I
iKKER, Hdltor and Proprietor.
I llUTCHISSOX, Publisher.
ISa.OO IX ADVANCE."
EBENSBURG, PA., THURSDAY, MAY 10, 1866.
NUMBER 80.
I WOULD RATHER BE RIGHT THAN PRESIDENT. Henry Ulay.
UUME 7.
JTORY.
OF POST OFFICES.
1 Post Masters. Districts
a, Steven L. Evans, Carroll.
r?nro. TTenrv Nutter. CUest.
b, A. G. Crook3,
Tavlor.
J. Houston,
Wa3h"mt'n.
sburcr! John Thompson, Ebensburg.
n TiM.hPT. C. Jeffries. White.
"in'a Mills. Peter Gnrman, Susq'han.
-In. J. M. Christy,
Gallitztn
Washtn.
Johnst'wn.
Loretto.
Wm Tiler, Jr.,
I. E. Chandler,
M. Adlesberger,
A Tliirhin.
Munster.
lie,
lBtine,
1. cvel,
AnrlrcwJ Ferral. Susq'han
Stan. Wharton, Clearfield
George Berkey,
B. M'Colgan,
George B, Wike,
Wm. M'Connell,
J. K. Shryock,
Richland.
Washt'n.
Croylc.
Washt'n.
S'merhill.
ne thill,
nit,
lore,
IURCIIKS, MINISTERS, &C.
-slyttrian Rkv. T. M. Wilson, Pastor.
!.ing every Sabbath morning at 10
':, and in the evening at 7 o'clock. Sab
hoolat 9 o'clock, A. M. Prayer meet
7 Thursday evening at 6 o'clock.
list Episcopal Church A. Baker,
r in charge, llov. J. Pebshixo. As
Preaching every alternate Sabbath
at 10J o'clock. Sabbath School at 9
A. M." Prayer meeting every Wedncs
ng, at 7 o'clock.
Independent Rev Ll. R. Powell,
Preaching every Sabbath morning at
' ck, and in the evening at G o'clock.
School ut 1 o'clock, P.M. Prayer
i?-r en the first Monday evening of caca
,h ; end on every Tuesday, Thursday and
y evening, excelling the first week in
.Icini'tte MelhoJiU Rvv. Morgan Ellis,
or. Preaching every Sabbath evening at
1 C o'c lock. Sabbath School at lr o'clock,
. Fxnyer meeting every Friday evening,
o'clock. Society every Tuesday evening
o'clock.
,.' Rev. W. Lloyd. Pastor. rreach
Sabbath morning at 10 o'clock.
alar UaptisURizx . David Evans,
Preaching every Sabbath evening at
-. Sabbath School at at I o'clock, P. M .
Aic Rev. R. C. Cuiusty, Pastor.
s every Sabbath morning at 10.V o'clock
sipers at 4 o'clock in the evening. '
EBEXSIJURO 31 AILS.
MAILS ARRIVE,
crn, daily, it 933 o'clock,
r-a at 10.00 o'clock
A.
M..
M.
MAILS CLOSE,
n, daily, at 8 o'clock, P. M.
n, at 8 o'clock, P. M.
.The mails from Grant, Carrolltown,
arrive on Monday, Wednesday, and
of each week, at 3 o'clock, P. M.
ave Ebensburg on Tuesdays, Thursdays
Saturdays, at 0 o'clock, A. M.
II All.nO AO SCIIEDirLE.
s CRESSON STATION1".
T.1i .1nn.n.o OK"
A. M.
A. M.
Phila. Exnres3 '
Fast Line "
Mail Train u
Altoona Accom. "
9.55
10.33
9.02
4.32
8.40
2.20
C.41
1.53
1.21
M.
M.
M.
M.
fluln. Express
Fast Line
Day .Express
Cincinnati Ex.
Altooua Accom.
A. M.
A. M.
P. M.
P. M.
COl'XTY OFFICERS.
V? j of the Courts President Hon. Geo.
or, Huntingdon; Associates, George W.
?y, Henry C. Devine.
othonotary Geo. C. K. Zahm.
gixter and Recorder James Griffin.
erij James Myers.
siricVAttoriiry. John F. Barnes.
untj Commissioners John Campbell, Ed
1 Glass, E. It. Dunncgan.
irk to' Cc?nmiisinncrs William H. Sech-
tasnrer Barnabas M'Dermit.
!'. to Treasurer John Lloyd.
r;r House Directors George M'Cullough.
Orris, Joseph Dai'.ey.
House Treasurer George C. K.
tors Fran. P. ficrnev. Jno. A
4.J l IJ t-IA .
Ken-
. Emanuel Brallier,
tity Purveyor. Henry Scanlan.
i bner. .-"William Flattery.
reantile Appraiser John Cox.
j 'f. of Common Schools J. F. Condon.
"SUtRG BOB. OFFICERS.
AT large.
jrjess James A. Moore.
n'ices of the Peace Harrison Kiukead,
i ad J. Waters.
' ol Directors D. W. Evans, J. A. Moore,
1 J. Davis, David J. Jones, 'Villiam M.
, H, Jones, jr.
- :gh Treasurer Geo. W. Oatman.
to Council Saml. Singleton.
Commissioner David Davis.
FAST WARD.
ten Council A. V. Jone3, John O. Evans,
uel Davis. Charles Owens, R. Jones, jr.
iablc Thomas Todd.
:;:'qf EleCwnWm. D. Davis.
.: tors David E. Evans, Danl. J. Davis.
tsor Thomas J. Davis.
WEST VAHI.
Council John Lloyd, Samuel Stiles,
a Kiukead, John E. Scanlan, George
able Barnab3 M'Dermit.
t rf Election. John D. Thomr.a.
ctors. William II. Sechler, George
for Joshua D. Tarrish.
SOCIETIES, &C.
" AT. --Summit Lodge No. 312 A. Y. M.
a Masonic Hall, Ebensburg, on the
Tuesday of each month, at 7J o'clock,
( , O. F. Highland LonVe No. 428 I. O.
ets in Odd Fellows' Hall, Ebensburg,
ednesday evening.
T. Highland Division No. 84 Sons of
ainee raee -itl Temperance Hall, Eb
t, every Saturday t7fning-
MS OF SUBSCRIPTION
TO .
r TnE ALLEGIIANIAN :"
$2.00 IN ADVANCE,
' , . . OK
00 IF NQT PAID IN ADVANCE.
Song of Thorildc.
FROM THE GERMAN.
There sat by the foaming sea
A maiden of tender look i
For many hours ehc frshed,
Rut nothing would bite her hook.
She wore on her finger a ring,
With a jewel as red as a rose
And, binding it fast to her line,
Far into the sea she throws.
She raises up from the deep,
A hand of ivory mold
On one of its fingers glisten
Her jewel and ring of gold.
Now lifts she out on the land
A knight who is handsome and fair;
He is robed in glittering garb,
And sports in the sunny air.
The maiden in terror shrieked
"O I knight, most noble and true,
You must give me back my ring,
For I did not fish for you."
"They do not'fiih for fish
With jewels," the knight replied ;
'The ring I can only give
When you promise to be my bride."
33uriocl Alive,
Is it true that sometimes
co:nm
events cast their shadows bciore t Is it
true that at times the mighty unknown cf
tlio future vaguely impresses itself upon
the present? I think so. If not, then
how do we p;et that prescience of. good or
evil that o strangely elevates us with
hope or depresses us with fear that
throws over our spirits the serenity of a
placid lake, or the wild agitation of a
stormy sea ?
Froia my earliest recollection, I had
always been afraid of being buried alive.
I Jo not remember that the fear of death
hai ever troubled me only the fear of
entering the grave while yet a living man,
a:id becoming conscious of it when too
late. Of all the horrors which the mind
can conjure up, this to me always seemed
the moi-t dreadful, and the fear of it fas
tened itself upon me with all the power of
a haun'ing specter, and it became one of
the deep concerns of my life to guard
against it. At twenty-two years of age I
ordered my ecffm and purchased my tomb.
The cofSn wa. sq ons?rucUi-J ih-at a living
person closed up in it could touch certain
springs and throw it all apart; and the
tomb was contrived with proper ventila
tion, and provided with blankets and a
key inside, so that in casg of life return
ing after burial, I could secure my?elt
against a deadly chill and speedily find
my way out.
Why had I this fear to lead me to these
precaution, unless the corning reality had
cast its shadow upon me? My monoma
nia, as many termed it, was known to all
my friends, every one of whom had been
separately charged to see me positively
dead before burial. But what are pre
cautions taken against fate? I was doomed
to be buried alive, after all.
At the time I speak of, I was twenty
seven years of age, and living in my na
tive place, an inland city. Urgent business
called me to Boston, where I had only one
acquaintance, a very dear friend, who had
often invited me to come and make him a
long visit. Unfortunately, he was at this
lime out of town, and expected to be ab
sent several days; but his family insisted
upon my making their house my heme
during my stay in the city, and would not
in fact permit ni3 to go elsewhere. On
the third day, I had finished my business,
and, as it was tl.o last of the week, I de
cided to remain some two or three days
longer, that I might get a sight of my
friend before leaving.
On the following morning, I wa3 found
dead in my bed at least, it was "so repor
ted; and the strongest evidence I have
against it is the fact that I am livins now.
The people of the house, of course, were
very much excited aud alarmed their
physician was called in, and afterwards
the coroner. It was at length decided to
put me in a coffin, and place me in a
church vault till th return of my friend,
who wou'd of course have my body con
veyed to my native place for fiual inter
ment. Thus it is seen that all my precautions
availed me nothing; for, abroad, almost
among strangers, I had taken on the sem
blance of death, and had been, coffined
and entombed in the ordinary way.
I returned to consciousness in the night,
in the vault ot the church. Of course, I
knew not then where I was. My first
sensation wa3 one of strange pressure aud
confinement. I fancied, as in a dream,
that I had been seized for a maniac, a
strait-jacket put upon me, and then forced
into a narrow cell. .This idea did not
long hold it3 place. As my mind grew
clearer, I began to recall what had hap
pened during the past week leaving
home, going to Boston, transacting my
business, and so on. I remembered being
at my friend's house, and of deciding to
remain longer than I at first intended,
hoping foi his return before- my departure.
All this gradually became clear, aloDg
wiib the last pleasant eveningI had spent
with his family. But then came a blank.
What had happened since ? And where
was I now? I attemptedto rise,, and
found myself shut up in some narrow
place that scarcely allowed of any move
ment whatever. How did I get there?
What did it meau ?
Suddenly, my old life-long fear return
ed upon rue with a new terror that no
language can express. Perhaps the dread
horror of years had come, and I had been
buried alive at lost ! The thought was so
appalling that for some moinents I re
mained paralyzed. Then I seemed gath
ered .into one great agony, which sent
forth the most wild and piercing shrieks
of despair that ever issued from mortal
lips.
Yes, it was a truth I My foreboding
had ended in a reality, and I was now th-3
tenant of a coffin, if not a grave ! With
another shriek, I turned in my narrow
house, gathered in my strength, as it were,
and threw it out Irom me with what
seemed the bursting power of a giant.
There came a sharp crack ; my prison
seemed slightly to expand, and I fancied
I felt a change of air. I rested a moment,
prayed God to help me, and repeated the
effort with even greater power. There
was no resisting this ! The coffin lid was
burst asunder with a crash, and my limbs
and body were free in the awful darkness
which enveloped me the rayless dark
ness of a tomb !
In considering this wonderful feat, it
should be borne in mind that none of my
strength had been exhausted by sickness,
and that, besides being naturally a very
strong, powerful man, my physical powers
were perhaps doubled or trebled by my
fear aud despair.
I was free now to breathe the damp,
deleterious air of what I believed to be
a vault or tomb; but I confess my terror
was scarcely lessened at the thought ot
having thus extended the limits of my
prison, -for after all,- I might not be able
Mo escape from this horrible place, and if
not, it would only be a prolongation 01 the
agonies of life and death. Fortunately, I
had been coffined in my own garments,
and it was a season of the yar when I
could rot suffer from cold, so that the
question of lite without escape was reduced
to two points suffocation from foul air,
or starvation. If I could escape the first,
I knew tlere were several 'days of life yet
before me, and perhaps the time would be
long enough, with
unremitting
toil, for
me to dig my way out, like a convict from
his prison.
The first important thing for me to as
certain was the dimensions of my sepul
chrt Whether it was day or night, I
could not then tell, for I could see nothing
whatever not even my hand when I hold
ic up close before my eye3. Everything
must . be done by feeling; and though
shuddering with horror at the thought of
what I might discover, I knew that delay
could avail me nothing, and I resolved to
set about the work before me. I rose up
in my coffin and stretched my hands above
ray head; but they came in contact with
nothing. I felt out on either side, but
Couched no object. I put them down
below the coffin, and found it rested on a
slab that was supported some distance
above the ground, I could not tell how
much. I got out of the coffin carefully,
stretched down my feet till they touched
a solid basis, and then slowly and cau
tiously began to grope around the vault.
I scon touched the wall on one side, and
carefully felt" of the stones. I found
them, as I feared I should, large, soiid,
hewn, and evidently . put together with
cement. There seemed little hope of my
ever finding inj way through them. I
followed the wall along till caroe io a
pile of coffins, one upon the other, reach
ing up as lilgh.as my head. They had
evidently been there a loDg time ; and I
fancied, from the slimy feel, they were
mildewed and decayed. After passing
these, I came to another portion : of the
wall, and then to another pile of coffins,
not so high a3 the first, but even more
decajid. In turning from these, my feet
slipped, I fell against them," and the up
per one came down with a crash, burst
open, and the bones rolled out with a
phosphorescent glare, lighting up the
darkness, and looking like so many orbs
of fire. I staggeted back -with an invol
untary yell of . horror the thing was so
sudden and the. spectacle so awful !
My reason returned in a moment; and
Uthough my ncrvou3 system had received
a shock that for, a long time kept ins
weak and trembling, yet I saw at once
how much I was the gainer by the acci
dent, sinco by this means I nbw had a dim
view of the charnel-house which had be
come my prison, if rot my grave. The
vault was net large, but contained quite a
number cf coffins, not one of which was
new 6ave my own, which led me to be
lieve it had seldom been used of late
years, except perhaps as a place of tem
porary deposit. . It was a strange light to
see by the phosphorescence of dead men's
bo.nes ; and when I take everything into
consideration my return to conscious
ness, th! horrible suspicions, certainties,
aud discoveries which followed in appaK
ling order I am even now compelled to
wonder how it was possible for me to keep,
my senses, and continue my efforts to es
cape with the coolness I did.
I soon found the doer of the vault. It
was a wooden one, and seemed much de
cayed oa the inside, like the coffins I
have mentioned. I tried it with tremb
ling eagerness j but. discovered, alas!, it
was fastened on the other side probably
secured by heavy iron bolts. O, for the
use of an axe for one-half hour I I would
willingly have given for it all I wa3 worth
in the world. I struck against the door
with my fist, and threw my body heavily
against it; but only to discover its mas
sive solidity, and to know that, without
some implement to work with, all my ef
forts to escape would be worse than vain
that I might as well sit down and wait
my appointed time.
But perhaps some tool might be found
in the vault, left there by mistake ! some
hatchet, hammer, pick, spade, crowbar
something ! I searched everywhere, as
well as I could by the dim, ghastly light,
but found only two thiugs that I could
possibly use a large spike-nail and a
pebble-stone weighing over a pound. O,
how precious did even these seem ! No
miser ever clutched his gold and diamonds
with such intense and heartfelt joy as I
did these possible keys to the living
world.
There was a portion of the door ?o de
cayed, that, with the use of the nal and
the stone, I believed I could work a hole
through large enough perhaps to admit
my arm ; and as this place was near where
the bolt, if a single one, would naturally
be, I had great hope I might be able to
reach and slide it back. With this idea,
I commenced at once, with all the energy
of a man in my situation ; and for hours
I labored unremittingly- hammering,
prying, and getting off splinter by splinter,
till at last I found I could pass my arm
through the aperture. O, what wild emo
tions ot hope and fear thrilled me then !
I trembled from head to foot, my respira
tion became gasping and difficult, large
beads ot perspiration seemed to start from
every pore, and, sinking down on my
knees, I prayed God to have mercy on me,
and restore me to the world of life. Then
I arose slowly, thrust my arm through the
aperture, and felt around for the bolt.
My hand touched it. With trembling
eagerness I worked it back ; and then the
heavy door came slowly open, harshly
giating on it3 rusty hinges
What a moment was that!
about to be delivered from
O, Heaven !
Perhaps I was
the awful sep-
ulchre ! The very thought wa
an over-
powering joy, which my nervous system,
so long wrought up to the most intense
excitement, could not bear; and I fainted,
and fell at the foot of the stairs which led
upwards from the charnel-vault.
When consciousness and strength again
returned to me, I went slowly and tremb
ffngly up the damp, dim, and narrow
stairs, till I came to the Hag that shut in
the whole. On my power to raise this
depended everything ! Life was above it
death below it! I put my shoulder
against it, aud pressed upwards with all
my might. Gracious Heaven ! It did
not move ! I was doomed ! I uttered a
wild, piercing shriek, and fell back in des
pair, the most wretched being in exist
ence. Aa I sat there, on one of the cold,
slimy steps, in an agony of mind that
must soon have deprived ' my burning,
throbbing brain of reason, I fan eied I
heard steps above me. What ! Human
life so near, and I be doomed to death in
a sepulchre ? No, no! Never ! never !
I sprang to my feet with the fierce deter
mination and strength of a madaian, and,
again putting my shoulder to the stone,
sent it upward with a force that turned it
over with a crash. Fresh air and light
burst in upon me. I saw I was beneath
a roof of a church, and, leaping upward
from the pit, I yelled forth my joy.
It was an early hour in the morning,
and the sexton had come into the church
to put certain things to rights. Seeing
me spring upward from the tomb with
such an appalling yell, he instantly fled,
with a shriek cf terror. HesooH returned,
however, with half-a-dozen excited spectator-,
and found me on my knees; giving
thanks to God for my wonderful deliver
ance. '
I scarcely need add that my friend's
family were astonished beyond measure to
see mo back among them, a living man.
The next day I had the pleasure of taking
my friend himself by the hand, and giv
ing him an account of my death, burial,
and resurrection. An had been arranged,
he went home with my body, but not with
my corpse. Since then I have never
traveled alone, tor fear of again being
buried alive. The doctors, after a wise
consultation, pronounced mine a rather
singular case of catalepsy.
. m m
J&aF" An auctioneer was selling a libra
ry at auction. He was not very well read
in books, but he scanned the titles, trus
ted to luck for the contents? and went
ahead. "Hero you ' have 'Bunyan's Pil
grim's Progress," he said; "how much 'm
I offered for it? How much do I hear
fer the Pilgrim's Progress, by John Bun.
yan ? 'Tis a first-rate book, gentlemen,
with six superior illustrations ; how much
do I hear ? All about the Pilgrims,- by
John Bunyan ! i Tells where they came
from, an' where they landed, an' what
they done after they landed! Here's a
picter of one of 'em going about Ply
mouth peddlin', with a pack, onto his
back!" . .
Jfca?Some extremely hospitable persons
keep savage dogs on their premises, that
the huugry poor who stop to "get at bite"
.may be accommodated with coming inside
the dpor.
in tue -Karly
Carl Sliurz.
Life of
TheParis correspondent of the New
York Times, under date of March 30th,
takes the arrival in that cuy of the Ger
man patriot, poet and philosopher, Gotfried
Kinkel, as the text for an incident in the
European history of Carl Schurz, who is
no !es3 distinguished in this country than
upon the continent. We quote :
In the literature of Germany, Kinkel
occupies a high position as a poet and his
torian. When the Revolution of 184S
broke out, he was a Professor at the Uni
versity of Bonn, and his strong Democrat
ic opinions induced him to take a very
prominent part in the struggle. He
fought, was made prisoner by the royal
authorities, was tried for treason, and was
sentenced to many years' imprisonment at
hard labor.
Among Kinkel's companions at this
time was a young student not twenty
years of age, named Carl Schurz, who was
also captured, tried by court martial, and
sentenced to be shot. Schurz, however,
more fortunate than his Professor, suc
ceeded in escaping across the French
frontier, and was safe. Kinkel was sent
to a common prison, placed among crimi
nals of the vilest sort, and set to work
making shoes. Young Germany, still
trembling with the excitements of the
recent llevoluticn, learned with indigna
tion the treatment inflicted upon the emi
nent poet and scholar, and numerous
petitions were sent to the Prussian Gov
ernment praying that his situation might
be ameliorated. To all this, the authori
ties paid no attention whatever, the pro
testations ceased, and Kinkel seemed
likely to be abandoned by his friends.
There was one, however, who did not
desert him. Carl Schurz left Paris, dis
guised himself id rags, and, defying the
scaffold, re-entered Prussia, with an oran
on his back. In the day, he beirged his
bread on the high road ; at night, he laid
aside his organ and visited the abodes of
his former companions and the friends of
German liberty, to endeavor to reawaken
their interest in the fate of the imprisoned
patriot. In hl way he traveled three
hundred leagues on foot, playing' the or
gan through many towns and villages,
carefully maturing his plans, and sleeping
in b-iras or under hedges. On one occa
sion, he was stopped by two Prussian
gendarmes, who inquired where he was
going.
"To the
Schurz.
neighboring
town," replied
"Would you like
to earn a handful cf
pfennings ?" asked the ethers
"Certainly."
"Very well ; come with u to our bar
racks. We intend to give a dance this
evening, and the airs of your organ will
suit our purpose exaotly."
It was impossible to decline the offer of
the soldiers without exciting suspicion ;
so Schurz accepted, with a great show of
gratitude, and during the whole night
ground out waltzes and quadrilles for a
battalion of gendarmes. Leaving, undis
covered, the dangerous society of the mil
itary police, young Schurz continued his
journey, and, a short time subsequently,
information reached him that Kinkes
prison had been changed. He was now
incarcerated at Spandau, and placed under
the personal supervision of the prison di
rector. v
Late one night, when the streets had
become deserted, a post chaise, escorted
by a guard of four dragoms; drove rapid
ly through the town of Spandau, and
halted before the prison. An officsr, in
the uniform of a Colonel of the Boyal
Guard, alighted from the vehicle, and
was soon in the presence of the Director,
into whose hands he placed a letter from
the Minister of the Interior at Berlin, and
bearing the official beal. Receiving the
packet with the respect due to a commu
nication from the Knr s Minister, the
Director opened the important missive,
and read as follows :
"A deep-laid plot ha3 been organized
at Berlin, the object of which h to effect
the forcible release of tho convict Kinkel,
from the hands of the authorities We
are now watching the movements of the
conspirators, and are preparing to arrest
them. In order, however, to prevent the
possibility of a surprise, the bearer of the
present letter, Col. , 13 commanded
to take charge of your prisoner, whom he
will immediately conduct to the citadel of
Magdebourg, and place hirn in the hands
of the Governor of that fortress."
- Upon reading this ministerial injunc
tion, the director of the Spandau prison
at once had the unfortunate Kinkel awak
ened, caused him to be securely ironed
and placed in the post chaise, which set
off on the road to Magdebourg, accompan
ied by the Colonel and four dragonswho
rode with drawn sabres. All night Ion"
they traveled at-" a rapid speed; fresh
horses were instantly furnished at each
relay, the Colonel's demand being accom
panied by the magical expression, "the
King's service." The uuhappy prisoner,
crouched in a corner of a vehicle, cared
not what might be his fate Germany
had forgotten him, aud nothing could be
worse than the noisome dungeua at Span
dau. Morning came at last, a irray win
ter's dawn, and the carriage stopped
The Colonel himself opened the door, and
bade the prisoner alight. Without a
Incident
word, poor Kinkel obeyed, and found
himself standing on the sea-shore, a boat
awaiting a few feet from thespot where h
ttood, and a ship, with the English flag
at her mast-head, lying t y within sight.
The prisoner uttered a cry of mingled
hope and despair.
"Do you not know me, my
master?" sobbed the pseudo
dear old
Colonelj
tearing eff his false mustache, and clasp
ing Kinkel in his arms. "I am your
friend and pupil, Carl Schurz. Let us
embrace each other oucemoreon German
soil, and then away for England !"
Kinkel could not rely, but burst into
tears. In a few moments more they were
in the boat, ajyLowing lustily toward the
vessel in the offing, which had now hoist
ed the German Republican flag, in token
of recognition of weenie. As they
reached the ship's side, Kinkel, pale and
trembling, leaned upon Schurz's shoulder
and murmured : "My wife, my children
where are they ?"
lie had time to saj no more, for, in an
other moment, Mme. Kinkel was in her
husband's arms, and his children wero
clinging about his knees.
"My mission is accomplished," said
young Schurz. "I had sworn, dear inas-
ter, to restore you to liberty and to your
family. My duty is done."
Upon their arrival in London, the pat
riots were received with transports of en
thusiasm. The rich German residents of
the British metropolis took upon them
selves to provide for tho brave young fel
lows who, in the disguise of Prussian
dragoons, had aided Schurz in successful
ly carrying out his noble project, and
Prof. Kinkel himself commenced giving
lectures on German literature, which met
with immense success. . Carl Schurz soon
afterwaid parted from his old preceptor
and set out to seek his fjrtunc in the
promised land :cross the broad Atlantic.
His career in tho United States is well
known. He had left in Germany an.
aged father, who had longed to see again.
his favorite
man to visit
awaits him
son ; but it is not easv for a
a country where certain death
if detected. Still, fortune
smiled on Schurz. Hisen high in favor
with President Lincoln, the German
American General was appointed Envoy
Extraordinary to the Court of Madrid,
and fifteen years after his flight with
Kinkel, he quietly revisited his birth
place. No Prussian gendarme dared to
lay a finger upon the condemned felon,
now a diplomatis representative of one of
the most powerful nations on the
giooe.
1 1
Provost Marshal's Bureau
rrt 1
xue report o;
f Provost Marshal General
Fry, which has just been forwarded to the
Avar Department, states that tho Bureau
began its operations in March, IS63 ; that
the military strength of the loyal States
at the close of the war was 2.254,063 men
able to bear arms, not including 1,000,516
soldiers then actually under arms ; that
during the war 5,221 officers and 90,8GS
men were killed in the action or died
from wounds, and 2,321 officers and 182,
329 men died from disease, making a to
tal of 230,730 deaths. The tables of
wounded are not yet completed. 1,120,
621 men were raised for the army by the
Bureau, at an average cost of 50 84 per
man, while the average cost of raisins: the
1,856,093 men recruited before the Bu
reau was established, was $34 01 per man.
This calculation d je3 not include the
bounties given even before or. after the
establishment of the Bureau. From com
mutations paid by drafted men, for exemp
tions, 2S,30G,313 76 were obtained, out
ot which sum all the expenses cf the Bu
reau were paid, and on January 1, 1866,
the sum of $9,800,105 64 remained to the
credit of the United States. - The Provost
Marshal General says the success of the
Bureau was du? to "first, the hearty co
operation of the civil officers of the differ
ent States, sustained by the elevated loy
alty aud earnestness of the masses of the
people; second, the judicious legislation
of Congress."
A TVetv Mania in Iaris.
. A Paris correspondent writes that f
new sensation has taken possession of the
inhabitants of Paris that of collecting
the portrait3 of great political" criminals
murderers, etc. The photograph of Booth,
the assassin of Lincoln, is obtaining a
very large sale, especially among. the wo
men. The carte de visitc of the man wh
is supposed to have strangled tho Presi
dent Poucct enjoys also a very great suc
cess. Another ohotogranh much sought
after is that of Philippe, the murderer of
the Ru ue la Vile l'Eveque. This crim
inal, whose trial will probably take placo
in May, is accused 6t having committed
seventeen murders similar to the one ho
perpetrated in the Rue de la-Villa l'Eve
que, and which led to hi arrest. The
documents connected with this case al
ready forni a large volume of four hun
dred pages. Tho prisoner seems to be so
well aware of the fate which awaits him.
that he has already attempted twic? to
commit suicide in his cell at the prison of
La Force."
3?Mis3 Thompson says that every
unmarried lady of sixty may consider
that she ha passed the Capq ot Good.
nop0.
ir 1
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