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For the Agitator.
IIIE TIME TO DIE.
, .1, early down of a summer day, .
la. Era’s '“rry eyes,
1,1 heJ on earth. wiere sie mi £ hl not 8t
a C oMned in Paradise,
/““Jibed the curls from bet snowy brow,;
f Vusd!y kissed her cheek,
/, ’ deep ‘he sorrow that thrills ns now
tt f 0 filtering tongue to speak. -
I think of the years that have long gone by,
'"There risefh a vision fair
/. ffiM lv form with a beaming eyo
01 .’ a «ies of chestnut bait;
...Jnlial hand, and generons heart
That »«e chilled, and stilled too sodn ;
- "ridM hides— and the tears will start
For the Meed who slept at noon.
L ce itsni besido the weary and old
1 who are bidding us Good Bye,
r v ale of life is almost told,
i.’l as check the rising sigh;
r * te lesb is weak, though the sonl bo strong,
Ld« sorely should not grieve,
J,a they who bare labored well and long
1.-.5 down to rest at eve.
p it time to die 1 tis a solemn time
jljt coujclb to each and all;
(w even borne in every clime v
-[be shadow of Death must fail,
jmjoit is the shadow seems so dark,
J til the nay so drear and long.
Jit light and glory beam forth, and hark!
Ac my bear the angel’s song.
VIUCIMA
4 fascinating stranger.
bv alcee -vox clarence.
‘■Hare you seen Sirs. Freelove’s new lodger ?”
>sW one young English ladyof another whom
(is met as she went out shopping, in the streets
fVerriers, in Belgium.
“.Vo,” said the other; ‘‘is he good booking ?”
■OIj, my dear, he’s such a duck of a man !”
samel! the first speaker. “You know we live,
wiite, and we saw him drive up to the door
sscli an elegant carriage, and he had so many
Kib-a proof of how rich he must be; and
ia 1 saw him on the balcony, smoking a ci
ib. and looking so sentimental.”
-What luck that woman baa, and what a
iiccefor her daughter!” observed the young
lip “I hope she’ll give a party while he
ws ami not forget to invite ua. But what is
fanewcomer’s name?"
‘1 have not heard—something very ariato
ntic, 1 should flunk, for he had such a high
ii. -But there comes that dear old Belgian
iiottss, who knows all about the gossip of the
iaiwn: suppose we go and ask her?"
And the young ladies flew to gather “further
.similars about the interesting stranger.
Sit-, Freelove, whose name was often on the
Ip of all English travellers visiting Verviers, '
ns a captain’s widow, who eked out her small
mumc by keeping boarders in that town. She
hi been so well patronized by her countrymen
sad women, that with the attractions of a pret
ty daughter, a good table, and pleasant society,
;he had been able to raise her establishment to
one of first rate elegance, and her parties were
attended by alt respectable residents as well as
birds of passage from England.
At the period we allude to, it was not the
bight of tlie season, and though Mrs. Free
ave s house was nearly full, one or two of the
inmates had announced their intention of tak
ing their departure in the following week, when
a rich lodger, alluded to above, bad driven up
t. tie dour ami requested accommodation. Like
i prudent w'man, while welcoming the at ran
t-iyith courtesy, Airs. Freelove delicately hint
■a tail she always required a reference, how
mr superfluous it evidently was in'the present
-''■'■■'a as she added, blandly, to qualify wbat
erer might appear unpalateable in the remark.
"Faith 1 I quite forgot that!” cried he, with
sfnoklaugh; “of course you do, and indeed
'■ait to require a reference, when so' many
‘imps arc about. I heard what a nice estab
• •-taent yours was, so I drove hither instead of
f.-iag up at tlie hotel; but of course I can ex
r-i oo exception in niy favor.”
. i L ~o disappointed at his having no cre
‘■-'■Ms to offer, Airs. Freelove could hardly
■ f the idea of letting so desirable looking a
■tp't slip thrpuph her fingers. She therfore
‘ by 'observing that it would make no
-Mtence to her to receive him even without a
'-tjsnce, as nature stamps the impress of a
i-M enian sojinmistakeably on some persons,
•tah | S - 15 ® 301^15 t^lc host °f PMsports,—only
■. ad, just at present, no room fit to be offered
' ; '“■though perhaps in a day or two, thero
znght be a ucancv.
are an obliging creature,” said the
a . r ’. l’fl write off to my banker and
nia i‘ U ° r - t0 A ou ' sror fl that X have not
f'ii t ' >e shores of either the Eastern
‘ijl ■ tis | ern Baihvay ”
a:icJ] r ! , lr ' ‘ nterru pted Mrs. Freelove, depre-
W; a P Q fogy, my dear madam," said he,
s^ 10u think less well of you, if
«ttvl T" 5 " ere hke an omnibus, into which
• : cou hi step unquestioned. I’ll go to
a. ,° r a or two, till you receive the let
m you’ll oblige me by taking in
ii/.. Ki ’. t only want my carpet-bag for so
£ ll period,
r ee!ove joyfully acceded,
aiijf e “5; ’ Rtl 'd he, “my name is Gayly,
E;, ...g'..,' CR| t should call and inquire for
Orl, he kind enough to keep his card
mentioned to several per- !
‘’Wa/ 6 ir^ V ' n ° England, that I intended to
h oss 'hle, in Mrs, Freelove’s te
•hrrar'tV* ■ I s^ment ’ f° r you’re mentioned in
Tfc / f( Wo. I think?”
O! s higgage was now brought in
took bis leave.
‘Muni ™ * IC een S one half an hour, when
'• Mrs p* C<l | tne to inquire for Sir John. Gay
t°2-room , ree Qve eame in a flutter to the sib-
Or; a ■? answer him in person. There had
■‘■-arrod,.; Cman of that name asking for ao-
I:: 'Varr. , . le told him, hut she was
4, 'flmi’s * hat le tore an y title.
tl 0,16 of ®y friend’s eccentricities,”
;Oj value!) ! ’. Cllt * en,iln ; “he is so fond of being
-til ef. ™f himself, I expect some day
(*» hEono" > '“ se lf as plain Mr. Smith, for
c? i, i> °uld suspect how immensely rich
g av e his own card, on
W,” nhed, “The Hon. Agustua Light-
THE AGITATOR
Befcottl? to tfce Sftension o t tfct arta o{ iFmfcom atiß t&e Sgceaft of ©caltDs Reform*
WHILE. THERE SHALL BE A WRONG UNRIGHTED, AND UNTIL “MAN’S INHUMANITY TO MAN’’ SHALL CEASE, AGITATION MUST CONTINUE.
VOL. V.
Mrs. Freelove was fit to bite her Ups with
relation at having shown the slightest degree
of mistrust to a wealthy baronet, who would
give such eclat to her establishment, and she
was so afraid he might send to fetch away his
luggage, and never return, that on the Hon.
•Mr. Li ghthead's inquiry at what hour Gayly
would be in, she confided to him the grievous
blunder she had committed.
“Capital 1” cried the Hon. Agustua Lighthead,
laughing immoderately.
Mrs. Freelove was in agonies. “If I could
have imagined," began she, “duly I didn’t know
there was a baronet of that name.”
"Not know of Gay f Why, my dear madam,
that is to argue yourself unknown,” cried the
man of fashion. “It’s the Gayly who’s entitled
to a peerage hitherto supposed to be extinct;
the case is now before the House of Lords; he
came here for a little peace and quiet from his
lawyers, only don’t say I told you.”
In a fever of anxiety, Mrs, Freelove now en
treated her honorable acquaintance if he met
Sir John-in the town, to toil him that she had
caused a couple of rooms to be vacated to ac
commodate him, and to entreat him to retard
that same day, instead of going to a hotel,
which Augustus laughingly promised to effect,
if possible.
Scarcely was he gone, when Mrs. Freelove
hastened to have an interview with an old gen
tleman who tenanted the pleasantest rooms in
the bouse, and putting on the most insinuating
smile, expressed the hope that, as he had an
nounced his intention of going to Paris the week
following, he would have no objection to be re
moved to another part of the establishment that
she might not lose an eligible lodger who had
j'ust applied.
“Indeed, I have a great objection ma’am,”
grumbled the old gentleman, “for 1 hate being
put out of my way.”
“But, my dear si/ you wouldn’t wish me to
lose such a lodger as Sir John Gayly," persist
ed the lady, “only think of the good it will do
my house. Now, do oblige me, and you shall
have my own sitting-room, and I will make you
so comfortable.”
Tbe old gentleman did not. however, at all
relish the idea of being “turned out, for he
didn’t know who,” as he plainly told Mrs. Free
love, especially, after being so long in her bouse.
“So long, that we consider you quite in the
light of a friend, my good sir,” observed Mrs.
Freelove, “besides, we all know how obliging
you are.”
“I tell you I’m not obliging,” said the testy
lodger, “especially towards those I don’t know
and never heard of.”
“But everybody has heard of Sir John Gay
lay,” said the lady, profiting by her newly ac
quired knowledge, “he’s a baronet who ”
“Tush! what do I care for all the baronets
in the world, even supposing he really was one ?”
‘‘Oh, my dear sir! would the Hon. Mr. Au
gustus Lighthead answer for him if he were
not? Why he has the claim to a peerage.”
“Lighthead and perhaps light-fingers too,”
muttered the old gentleman, “however that’s
your look-out. Well! since you want the
rooms. I suppose you must have them—ao bring
me my account, and we'll (settle, and I’ll be
off.”
“Sly dear sir, I hope you’ll not leave us— ■
I'm not sure I’d rather give up the prospect of
any advantages.”
“Fudge!" interrupted the old gentleman.—
“Bring me my bill, and let’s not have another
■word upon the subject.”
And in spite of her remonstrances, the old
gentleman left her house within an hour.
Mrs. Freelovc’s vexation was, however, mol
lified by Sir John’s return. The baronet seemed
to come as if “towed in”, willy nilly by his hon
orable friend; he yileded however to the lady’s
entreaties to stay, backed by other polite en
treaties that he would oblige her by not writing
to England for any further references. Sir
John consented and proceeded to install him
self at once. After disencumbering himself of
his traveling clothes, he dressed himself in ele
gant style for dinner; and the servant who took
him in some hot water to shave, told his mis
tress he had tujver seen such splendid shirts as
Sir John had carelessly tossed out of the port
manteau be had unlocked, to say nothing of alt
the articles in bis dressing case being of silver.
The dinner; to which sundry hasty additions
bad been made, was quite a grand affair. All
the ladies appeared in full dress, and put on
their best smiles for the occasion, none being
more smiling or more elegantly dressed Ilian
the hostess’ daughter, Caroline, who had the
envied privilege of sitting by the new guests—
The gentlemen were perhaps a trifle stiff at first,
but they soon yielded to Sir John’s hearty man
ner ; and before dinner was over each had de
clared him, in his own mind, to be the best of
all good fellows.
In order to display her prize to the whole
town, Mrs. Preclove sent out a number of cards
to apprize her friends that her usual weekly re
ception night was to be a full dressed party,
and that there would be dancing. Her rooms
were thronged with the whole {visiting) popula
tion of Vervicrs. Sir John was the admired of
all; young ladies voted him handsome; the
mammas declared him high-fared; and Mrs.
Freelove, fanned the flame of the universal con
flagration, by whispering here and there
amongst the admiring groups, that he was en
ormously rich, though so pleasant and affable
to everybody.
Sir John did not, however, put himself for
ward in any conceited manner, and indeed re
mained a part of the evening sitting by Mrs.
Freelove, to whom he imparted confidentially
that in search of a wife.
“For,” observed he. in an undertone, “I wish
to get married before certain changes take place
in my position, which may render it more diffi
cult for me to secure the priceless blessing of
being accepted for myself nlone.
“And pray, Sir John, do any of onr Belgian
ladies here present take your fancy ?” asked
the lady in a sprightly tone.
Sir' John raised his glass to bis eye, and
after surveying a group of fair ones, said, “I
think, madam,” said he, “we must confess,
after all, that no can vie with English
beauty, and that my fair countrywomen, hero
as elsewhere have the decided advantage.”
WTSLLSBOUO., TIOGA COUNTY, PA., THURSDAY MORNING, MARCH 3, 1859.
Mrs. Freelove looked pleased, for she thought
the compliment was pointed at her daughter,
who sat foremost amongst the grtup of ladies
on whom Sir John’s glance especially fell, but
declared it did not become her to decide on so
delicate a question.
“I dare say you’ll think me an odd fellow,”
resumed Sir John, “but I wish you’d point out
to me which are the richest girls in the room.
Do you know why ?’’
“Natural enough, Sir John," began the lady
but with loss alacrity.
“Ha! ha 1 ha 1” interrupted he; “not so
natural perhaps to others as it seems to me
for X wish to avoid them.”
How charmingly disinterested!—thought
Mrs. Freelove, who now began to hope that
Caroline’s beauty had struck him.
Presently, Mr- Van Huyssen, one of Mrs,
Freelove’s old friends, came to pay his respect
to the mistress of the house, and Sir John hav
ing moved away, he inquired who was this new
lodger of hers. Mrs. Freelove entered into a
Jong description of his numerous qualities.
“Ay, ay,” said the more positive man of busi
ness, “but has he paid you in advance?”
Mrs. Freelove was indignant at so mean an
insinuation. It was not as if he had been nn
adventurer, a mere Mr. Jenkins or a Mr.
Thompson—a baronet was known to the world
at large,
“But how do yon know he is the Baronet he
pretends to be?!’ asked the skeptical Mr, Van
Huyssen. '
“As if it were possible to be mistaken in such
matters !” exclaimed Mrs. Freelove, turning
away impatiently.
“Hemreplied Van Buysaen, moving in
the direction of the admired stranger, -with
whom he presently entered into conversation.
After discussing a number of indifferent top
ics, Sir John asked his acquaintance whether
he could direct him to any banker who would
discount some bills he had brought with him.
Van Huyssen replied that he was himself a ban
ker, and would accommodate him, if, he boubt
ed not, the bills were drawn on satisfactory
parties.
Sir John said be should certainly call upon
him, only he observed that he was the bearer
of bills to an enomons amount.
"Even if they amounted to three hundred
thousand francs it would make no difference to
me,” replied the banker.
When they parted that night, Sir John shook
Van lluyssen’s hand with the cordiality of an
old acquaintance, telling him he would not fail
to wait upon him next day.
“I’m glad you’ve got over prejudices against
ray countryman,” said Mrs. F., in it slightly
comical tone, as she bid the banker good night.
As to Caroline, she wouldn’t even come for
ward to give Van Huyssen her hand.
The next day, on reaching the banker’s Sir
John was shown into his sanctuary, in which ’
stood the iron chest. After a slight bow, Van-
Iluyssen took the bills the stranger handed him,
and after examining them one by one, glided
towards the door, which he bolted, and having
consigned the hills to his pocket, suddenly drew
forth a pistol, which he pointed at his visitor’s
head, saying, "Sir John, you are a villain 1 I
was apprized of your arrival here. You are
the cashier of the firm of W & Co., of
London, whose correspondent I happen to be.
These bills amount to three hundred thousand
francs, which X shall not return you, and what
is mere, X shall blow your brains out if yon at
tempt to snatch them back
‘lOh dear! Oh dear!” exclaimed Sir John
in very gentlemanly, surprise, but without ma
king any attempt at resistance.
After enjoyinghis triumph with inward satis
faction, the banker resumed in the authoritative
tone of a judge, “The flrni of W & Co.,
has been more merciful to yon than yon de
serve. They might have set the police after
you, and had you brought hack to London and
placed in the felon's dock. They preferred
trusting to ray address. lat once recognized
you by the description given of your person,
even under the false name you had so unblush
ingly appropriated—and you fell into the snare
in spite of all your cunning.”
The stranger made a half bow, as if submit
ting to bis fate.
“By a degree of generosity,” resumed the
banker, “Which I am not called upon to quali
fy, Messre. W & Co., are pleased to’ rest
satisfied with the recovery of their property,
and decline bringing the matter into a court of
justice. It seems you are the father of three
children 1”
“Five," murmured the contrite ex-baronet.
- “Well, whatever the number may be, these
gentlemen have kindly taken pity on your in
nocent children, and have empowered me to
hand you over sixty thousand francs, which I
herewith give you in bank notes. Try and
prove yourself worthy of their noble conduct,
and become an honest man. Go!”
So saving, the banker gave him the notes,
which the ex-baronet received with a respectful
bow, and the bolt being now withdrawn, he left
the house, and set off by the first train for
Paris. The banker then sat down to pen the
following epistle to Messrs. W & Co.-
“Gentleman; —ln consequence of your favor
of the —instant, I watched for the arrival of your
fugitive cashier. I had the good luck to meet
him at a party, where I pretended to be willing
to discount the bills be said he had brought
with hitn. According to your instructions, I
obtained possession of them; and after a suita
ble admonition, which I hope will strike re
morse into his soul, I handed over to this crim
inal father of a family, the sum of sixty thous
and francs, for which I debit you. 1 herewith
enclose the bills in question. Allow me to add,
that your excessive indulgence is a dangerous
system, and that rewarding thieves is pushing
generosity beyond due limits. However I am
aware that English generosity is proverbial,
and you are rich enough to let yourselves be
robbed without perceiving it.
The banker hngged himself with the satis
faction of a man who feels he has done the
right thing in the right way, and', having des
patched his letter dropped in at Mrs. Freelove's
in the evening.
“Did the —baronet come in to dinner
“I remain Ac.,
“11. Yak Hltssen.”
to-day ?”aaked he in a bantering tone, of that
lady, in presence of other inmates of the house.
“No.” replied Mrs. Freelove, in much aston
ishment, “and pray tell us if you know where
Sir John is, for we waited a full hour beyond
our usual time before we sat down to table.”
“Sir John, alias Jones,” said the banker,
laughing, “is on his road to the deuce, for what
I care.”
And he then related all that had taken place,
amid the ejaculations of surprise from all pres
ent, except one or two who took care to observe
that they suspected something was wrong about
the baronet from the first; but to the annoy
ance of the credulous Mrs. Freelove, who had
quarreled with one of her heat lodgers for his
sake, to say nothing of the party given on his
account, and the increase of expense to render
the dinner worthy of so distinguished a guest.
Her only consolation was that ho must have
left in his trunks more value than would pay
for his hoard and lodging; but even this hope
turned out to be illusory, as the trunks proved
to be filled with sand, while the portmanteau,
witlrthc elegant shirts and dressing case, had
been secretly carried out of the house.'
So the whole town laughed at Mrs. Freelove,
and extolled the banker os a clever man. But
in a few days she had the comfort of being able
to torn the tobies on him. The London firm
wrote to him as follows;
“Kespecteo Sjr —You have been the victim
of a shameless swindler. We have not been
robbed of a single farthing. Our much valued
cashier has been with ue for the last 30 years,
and is still a bachelor. He is at bis desk as
usual, while we pen this. We gave you no in
structions whatsoever. The bills are forgeries.
As to the sixty thousand francs which you paid
away somewhat incautiously, we must beg to
decline being your debtor for the same. J
We remain &0.,
R. W. & Co.,
In the first feeling of stupefaction, the banker
thought the firm of W. & Go., had formed a
plot to defraud him ; hut he finished by discov
ering he had been himself the dupe of a couple
of expert swindlers. The false cashier bad
written the letter describing himself, and in
vented the gift of the sixty thousand, francs as
a safer mode of obtaining money than tunning
the chance of discounting the Bills. The lion.
Augustus Lighthead played the minor part of
a decoy duck. Ever after that, if Van Huys
sen attempted to joke Mrs. Freclove about the
baronet, she would reply that she had now
grown more cautions whom she admitted, al
though her experience bod not cost her quite
so much as sixty thousand francs!
COMMUNICATIONS.
For tfc® Agitator.
Leaves by the Wayside.
“JPeir knoir of life’s lingetiags.”
Walk up to the tripod Horace Grcely! Hand
over your poetry which was written for your
Sajly Anns and Katy-Dids, in those days when
your mother kissed your lips and affectionately
stroked your hair as slie cautioned you against
blacking your nose and fingers “with the ink.
Hand over your poetry ! Not to fat old crit
ics who have just parted company with beef
steaks and hot coffee, but to the Quixotic Rescu
er of neglected poems, which like stray waifs
have floated about the world unnoticed ; which
have lain dormant in the pockets of some Sally
Ann, who perchance has remained faithful to
the memory of those “callow days” when you
were wont to walk into her father's kitchen on
Sunday nights, looking as,if you “had stolen a
sheep," instead of a lamb's having stolen you.
Walk up ! I say, and lie. down with that Mil
lenium gathering of human intellects, which
poke their horns out ofthat Star of Bethlehem,
which has so suddenly cast its rays upon onr
benighted earth. All hail, thou Jjtdyer! Thy
“Bloody Daggers” and “Fearful Leaps” have
caused heavy thunderings among the mines of
man’s intellect.
Among the inhabitants of Callowville, the
last trembling among the dry hones of the soul
unearthed a poem. It positively seems to roe
as if it belonged to the Sally Anns and Katy
Dids; at least it bears the impress of “ancient
Time,” and seems to he the outpouring of some
genius in his “callow days," when his chicken
flights seemed hard to achieve. Heaven knows
that I do not wish to deprive tho world of a
production, which perchance has been knocked
out of “good society” by Dana’s Household
Book of Poetry. Therefore I will send the
poem “en route" to join the newly resurrected
gems of poesy which are so soon to take their
place before the public. So here it goes:
In some lonely hoar
On some dreary day,
Beneath some shady bower
“When I am far away;
I hopoyou’ll chink of those
\Vith whom you used to be;
And if you think of nay r
Bo sure and think of me.
e e e a e e is
Whoa Friendship once
la rooted fast, ,
It is a plant
No storm can (smash?) blast.
As TTgi.t Squint. —A butcher, who was af
flicted with that obliquity of vision known as
strabismus, was about slaughtering a bullock,
and employed a little negro boy to stand by the
ball’s neck, grasp his horns and hold his head
steady, so that he(the butcher) would have a
certainty of knocking him down. As the
butcher poised his axe in the air, he seemed to
ho looking directly at the negro instead of the
bullock. “Look here, look here, hosay,” ex
claimed the darkey, with a great deal of ner
vous trepidation, “is you gwine to strike whar
you is lookin ?” Of course I am, you black
scoundrel,” was the reply. “Den you get some
body else to hold de bullock," ejaculated the
negro; “you isn’t gwino ter knock dis child’s
brains out!”
Porter’s Spirit of the Times has an account
of a dreadful old fellow, who “would rather
tell aHe on sis months’ credit, than tell the
truth for cash!”
To keep your hair from coming out never
let your wife catch you hissing the chamber
maid.
Correspondence of the National Anti-Slavery Standard. .
Alberti the Kidnapper.
Philadelphia, Feb. 7tb, 1859.
There is a man living in this city -whose name
has been associated -with almost every remarka
ble slave case that has occurred in Philadelphia
for the last forty years. I allude to George F. J
Alberti; a personage well known by repute all
through this region, and not without notoriety
in places distant. Though still living, his name
is historical, and in annals yet to he written is
destined to occupy a conspicuous place. It
may not be used to designate the profession he
adorns, but, like that of the famous John Ketch;
it is too closely connected with his country's
jurisprudence to make it possible for the histo
rian to ignore it. ,
Familiar, however, as is his cognomen to most
Philadelphians, there are comparatively few of
the present day who have seen the wan himself.
Ilis functions are not of a nature to bring him
much into the light, and, being a roan of modest
discretion, he naturally seeks retirement.' In;
former days, when slave-catching was a less
unpopular sport, he made himself visible every/
now and then about the purlieus of the Court-,
house; hut now that times are changed and,
his occupation is gone, the places that onde !
knew him know him no more. He has not
been noticed near the temple of uncertain Juki
tioe more than once in the last six years, arid
he would not have made his oppearance then if
he hadn’t been sent for. Nevertheless, though
for the most part invisible, he is not impalpable!
He is neither a myth nor a thing of the past;’
but an actual, living man; hoary, hale arid
hearty ; ready to “catch a nigger” to-morrow
if a chance should be offered him. That such
is the fact I can state on the evidence of my
own senses, having seen him and heard him sri
express himself within the last forty-eight boats.
I had long been wanting an opportunity pf
this kind. I had heard much of the man, blit
had never seen him but once, and then bad no
chance, as I had no desire, to converse wilt
him. It was at the trial of Adam Gibson, the
person who, on false testimony and in ttfe face
of evidence, was given up by Ingram, to Al
berti, his captor, to bo carried to Maryland as
a slave. Your readers will remember the cir
cumstance. It was the first case tried before
Commissioner Ingram under tbe new Fugitive
Slave law. The room was crowded.- It Was
immediately over the' Hall of Independence,
and almost directly under the old LibeHy Bell.
The people who heard the testimony stobd
aghast at tbe decision. While their blood was
boiling, a man. who had before been to mrist
unnoticed, stepped forth, and, taking something
from his pocket, which proved to bo pinions,
proceeded coolly to fasten them on the wrisfcs
of his victim. That man was George F. Al
berti, next to the Commissioner—whose tesitu
dinal face, once seen, could never be forgotten
—the most remarkable looking man in the as
sembly. His olive-hued countenance was placid
and composed. Ills gray locks, and jet-bbick
suit and white neckcloth, gave him a venerable
and even clerical appearance. Indeed,! he
looked altogether more like a Doctor of Divinity
than a professional slave-catcher. Nearly ejrer
since, 1 have had a curiosity, which has lately
ripened into a purpose to see the man and hphr
what he had to say for himself. This purpose
I carried, day before yesterday, into execution.
What transpired at our interview 1 will Here
relate, that your readers may share with me in
whatever instruction may be derivable from -it.
Alberti’s residence, which I found with siiibe
difficulty, his name not being in the Directory,
is in a densely populated and by no means’, in
viting part of the city, near its southern sub
urbs. It is a small tenement neat in its exter
nal appearance, and still more tidy, as it proved,
within. The door was opened to my knocli-by
a well dressed, genteel-looking female, of appa
rently about 40 years of age. To my question
as to whether Mr. Alberti was in, she was abbot
returning a negative answer, when the gentle-
man himself made his appearance at tho door
behind me. He saluted me courteously, handed
me a chair, insisted on taking my hat, and ’did.
it all with tho grace of a man with whom |po
liteness is a habit. I said: ||
“I fear that, when you hear my errand,! vou
will think me impertinent.; I have come here
out of curiosity. I have heard so much about
you that I have felt a desire to see you. l?am
curious to know how how justify to your
self the course you pursue. I am an iibo
litioniat. I think you are entirely in 1 1 the
wrong— i'
“I understand you, sir. lam pleased to see
you. It is no intrusion whatever, sir. Doiyou
believe the Bible ?” • j
“I do.” |{
“Well, then, read that book, and youbwill
see how I justify myself. I believe tbatjsla
very is right according to the laws of Oodjjand
man. -I believe it-is right for me to help a
slaveholder catch his lawful property. In, so
doing, I believe that I am doing my duty to ray
God and to my country. If I didn’t think so,
I would never catch another. My doctrih'e is,
‘Render un to Csesar the things that are Cmsar’s,
and unto God the things that are and
that’s the doctrine of the Bible.” | j
“That’s my doctrine, too ; hut there isinolh
ing in it to justify slavery, or to excuse you in
restoring an escaped slave to his master.; { liv
ery man has an inalienable right to his liberty.
You have that right; the black man has that
Agnes.
right: and you have no more right to make a
slave of him than I have to make a slave of
you.” ■ [•
"Yes, I have. Read the Bible, and you will
see that the children of Ham were to be slaves.
Slavery has existed from the beginning;! and
always will exist." ■ i j
“Murder has existed from the beginning, and
so have lying and stealing; but does that make
them right ?" j \
“No, for God has condemned them.! i But
where in the Bible doss God condemn slavery?
No, sir, slavery is according to the law of; God.
The slaveholder has as good a right to lils nig
gers ns he has to his horses; and if they run
away, os a good citizen X have a right tbcatoh
them.” j,
But, Mr. Alberti, as you believe so literally
in the Bible, bow do you get over the command,
“Thou shall not deliver unto his masUr the
Bonaut thqt has escaped from —” j|
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NO, 31.
—“His master unto thee. Deuteronomy,
xxiii.: 15. I know the test. Many’s the time
Tummy Shipley has quoted the text to me. But
.it doesn’t apply' to cases of this kind at all.
The text refers to subjects of one kingdom fly
jug from oppression and taking refuge among
the subjects of. another kingdom. It has no
application to our slaves whatever.”
At this point his wife—for such the person
who had admitted me proved to he —interposed :
‘‘lf he would take my advice,he would have
nothing to do with theca, lie gets nothing but
ill will by it aayuow.”
“I am glad to hear you say so, Mrs.-Alberti,”
I replied. “It is an infamous business, and I
am glad you are opposed to it.”
“I am not opposed to peopie having their
lawful property; but I doht want him to
bother himself about the niggers. They are a
treacherous race; don’t yow think they are!”
“Xo.” ®a'd I; “I certainly do not. I think
them a kind-hearted and forgiving people; and
the fact that your husband is now alive is proof
of it. It is a wonder they haven’t killed hint
long ago."
“And-so they would if they could," said he.
“Look ’ee there,” pointing to a scar on his left
hand: “I had a buck shot cut out of that spot.
Feel there.” putting his band on his leg near
his knee. “There is a buckshot still remain
ing ; it is one of sixteen which were lodged in
that limb. Look ’ee here,” pointing to a scar
on his bald head; “and look ’ee here, and
here,” turning his bald crown that I might seo
the marks on the different parts of-it. “That’s
the kind of good-hearted.people they are.”
After talking in this strain for some time,
and recounting to me some of the perilous ex
ploits in which ho had been engaged, and of
which he seemed to be proud, he took down a
pamphlet, and, handing it to me, said; “Read
"that; it will show you how unjustly I was
treated by that malicious wretch. Judge Par
sons. He sentenced me to the Penitentiary for
ten years, without law or justice. It will tell
you all about it. It was written by one of my
counsel, Peter A. Browne. And read that
also,” handing me a manuscript document bear
ing the State sea!. “That’s Governor Bigler’s
pardon. Take them both home with-you and
read them at your leisure.”
To this Mrs. Alberti, who had eyed me with
evident suspicion from the beginning, mode
some objections. She didn’t see why he should
let them go out of his hands. They would be
of no use to the gentleman.
"Yes, t hey will; they will show him that I
was persecuted, not prosecuted. Would you,”
turning to me, “separate a child from its moth
er?”
“No,” said I, emphatically, “I would not.”
“No, of course you wouldn’t. But that
woman of Mitchell’s that I took insisted on
'taking back her child with her. I knew it
was born in a free State, and I didn’t want to
let it go with her, but she begged to have it
and at any rate, according to the laws of Mary
land, the child was as much Mitcbel’s slave as
the mother, wasn’t it ?”
“Perhaps so; bat not according to the laws
under which you and I live. I will read these
documents, but I must say, in a)! candor, that
I condemned at the trial and condemn still.
Governor Bigler’s pardon.”
“Then you are not going to have that paper,"
said Mrs. Alberti, moving with the rapidity of
thought towards me and snatching away the
pardon.
- “I nm not going to trust any one that will
talk in that way of Governor - Bigler. He is a
gentleman; Governor Sigler is a _gentleman
she repeated with' great vehemence. . .
“Hetty, don’t get in a passion—Hetty, my
dear love, you don’t understand this gentleman.
He is honest; he is not a hypocrite. You need
not be afraid of his hnrting the papers ; -why
should he ?”
“I have seen from the beginning,” said I,
“that your wife was suspicious of me. If 1
hadn’t been so frank, her fears wouldn’t have
been excited. But I have been entirely open
with you. I have told you my errand; told
you my name, my place of residence, and my
sentiments; and having been thus honest with
you, your wife distrusts me.”
“Don’t you see, Hetty, that the gentleman is
no hypocrite, and that you need not be afraid ;
give him the paper; do.”
She complied; but with ill-concealed reluc
tance.
“When I said that I condemned Governor
Bigler’s act in pardoning you, it wag from no
ill-feeling towards you, Nay, strongly as lam
opposed to you, and utterly as I abhor your
business, I would not hurt a hair of your bead;
and I would do anything in my power to pro
mote your welfare—” , •
“You understand him, Hetty ; it is the prin
ciple he is opposed to.” \
“All good people,” I resumed, “condemned,
at the time, the pardon of Governor Bigler;
they believed that he did it to please the South;
that he had promised, if elected, to release you ;
and that certain Maryland slaveholders had
aided to procure his election with this view. It
was well known that they took a lively interest
in your welfare.”
"Uut they never gave me a dollar. No, sir
—not a dollar. Great promises were made, but
I never got a dollar. 1 suffered much : X was
nearly a year in prison: Host time and money;
I travelled backward and forward to Annapolis
at my own expense; but I never got a dollar.
The clerk of the Maryland Legislature wrote
me that if I would get my papers all ready,
and would give him half the money, he would
get a bill through to compensate me. I showed
the letter to Hr. Lehman, my lawyer, and he
showed it to I’ctcr A. Browne; and what doc*
Mr. Browne do but take a copy of it and send
it r to Governor Lowe. I knew, as soon as I
heard, that,'that 1 should get nothing. Why?
Because 1 was sure be would defeat the whole
plan. Sou see these members of the Legisla
ture, at least many of them, arc a corrupt set,
and 1 suppose-some of them were to get part of
the money if the bill should go through. The
plan was to give me part of Chaplin's bail
money. Chaplin, the Abolitionist, you know;
ho that was in prison, i\n.d forfeited his bail,
which was ten Or fifteen thousand dollars. ‘ j
was to gel pail ui that, bill, owing to iVtcr A.