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HARBISBURO, April 22, 1805.
Wednesday the I.9th was indeed a day
~f mourning in the Capitol of the State.
I'nlitiral parties,denominational differences,
mi.] social inequalities disappeared, and all
• -re mourners together. When the news
<t reached here that Mr. LINCOLN was as
>,ssinated, one or two irresponsible, iucou- j
siderate persons made use of some improp- ,
or expressions, but on the day of the fun- j
,-ral a deep, solemn gloom settled down up
on all. Every house was draped in black, J
the citizens generally wore crape upon the ,
left arm, all kinds of business was sus
pended. the churches were filled and the
.l iferent clergymen gave vent to their feel-!
n-s in words of sorrowful eloquence, while |
• ~-ir hearers expressed their grief in tears (
;.iid sobs. So much true, genuine mourn-!
iwas never before seen in Harrisburg.
On Friday, at eight o'clock p. m., the !
i . ital remains of our lamented President '
arrived at the depot of the Pennsylvania I
Railroad, and was escorted by a large mini- i
her of selected pall-bearers and military j
officers through different streets to the
Capitol, where they were deposited in the
lbm.se of Representatives. The cars bring
ing the corpse were clad in the deepest j
mourning, and they appeared impressively \
> .(emu and grand. The llall was fitted up |
with great taste and skill." The corpse j
was placed directly in front of the Speak- j
IT'S desk, the head toward the desk, the j
audience walked in in double file, viewed i
Hie pale face of the man who but eight |
days before was the hope and pride of the j
liation, and then passed out the windows j
directly back of the desk. The arrange-1
incut could not have been better, and great j
fcvodit is due to the committee which had j
■lie matter in charge.
I When the corpse arrived at the depotj
■he rain was falling rapidly, still the crowd
was immense, tens of thousands of people i
■tend in the streets for a full hour, not- j
withstanding the great rain.
I The hearse drawn by six white horses, |
■mved slowly to the Capitol, while the toll- !
■ig bells spoke forth a nation's grief, the j
■animus roared, but loud above the can- •
|i us was heard the thunders of Heaven's
|i ti! I • rv. and the clouds poured down their
Botitenis as if the very elements ol Nature
• v pt for sadness.
a The crowd at the Capitol was so dense,
■ml the anxiety to see so great, that it re
■uivt-d all the authority of military disci
pline ti. keep the way clear. Still there
was an buisterousness, but a serious de
wnniiiatinii t<> look upon the face of ARRA
JAM LINCOLN', dead. The corpse was ex
■t.sed from ten till twelve Friday night,
Hid tin- passages through the room were
■"Wiled every moment.
lAt twelve the doors were closed and
■nails placed by the side of the coffin and j
■"••uutl the building all night. The doors |
■ re again opened at seven in the morning,
Hut long before six, thousands were wait-
H'g around the hall for entrance. At scv-
w 1 bread walk from the front of the
Wapitol to the Brady House, was crowded
with human beings. It was one solid mass
living humanity moving, or rather being !
9 wed, toward the doors. On all the other
■venues to the Capitol through the yard, it '
las the same. From seven till nine the j
liass continued to press in with the same i
■agerness, and without any abatement as
■ numbers. State and Third Streets, and
■he yard, were constantly filled with uien,
■"men and children, all crowding lorward
w see the corpse. Many came out of the
j# use with eyes suffused with tears. Strong
n wept, women sobbed, and even cliil-
|9 At ten the coffin was closed, the pall-1
■•• arers bore it to the hearse, and the long 1
I>• '• e-sion proceeded with slow, solemn!
| ><ep through several of the streets to the
I where the corpse was again placed
I 111 the cais and proceeded to Philadelphia,
'here was quite a military display in the
I "■cession. The infantry,' artillery and
1 vuiy, were all represented. Gen. CAD
■ "H:, and Admiral FARKAGUT, were
the officers of high grade. The
• through which the procession moved
'• ! with people. It did not appear
amoving mass, but all were stationa
't is difficult to estimate the number
"""'t, but there must have been at least
"'> thousand in the streets. Still there
"" pushing and pulling, no rough
w '""o and jamming, no loud, boister-
I l "'k, or low jests, hut a solemn, mourn
'" ''" d a lunerul procession.
I l "lh.d and the cannons sent
( 1 '°ud peals, from the time the
w as taken ijoni the Capitol till the
E. O. GOODRICH, Publisher.
cars had moved out of the city, and the
solitary gun at Fort Washington, upon the
west side of the river, answered its fel
lows at the Arsenal, and the reverberations
of all rolled along the river and valley,
and were echoed and re-echoed from the
far-off mountains. So passed from the
Capitol of the Commonwealth, all that is
left on earth of the man whom of all oth
ers the people delighted to honor, and who
was looked upon as a father, by the poor
and down trodden. Many times were the
blacks heard to exclaim in the bitterness
of their souls : "We have lost the best
earthly friend that God has ever given us."
Great credit is due to the guards that
were stationed around and in the Capitol.
The throng were pressing upon them con
stantly, and determined to get into the
room, each before the one standing beside
him. Still they were all the time good na
tured and kind. Separating the masses
when they reached the door so that but
two should enter at the same time. But
for the exertions of these soldiers it would
have been extremely difficult, if not impos
sible, for all to have got into the hall where
the corpse was deposited. The whole ar
rangements were admirable, and the plan
of the committee having the matter in
charge was well and faithfully carried out.
It is believed that there was no accident j
of any kind occurred during the evening or j
the succeeding day. It is very seldom that |
such a crowd is together so long and such j
a procession inarches so great a distance,
and so many large guns are fired, with a j
press around them constantly, without
more or less accidents.
The face of Mr. LINCOLN was considera- j
ldy discolored, although the countenance j
was quite natural. The family were not
with the party that came on from Wash-1
ington, but are yet in that city.
It is useless, and perhaps unwise, to j
moralize at this time. Still one cannot re
frain from allowing the mind to run iuto
the future. Every one who lias read his
tory, even hastily, must look back to the j
days when nations that have long ago j
ceased to exist began to decline, and com- j
pare their situation with ours at present.
Corruptions, rebellions, assassinations ot .
of the head of the nation, followed each j
other in rapid succession. So has it been j
with us. X. |
THE LOST CHIEF.
He tilled the nation's eye and heart,
An honored, loved, familiar name ;
So much a brother, that his fame
Seemed of our lives a common part.
His towering figiu'e, sharp and spare,
Was with such nervous tension strung,
As if on each strained sinew swung
The burden of a people's care.
His changing face what pen can draw—
Pathetic, kindly, droll or stern ;
And with a glance so quick to learft
The inmost truth of all he saw.
Pride found no idle space to spawn
Her fancies in his busy mind ;
His worth—like health or air—could find
No just appraisal 'till withdrawn.
He was his Country's—not his own!
He had no wish but for her weal;
Nor for himself could think or feel
But as a laborer for her throne.
Her flag upon the heights of power,
Stainless and unassailed to place —
To this one end his earnest face
Was bent through every burdened hour.
The veil that hides from our dull eyes
A hero's worth, Death only lifts ;
While he is with us all his gifts
Find hosts to question, few to prize.
Bnt done the battle—won the strife,
When torches light his vaulted tomb,
Broad gems flash out and crowns illume
The clay-cold brows undecked in life.
And men of whom the world will talk,
For ages hence, may noteless move ;
And only, as they quit us, prove
That giant souls Rave shared our walk.
For Heaven—aware what follies lurk
In our weak hearts—their mission done,
Snatches her loved ones from the sun
In the same hour that crowns their work.
O, loved and lost! Thy patient toil
Hath robed our cause in Victory's light;
Our country stood redeemed and bright,
With not a Slave on all her soil 1
Again over Southern towns and towers
The eagles of our Nation flew ;
And as the weeks to summers grew
Each day a new success was ours.
'Mid peals of bells, and cannon-bark,
And shouting streets and flags abloom-
Sped the shrill arrow of thy doom,
And—in an instant —all was dark !
Thick clouds around us seem to press :
The heart throbs quickly—then is still;
"Father," 'tis hard to say, "Thy will
Be done!" in such an hour as this.
A martyr to the cause of man.
His blood is freedom's eucliarist,
And the world's great hero-list
His name shall lead the van!
And, raised on Faith's white wings, unfurled
In heaven's pure light, of him we say :
'' HE FELL upon the self-same day
A GREATER DIED TO SAVE THE WORLD!"
IF you sot* half a dozen faults in a woman
you may rest assured she has half a dozen
virtues to counterbalance them. We love
your faulty women, and fear your faultless
women. V\ hen you see what is termed a
faultless women, dread her us you would a
: beautiful snake. The power of concealing
the defects which she must have, is of it-
I self a serious vice.
TOWANDA, BRADFORD COUNTY, PA., MAY 4, 1865.
About a half a mile from the village of
Poaktown, facing the high road to Balston,
and separated from the river Poak by a
small garden and a belt of trees, is a long
low cottage, known in the neighborhood as
" The Building." It originally consisted of
two cottages, and went by the name of
'• Garwood's Buildings but who Mar wood
was, and what induced him to build such
uncomfortable cottages, had escaped the
memory of even the oldest inhabitants.—
The sitting room on the ground lloor, and
two bed-rooms above. The original parti
tion wall between the two cottages, and
the two separate staircases, still remained.
One led from the sitting-room to the bed
room above where Mr. Vance, the present
occupier of the building, slept ; the other
went from the kitchen to the bed-room of
Mary Edgecomer, his only servant.
Mr. Joseph Vance, who was a spare built
I clean-shaven man of about forty, with gray
! hair, and no whiskers ; and with nothing
j remarkable about hirti except a deep cut
! over his right eye-brow, had now been oc-
I cupying the building for a little over a
year. When he first came into the neigh
borhood, the gossip of Poaktown had spec
ulated a great deal as to who and what he
was, but without any basis for their con
jectures. He never himself volunteered any
infoimation as to his previous life, except
that on one occasion he had been heard to
say something which led to the inference
that he had been a sea captain. People,
too, who had been inside " the buildings"
since Vance's tenancy had noticed the draw
ing of a ship, and some shells lying about
the room. This was considered enough to
contirm his statement, and on the strength
of it the villagers called him the captain.
Nothing more was known of the captain,
and curiosity about him had nearly died out
when Sarah Epps, on her return from Stoke
mouth, where she had been on a visit to her
sister, who had married a pilot at that
flourishing seaport, brought news about
him, which set the village ear tingling for
some time. The pilot, her brother-in-law,
remembered the captain when he was in
the China trade, and Sarah was full of
smuggling stories, and even piracy, in
which the captain had taken a leading part. |
But then all knew that Sarah was an in
corrigible gossip, and that any story under
her management would grow considerable.
The captain meanwhile troubled himself
very little about the village talk, living a
quiet life in his lonely cottage, with his
only servant, a buxom widow of thirty-five.
Sarah Epps had been heard to say that she
was more than a servant to him, but then
nobody minded Sarah's tittle-tattle.
About the time our story commences, the
captain had got into some trouble. Ilis
landlord, an easy goiug, well-to-do gentle
man of Poaktown, began to think, as he
expressed it, he should like to sec the color
of the captain's money. The house had
been occupied for more than a year, and
not a penny of rent had he yet been paid.
The fact had for some time been gradually
dawning on the neighbors that, since the
first months he had occupied the building,
ready money had not been plentiful with
the captain, and that for the last eight or
nine months little or nothing had been paid
for. The sums owing were not large, for
the captain lived a quiet, simple life. But
it was reckoned that, altogether, they must
amount to over £IOO ; and that was a se
rious sum to the village tradesmen, and to
all appearance a very difficult one for the
captain to pay. He was dunned, and legal
proceedings were threatened, but all at
tempts to get money were only met by civil
excuses. The patience of his creditors was
nearly exhausted, when one day a circular
letter was sent to them, appointing a meet
ing for 12 o'clock on the following Monday,
" when," the captain wrote, "he would sat
isfy all claims, as a legacy left by a distant
relation had been paid in to his account at
the Balston Bank."
On Saturday the captain walked into
Poaktown and hired a gig at the King's
Arms to take Jiim to Balston. Johnny Wil
son, the landlord's sou, drove him to the
bank at Balston, where he stayed about
ten minutes, and came out at the end of
that time buttoning into the breast-pocket
of his coat a fat looking pocket-book.—
Johnny then waited for him while he made
a few purchases in the town, and then drove
straight home to the " building."
At six o'clock on Sunday morning, the in
habitants of the quiet High street of Poak
town were aroused by a violent knocking
at the door of the police station. The po
liceman who was on night duty opened the
door and Mary Edgecombe, white with ter
ror,and panting for breath,nearly fel into his
arms gasping out that her master, the cap
tain, had been robbed and murdered in the
uight. The inspector was almost immedi
ately called, and the whole available force
of the village, consisting of two police
men, set oft' with liirn for the " building."
Mary Edgecombe, who seemed utterly pros
trated, remained under the care of the in
On reaching the " building," the inspec
tor found the front undisturbed, the win
dows closed, and the doors locked. On go
ing round to the back, the door leading
from the sitting-room to the garden, which
sloped down to the river, was found to be
opened, and on entering the sitting-room,
drops of blood were seen along the carpet
between the stairpase and the gardou door.
On the staircase itself the drops of blood
were more frequent. The bod-room, how
ever, was clearly the place where the mur
der had been committed. The table by the
window had been pushed out of its place ;
the only two chairs in the room were lying
on the floor. The bed, which had not been
slept in, was deluged with blood, and in
the middle of it was a deep indention, as
if a heavy body had been pressed down up
on it. A large clasp knife stained with
blood was lying on the pillow, and by the
door on the floor was an open pocket-book.
So much the inspector saw at a glance as
lie entered, He took the pocket-book, and
I locked carefully through it—it was empty ;
i bpt lying near it, and bpljiu,'! the door, was
a piece of neatly folded paper. It had ev
i idently fallen k from the pocket-book while
j the murderer was emptying the contents
i It was a half sheet of note paper folded in
| three, and written on it were the numbers
j and value of forty-two bank notes, the to
' tal of which amounted to £270. Here was
REGARDLESS OF DENUNCIATION FROM ANY QUARTER.
a clue at once. The murderer evidently
wishing to carry about him nothing which
might aid detection,had left the pocket-book
behind, but in his hurry had overlooked
this paper. Policeman Jones was imme
diately scut oft' to Balston with the paper,
to enquire of the bank manager whether
those were the numbers of the notes which
had been paid to the captain the day be
fore ; and, if so, to take measures to stop
them. He also received orders to telegraph
immediately to Scotland Yard an account
of the murder, and any facts he might as
certain at Balston.
So far so good ; but where, after all, was
the hotly ? From the blood on the stairs
and in the sitting-room, and the open gar
den door, it was presumed that it had been
removed from the house. After locking
the bed-room door, the inspector proceeded
to the garden. Outside the door on the
grass were the footprints of a man, the
toes pointing toward the house, and tiie
heels deeply indented in the soft earth. The
rest of the footprints were partially oblit
erated, as if something heavy had been
drugged over them. The murderer must
have gone out of the sitting-room back
wards, dragging the body of his victim af
ter him. Across the small grass plot, and
half way through the belt of trees, the
footprints continued ; there they ceased.—
On the soft niuil and leaves was an impres
sion as if a long heavy body had been laid
there ; near this impression, lying on the
ground, was a spade, and at the distance
of a few feet the ground had been dug up
as f it had been intended to bury the body
there. This project, however, had been al
most immediately given up, i'ur tlie work
was scarcely begun. The murderer had
been interrupted, or perhaps had thought
of a better plan for disposing of the body.
But where? The policeman and inspector
looked at one. another ; they had come to
the same conclusion. "In the river of
course !" Sure enough, on the river bank
the footprints were again found. This time
they pointed forward not backward, and
the impression was clear and sharp. The
body must have been carried. The river
at this point was deep and sluggish -there
would be little difficulty in dragging it
Drags were sent for, and the inspector went
home to breakfast, leaving a policeman in
charge of the premises, with orders to ad
mit no one except on business.
The inspector had hardly finished his
breakfast, when Policeman Jones returned
from Balston. He had been eminently suc
cessful. The bank manager had identified
the numbers on the paper as those of the
bank notes paid the day before to the cap
tain. The money, it appeared, had been
paid to him in pursuance of an order con
tained in a letter received that Saturday
morning from their London correspondents,
Cowic, Nabob A Co., the great China and
India bankers. Jones had then made in
quiries in the town, and at the railway sta
tion. At the station he found that a man
in a greatcoat and wide-awake hat, who
was muftled up in a comforter, and who
seemed to avoid observation, had left that
morning for London by the 5:30 train. He
had offered a £5 note in payment for his
ticket. The clerk remembered this, from
the difficulty he had in getting change so
early on Sunday morning. The note was
produced and found to be one of those sto
len from the captain. A description of the
man and orders for his apprehension had
been telegraphed to London, and an answer
had been received, stating that the police
were on the murderer's track, but that, to
make all safe, a detective would be in
Poaktown by the middle of the day.
Mary Edgecombe, who had partially re
covered from her fright, was now taken to
" the building." She identified the clasp
knife, pocket-book, and various articles of
clothing which were lying about the cap
tain's room, as belonging to him. She sta
ted that she had retired at 9 o'clock on the
previous night, and that she had heard no
noise during the night. She was posivive
that no one was in the house when she
went to bed, except herself and the captain.
But the garden door was often left unlocked
and could be opened from the outside. The
inspector was satisfied. The motive was
clear enougli ; the police were close upon
the murderer's track ; all that was now
wanted was the body.
He turned to the river, pleased at the
promptness and energy he had shown, and
chuckled to think that the Loudon detec
tive would find nothing to do when he did
arrive. The drags had now been at work
for some time, but without success. The
river had been dragged up and down, and
sideways and across, and at every conceiv
able angle, but no body had been found.
The inspector was getting impatient, when
a gig drove up to the building, and a dap
per little man in a frock coat buttoned to
the chin, and with a heavy black mous
tache, jumped out, The crowd wliioh had
collected by this tiiue, made way respect
fully, for il was whispered that the stran
ger was no other than Detective Perkins
In a few minutes the detective had heard
all that the inspector had to tell.
" Wait one moment," said he, " let's get
it all straight. All the village, you say,
knew the captain would have money to pay
his debts to-morrow."
The inspector nodded.
" Which amounted in all to £IOO, more
or less ?"
The inspector nodded again.
" And he drew out of the bank £270.
Was that the whole legacy ?"
0 ft was."
"He didn't want £270 to pay £IOO, did
This was a new light to the inspector,
who shook his head cautiously.
" From whom did the order to pay the
money come ?"
'< Cowie, Xabob k L'o."
"■ Cowie, Nabob k C 0.," repeated Perkins,
referring to his note-book ; " the great Chi
na house. And you suspect no one ?"
" No one, except the man who passed the
"Of course. But this woman who lived
with him —" suggested Perkins.
The inspector shook his head.
" It's a man's doing. She wouldn't have
the strength. Besides, the lootprints are a
man's all over,"
" No one who had a grudge against him?"
" There were a good many that couldn't
get their money from hiin, but that's not
enough to account for this," said the in
spector, jerking his thumb towards the
They entered the building. The crowd
outside were getting more excited. They
; thought that, now the London detective had
| come, the murderer would be soon dragged
from his hiding place, and handed over to
justice. Time, however, went on, and Per
kins was still inspecting the premises, while
his character was rapidly falling in the
opinion of the crowd outside.
" He's no conjuror. I told ye so afore,"
said one sturdy countryman, who hud been
a skeptic from the iirst. And this time bis
assertion did not meet with the disappro
bation it had called forth when pronounced
half an hour before. The crowd were tired
Perkins, meanwhile, unconscious of hos
tile criticism, had looked over the kitchen
and Mary's bed-room, but without making
any discovery. When he came to the cap
tain's bed-room, he stood in the middle of
it, and took a general survey. He then pro
ceeded to the details, lie raised the chairs,
and then put them down again in their or
iginal positions, repeating this operation
two or three times, and watching with great
interest how they fell. Then he come to
the bed. He looked at it from all points—
first a full view, then a three-quarters, then
one side view, and then the other side view,
till lie had exhausted it, and the patience
of the inspector. He then stood, and men
tally threw himself upon it in such a posi
tion as to make the impression which still
remained on it. There was some hitch, for
he shook his head. II• • pulled out the
drawers and examined the wardrobe of the
deceased man. A pair of boots lying in
the corner of the room next attracted his
attention. He examined them carefully.
Something in the lining of one of them
seemed to interest him, for he bn ught out
his pocket-book, and referred to something
written in it. He then examined the boot
again, and seemed satisfied, for he pocketed
" Boots, I suppose, are the captain's?"
" Yes, liis servant identifies them," said
the inspector, who was rapidly coming
round to the opinion of the crowd outside.
What on earth could it matter whether the
captain had two or three pairs of boots ?
At last Perkins finished his examination of
the bed-room, and went downstairs, inspec
ting each stair as lie went. These were
apparently more satisfactory, for his face
brightened considerably, and after he liad
been shown the traces of blood along the
floor of the sitting-room, it had expanded
iuto a broad grin.
" You see how it was done ?" asked the
inspector, whose opinion of Perkins had by
this time reached the lowest ebb. Perkins
smiled ; lie was not the man to commit
himself. He walked to the table, and
turned over the books and papers till he
found some sheets of blotting paper.—
These he examined attentively, holding
them up to the light and turning thein in
every possible direction. The result seemed
satisfactory, for he pocketed them.
The footprints in the garden, the half
dug grave under the trees, and the impres
sion in the wet leaves seemed to interest
him a little. He examined them, but only
like one preoccupied with his own thoughts.
They came to the river.
" We're dragging the river," said the in
spector, pointing to the two boats which
had now been working unsuccessfully for
" Ah, yes !" said Perkins, as if he thought
that the necessity of doing so had never
" The man's a perfect fool," thought the
" AnJ now about this captain," said Per
kins, choosing the clearest footprint he
could find in tue soft mud, and pulling the
boot out ol bis pocket. " His name is Vance
you say. What is he captain of?"
" Nothing that I know of, but they do
say that he has been a captain in the China
" China!" repeated Perkins, as if the
idea of that country gave him exquisite de
"Yes, China," repeated the inspector,
gruffly. He was losing all patience ; how
on earth did such a born idiot ever become
a detective ?
" What sort of a man is he ?"
"Tall, spare-built, about forty, gray hair,
and no whiskers,"
" Deep cut over the right eyebrow," ad
ded Perkins, quietly, as lie stooped and fit
ted the boot into the impression.
" Yes," said the inspector, puzzled at
"He never went by that name here, did
he ?" said Perkins, handing the boot to the
inspector, on the lining of which was writ
ten " A. Compton."
He was getting more and more puzzled.
" Compton, alias Watkins, alias Crow
dcr, and now alias Vance ; I've wanted
him these two years," said Perkins, cheer
fully. " I've got him now."
" Yes," said the inspector, grimly, " he's
safe enough there."
And he jerked his head towards the river.
"Bless you," laughed Perkins, "he's
nearer China by this time. He'll die with a
rope around bis neck yet. It's a plan,man;
don't you see he has murdered himself, and
bolted with the swag ? That room some
how looked queer. It was overdone—too
much blood, and too regular. When I
found that boot, I thought how it was, and
this settled it," said Perkins, pulling the
sheets of blotting paper out of his pocket
and holding them to the inspector. There,
all over them were the words Cowie, Na
bob k Co., in a neat clerk like baud, with
the peculiar flourish at the end which those
who have dealings with the eminent house
known so well. " That letter to the Bals
ton Bank is a forgery ; it's not the first
time he has served Cowie, Nabob Co.
this trick. He was in their London count
ing-house for five years, came over with
them a forged character, robbed them to
the tune of £2,000 and bolted. He's been
smuggling and tbieveing all over the world
ever since then. But when's the next train
to town? I wouldn't miss him for any
Perkins was right. The manager of the
Balston Bank found to his astonishment
that Cowie, Nabob k Co., repudiated the
letter which purported to bear their signa
ture. It was a forgery. On the following
Tuesday the captain was arrested at the
London Docks, as he was booking his pass
age for Melbourne, and at the next Balston
assize he was tried by the name of Joseph
j Vance on a charge of forgery, and senten
' ced to peual servitude for the term of his
#3 per* Annum, in Advance.
natural life. His creditors at Poaktown
were ilie only persons who regretted liini.
ATTEMPTED ASSASSINATION IN MODERN
A crime so horrible as assassination is
held in detestation and abhorrence by every
civilized people. The savage tribes of Am
erica, by whom it is systematically prac
ticed, resort to it only to avenge the mur
der of a relative. Unless under peculiar
circumstances, it carries with it the pre
sumption of cowardice, the exceptions be
ing where the horrid deed is done in pub
lic, and the perpetrator places his own life
in imminent hazard, either from the fury of
the populace or those more regular steps
which lead through a judicial process to a
felon's death. The assassin of Mr. Lincoln
could hardly hope to escape, though the
murderer—in intent, if not in fact—of Mr.
Seward had more chance in his favor.—
There are not wanting, in recent times,
plenty of instances of attempts being made
to assassinate royal or other eminent polit
ical personages ; but they have almost in
variably miscarried from one cause or an
other The attempts on the life of .Napo
leon 111. are fresh in the public reccollec
tion ; but though they have been more than
once repeated, the Emperor of the French
still lives. We are many of us old enough I
to remember the plot of Fiasctii to murder
Louis Fhillippe, and to recall the days '
when the Duke of Wellington found it nec
essary to secure his windows with thick
iron shutters Not all the virtues ol our
own Queen and the love which is borne her
by her subjects have protected her, at all
times, from attempts upon her life. In 1840
a madman shot at the Queen and the Prin
cess Royal ; and at another time, a cap
tain of dragoons assaulted her Majesty by
horsewhipping her. The successful attempt
in recent times to assassiuat • a statesman
in the case of Mr. Percival, shot by Belling
ham, in the lobby of the House of Com
mons, in 1811. Bellingham acted from a
sense of personal injury A Russian mer
chant, he attributed his ruin to Percival,
and took this means of revenge. At a still
later date, within about twenty years, an
attempt was made on the life of Sir Robert
Peel, and the bull intended for him struck
and killed his private secretary, Mr. Druru
inond. In 1820, was formed the Cato-street
conspiracy, with Thistlewood at its head,
for the purpose of assassinating the whole
British Cabiuet, at a dinner to be given at
Lord Hatrowby's house in Grosveuor square
The conspiracy was denounced by govern
ment spies, and Thistlewood was executed
for the crime. About twenty years before
this time, a madman named Hadfield fired
from the pit of Drurv Lane Theatre at
George 111. in his box, and, missing his
aim, was tried for treason, but not convic
ted, on account of his irresponsible condi
tion. He was kept in confinement for safe
ty. This was the second attempt on the
life of that king, Margaret Nicholson hav
ing, in 1781), attempted to stab his Majesty
with a knife as he was alighting froin his
carriage near St. James' Palace. The wo
man was treated as a maniac, and confined
in Bethlehem Hospital. All these attempts
to assassinate royal and distinguished po
litical personages taken together were not
attended with as much success as the two
which were made simultaneously at Wash
ington last Friday night. The" success of
those attempts is more unusual than the
acts themselves. Aud the reasons for that
success are plain. An English King may
be fired at, as we have seen, from the pit
of a theatre, or an Emperor of the French
may encounter an attempt at assassination
the moment he passes out of the opera in
to his carriage ; but at Washington au ass
assin can get immediately behind the Chief
Magistrate in his box at the theatre, and
make sure of his murderous purpose. Per
cival was shot in the lobby of the House
of Commons, and Sir Robert Peel was shot
at in the street; but at Washington the
assassin, with a clumsy lie in his mouth,
finds ready admission to the sick chamber
of a feeble and emaciated minister of State,
and strikes blows which he intended to be
mortal. This strange facility of access to
great political personages having proved
fatal, may cause the notions of primitive
simplicity which were thought to comport
with the character of that Republic to be
revised, aud it may henceforth be found i
necessary to surround the President of the
United States with that protection which is
accorded to Kings and Emperors in Europe.
In this way the manners of the Republican
court of Washington may undergo a change.
Whatever may have been the motive for
the assassination of President Lincoln and j
the attempt on the life of Secretary Sew- [
aid, they can but inspire horror in all right I
minded persons everywhere. So far as the !
cause of the South is identified with these j
acts, it will suffei in the estimation of the
world. There is nothing to be gained to
any cause by so horrible a crime as ass
assination, and much to be lost. One of
the effects will be, in this case, to exasper
ate the North against the South, and to
cause it to insist on much harder condi
tions, when the question of final reconcilia
tion comes to be discussed, than it other
wise would have done. There were two
parties in the North ; one in favor of mild
measures, such as foregoing the right of
confiscating the property of men who had
been in arms against the Washington gov- j
ernment ; the other insisting on the hang-!
ing of Jefferson Davis whenever he should i
be caught, and similar measures to extreme
severity. The " malignauts," as they were i
not inaptly called, were likely to have been j
greatly in the minority ; but the temper of
the North will be exasperated by the ass
assination of their President and the mur
derous attack upon Secretary Seward, and
mild and merciful councils will be likely to
be forgotten in the bad feeling that will
once more become predominant. Outside
the United States these assassinations will
injure the cause of the South in the estima- !
t'ou of the world, precisely in the propor
tion that Southerners may be tound to have
been in the plot or to have approved of the
crime after its perpertration. That the
death of Mr. Lincoln will alter the war pol
icy of the Northern States cannot be sup
posed. He was but a representative man ;
and the large vote he recorded on his re
election shows how much more fully he
came up to the Northern standard than
i General McClellan. The assassins have
' not learnt the great lesson that individ
j uals, in great emergencies, count for very
j little ; that it is the general bent of the na-
tional mind and not the will or tin- power
of sin individual, that controls the policy
of the nation in circumstances similar to
those of the United .States. The policy of
the North, be it right or wrong, will not die
with President Lincoln.— Toronto Leader.
FEAT OF AN EASTERN MAGICIAN.
The conjuror spread a piece of matting,
and squatted, produced from his shawl a
bag, and emptied it on the stone in front of
him. The contents were a quantity of lit
tle bits of wood ; some forked like branches
of a tree ; some straight; each a few inches
long ; besides these there were some fifteen
or twenty little painted wooden bird®, about
half an inch long. The old man chose one
of the straightest and thickest of the bits
of wood, and turning bis face op in the air,
poised it on the tip of his nose. The little
boy who sat by him henceforth handed him
whatever he called for. First, two or three
more pieces <d wood, which he poised on
the piece already there, then a forked piece,
to which he gradually made additions, until
he had built upon his nose a tree with two
branches. ITc always kept its balance by
adding simultaneously on each side, holding
a piece in each hand, and never once taking
his eyes off the fabric. Soon the two bran
ches became four, the four eight, and so on,
until a skeleton of a tree was formed about
two feet high, and branching out so as to
overshadow his whole face ; he could reach
with his hands to put the topmost brandies
on. It was a wonderful structure, and we
all held our breath as he added the last bits.
But it was not done yet. The boys now
handed him the little birds, and still, two
at a time, one in each hand, he stuck them
all over the tree. The complete immobility
of his head and neck while he was balancing
this structure on the tip of his nose, was
something wonderful, and I think he must
have breathed through his ears, for there
was not the slightest perceptible motion
about the nose ormouth. After putting all
the birds on he paused, and we, thinking
the trick was finished, began to applaud.
But he immediately held up his forefinger
for silence There was more to corne.—
The boy put into one of his bands a short,
hollow reed, and into the other some dried
peas. He then put a pea in his mouth, and
using the reed as a pea-shooter, took aim
and shot off the birds. The breath he gave
was so gentle and well calculated that it
gave no percepitble movement to his face ;
it just sent the pea far enough to hit a par
ticular bird with perfect aim, and knocked
it over. Not another thing on the tree
moved. Another pea was fired in the same
way, and another bird brought down, and
so until all the birds were bagged. The
fire was then directed at the branches and
liinbs of the tree, and beginning from the
togmost, the whole ofthis astonishing struc
ture was demolished piece-meal even more
wonderfully than its manner of erection.—
Alt the Year Round.
DOUBTFUL COMRLIMENT.—The late Chancel
or Walworth was an inordinate lover of
cold water. Silas Wright, on the contrary,
was anything else hut a teetotaller. At a
dinner at which a great many members of
the bar were present, a slightly inebriated
individual arose, and offered the following
toast: —" Here's to the two greatest men of
the State, Reuben Walworth and Silas
Wright, who between them drink more
brandy and water than any one else in the
United States !" This compliment the
Chancellor thought rather a doubtful one.
A WORTHY doctor who was laboring under
the delusion that men and women meant
what they said, was tempted by a very cor
dial invitation to call at the house of a lady
of very great distinction aud honor. The
servant opened the door so quick that her
voice was heard by Dr. , saying, "Tell
him lam not at home !" His readj* wit
came to his rescue, for he immediately said
in a loud tone to the servant, "Tell your
mistress I have not called upon her this
morning, as she wished inc."
A MARRIED lady, who was in the habit of
spending most of her time in the society of
her neighbors, and therefore nearly always
out when her husband returned home, hap
pened one day to be taken suddenly ill, and
sent her husband in great haste for a phy- .
sician. The husband ran a short distance,
but soon returned anxiously exclaiming,
" My dear, where shall I find you when 1
IF it were only for mere human reasons,
it would turn to better account, to be pa
tient. Nothing defeats the malice of an
enemy like a spirit of forbearance ; the re
turn of rage for rage cannot be so effectu
ally provoking. True gentleness, like an
impenetrable armor, repels the most point
ed shafts of malice ; they cannot pierce
through this invulnerable shield, but either
fall hurtless to the ground, or return to
wound the hand that shot them.
HE who, by a straight-forward course of
conduct, makes good friends on the one
hand and bitter haters on the other, gives
evidence that there is something of the
bold, independent, upright man iu liis com
position ; while the chicken-hearted, imbe
cile character is capable of making neither
friends nor foes.
YOUNG MAN, Pay ATTENTION.—Don't be a
loafer, dou't call yourself a loafer, don't
keep loafer's company, don't hang about
loafing places. Better work for nothing
and board yourself than to sit around daj
after day, or stand around corners with
your hands in your pockets. Better for
your own mind, better for your own respect.
Bustle about, if you mean to have any
thing to hustle about. Many a poor phy
sician has obtained a reaJ patient by riding
hard to attend an imaginary one. A quire
of old paper tied with red tape, carried un
der a lawyer's arm, may procure liiui his
first case, aud make his fortune. Such is
the world ; to him that hath shall be given.
Quit droning and complaining ; keep busy
and mind your chances.
CAN any civil engineer inform us how it
is that the mouthx of rivers are larger than
TENNYSON says that a kiss is merely an
ideal pleasure. It may be a mere Idea, but
it is a touching one.
OUR country's best resources are un
doubtedly its women ; but its resources
should be husbanded
WHY does a sculptor die the most horri
ble of deaths ? Because he makes faces
A man recently broke ofl a marriage be
cause the lady did not possess good con
versational powers. A wicked editor, in
commenting upon the fact, savs : "He
should have married her and then refused
her a new bonnet, to have developed her
powers of talk."
A printer's apprentice, who was doing the
agreeable to clergyman's daughter, was
shocked one Sunday when her father an
nounced the text—" My daughter is grevi
ousiy tormented with the devil."