, I threw it on
the platform. On we went, the same dull
thunder behind warning me that I dare not
We passed through another station at
full speed, and at length I saw the white
lights of another station in the distance.—
The sound behind had almost ceased, and
in a few moments more I saw the line of
three red lamps low down on the ground, i
I pulled back the handle, and after an in
effectual effort to pull up at the station,
brought up the train about a hundred yards
The porters and police of the station
came up and put the train back, and then
came the explanation.
The guard had been found dead on the i
rails, just beyond Empoli,and the telegraph j
set to work to stop the train. He must
have found out the failure of his scheme,
and in trying to reach the engine, have i
fallen on the rails.
The driver was only stupified, and the
stoker fortunately ouly dangerously, not
Another driver was found, and the train
was to go on.
The Count had listened most attentively
to my statements, and then, taking my
grimed hand in his, led me to his mother.
" Madam, my mother, you have from this
day one other sou ; this, my mother, is my
The Countess literally fell on my neck,
and kissed me in the sight of them all ;
and speaking in Italian, said—
"Julian, he is my son ; he hft saved my
life ; and more, he has saved your life.—
My son, I will not say much ; what is your
name ? "
" Guy, my child, my son,l am your moth
er ; you shall love me. "
"Yes, my mother ; he is my brother. I
am his. lie is English, too ; I like English.
He has done well. Blanche shall be his
During the whole of this time both moth
er and son were embracing me and kissing
my cheeks, after the impulsive manner of
their passionate natures, the indulgence of
which appears so strange to uur cold blood.
The train was delayed for my wounds
aud bruises to be dressed, and I then en
tered their carriage and went to Leghorn
Arrived there I was about to say " Fare
" What is farewell, now ? No •, you must •
see Blanche, your sister. You will sleep !
at my hotel: I shall not let you go. Who j
is she that in your great book says, 'Where !
you go I will go ?' That is my spirit. You !
must not leave me till—till you are as hap- ,
py as I am. "
lie kept me, introduced me to Blanche, !
and persuaded me to write for leave to stay j
another two months, when he would return
to England with me. Little by little he !
made me talk about Alice, till he knew all
"Ah ! that is it : you shall be unhappy
because you want five hundred pounds
every year, and I have so much as that. I j
am a patriot to get rid of my money. So
it is that you will not take money. You '■
, have saved my life, and you will not take
money : but I shall make you take money,
my friend, English Guy ; you shall have as
thus. " And he handed me my appointment
as secretary to one of the largest railways
in Italy. " Now you shall take money ;
now you will not go to your fogland to
work like a slave ; you shall take the mon
ey. That is not all. lam one of the prac
tice patriots—no, the practical patriots—
of Italy. They come to me witlttheir con
spiracies to join their secret societies to
abhere to, but I do not. I am direc
tor of ever so many railways ; I make
fresh directions every day. I say to those
who talk to me of politics, ' How many
shares will you take in this or in that ?' I
am a printer of books ; I am builder of
museums ; I have great share in docks,and
i I say to these. "It is this that lam doing
that is wanted." This is not conspiracy ;
iit is not plot; it is not society with rib
[ bons ; but it is what Italy, my country,
I wants. I grow poor ; Italy grows rich ; I
lam not wise in these things ; they cheat
me, because lam an enthusiast. Now,
| Guy, my brother, you are wise ; you are
deep ; long in the head ; in short, you are
English ! you shall be my guardian iu these
' things—you shall save me from the cheat,
and yflu shall work hard as you like for all
the money you shall take of me. Come,my
Guy, is it so?"
Need T say that it was so ? The Count
and his Blanche made their honey moon
tour in England. They spent Christmas
day with Alice and myself at Mr. Morton's,
and when they left, Alice and I left with
them, for our new home in Florence
ST. PAUL, MINNESOTA, Feb. 11, 1865.
To THE EDITOR OF THE BRADFORD REPORTER :
—Believing that a communication from
Minnesota will be interesting to the many
readers of your paper, 1 have concluded to
write you a description of the country and
give you my opinion concerning its future
prospects. I write for the purpose of giv
ing information to those who are desirous
of learning this truth concerning the North
I frequently receive letters from the east
containing the following questions : " How
do you like Minnesota ?" " llow do you
like the climate?" '.'Are the winters en
durable?" I propose to answer these ques
tions, and then add what other news I think
will be interesting to your readers.
Minnesota is bounded as follows : OP the
north by the British Possessions ; on the
east, by Lake Superior, the Wisconsin and
the Mississippi rivers ; on the south, by
lowa ; and on the west, by the Territory of
Dacotah. The surface of the country is
generally rolling, and somewhat similar to
Wisconsin, Illinois, and lowa. In the nor
thern portion of the State, there is an im
mense forest containing pine sufficient to
' supply every demand. The rich valleys of
1 the Mississippi and its tributaries, are gen
erally covered with a heavy growth of the
J various kinds of hard wood, enough to fur
| nish every family with fencing and fuel,
i Besides every section of the .State is dotted
i with lakes surrounded with timbers. These
I lovely sheets of water not only form a
marked feature on the scenery of Minneso
ta, but abound with a great variety of fish,
and in the spring and fall they are the re
sort of incalculable numbers of wild ducks
j and geese.
An emigrant seeking a new home for
j himself and family in the West, is anxious
to settle in a good country, well adapted to
the culture of the grand staples of food,
and a salubrious climate. No one convei
1 sant with the facts, will deny but what
: Minnesota is a grain producing State, is
equal to any in the Northwest. The cli
mate is admitted to be healthy, and during
the whole year invalids can be found who
have come here to seek lost health. This
I regard as a strong argument in favor of
Minnesota What is a good home worth, in
a country where every breeze wafts pesti
lence and death, removing one after another
of those who are near and dear to us ? The
winter has been the subject of a good deal
of very unjust disparagement. It is thought
by many to be cold and severe, almost in
tolerable, but the old settlers, those who
have been here for years, regard it as the
pleasantest season in the whole year. In
the middle of November or the first of De
cember the ground is frozen, and snow falls
generally deep enough to make sleighing.
The air is clear and bracing, and we arc
not troubled with rain and sleet followed by
severe cold. In the month of March, as the
sun approaches the north, winter relaxes
his grasp, the rivers and lakes are unbound,
the snow disappears, and the farmer is busy
preparing his ground for his summer crop.
In 1862 the Homestead Art passed Con
gress. By the provisions of this act the
actual settleys by living upon a quarter
section (160 acres) five years can procure
a perfect title to the same. The State will
soon be thickly settled, and the land of
course become valuable. Fifteen years ago
the Territory of Minnesota had but few in
habitants, and those were mostly Indian
traders. The buffalo and deer were hunted
by the Indian, and churches aud school
houses were unknown. To-day the city of
St. Paul, the capitol of the State, contains
15,000 inhabitants, and for 150 miles back
from the Mississippi the State is well set
tled. Churches and school-houses are found
in nearly every community, and every thing
has the appearance of an Eastern country.
A railroad is in successful operation from
St. Paul up the valley of the Mississippi
for a distance of fifty miles, and also from
Winona west to the city of Rochester, an
other fifty miles, the cars are running. In
a couple of years, unless some unforseen
object preveuts it, the cars will be running
from Winona through the southern part of
I the State to Maukato, from St. Paul to Lake
| Superior ; from St. Paul up the valley of
| the Mississippi to St. Cloud ; from St. Paul
up the valley of the Minnesota to Mandate;
aud also from St. Paul to the lowa line vift
Faribault aud Owatoma, making about
i eight hundred miles of railroad in success
j ful operation. Now is the time to emigrate
ito Minnesota. Upon the completion of the
! proposed railroads the land will double in
[ value, aud every thing thrive like plants in
' a hot-house.
The political coraplection of UJF. State is
strongly in favor of the present Adminis
tration. Fifty of the sixty-three members
of the Legislature are Republicans. \\ ith
a population in ISCO of one hundred and
seventy-two thousand, the State has enlis
ted over twenty thousand soldiers. The
first regiment has been with the Army ot
the Potomac from the Bull Run battle-field,
until the present time. The other regi
ments, with the exception of two or three,
that have been engaged on the frontier
against the Indians, have shared in the re
verses and successes of the Western Army,
and upon the historic fields of Shiloh, Vieks
burg, Chattanooga, Atlanta, and Savannah,
have contributed not a little to make the
Western soldiery the terror of Rebeldom
The Legislature is in session, and Penn
sylvania is well represented, in members.
Bradford county is represented in the Sen
ate by the Hon. J. V. DANIELS, who is serv
ing his fourth year, and in the House by J.
L. GIBBS, formerly of Orwell, who is serving
' his second year. Pennsylvanians have, by
| the way, always had an influence upon the
politics of Minnesota. Her first territorial
' Governor, ALEXANDER RAMSEY, who has since
j been twice elected Governor of thejState
| and is now in the I nited States Senate, is
from Harrisburg. Gov. MILLER, the present
| executive, is also from Harrisburg, and Hon.
IGNATIUS DONNELLEY, twice .elected Lieut.-
| Governor, and last November elected for
1 liis second term in Congress, is from Phila
j Hoping that this letter will answer the
! purpose for which it is written, 1 am re
-1 spectfully yours. FREEBORN.