The New Bloomfield, Pa. times. (New Bloomfield, Pa.) 1877-188?, February 22, 1881, Image 1

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NO. 8.
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Ad Independent Family Newspaper,
so cti. roR s mourns.
To subscribers residing In mil couktv. where
we hare na postage to pay, a discount of 25 cents
from the above terms will be made if payment Is
made la advance.
V Advertising rates furnished upon appllca
A Physician's Story.
I HAD been six years a Burgeon in the
navy, and for the last two of these
six years I had been cruising on
that dreadful Gold Coast. Perhaps I
was not the best tempered man in the
service, but I thought I was badly treat
ed. The Admlrallty and I had a Blight
disagreement, and the end was that I
threw up my commission in disgust.
My health was much broken, and while
I was recruiting my strength at a little
Devon village, I did the one thing which
I have never regretted fell in love with
a good girl and married her. I had a
certain amount of money, which I in.
vested in a country practice ; and for
some time all well with us.
But we were not to escape wihout our
share of trouble. My health which
had suffered more seriously than I im
agined during my period of service,
broke down ; my practice went to the
dogs ; we got deeply into debt, and, to
make a long story short, three years
after my marriage, one miserable Bun
day in November, found my wife and
myself with our two little children, oc
cupying a single poor room in Grenville
street off Guildford street.
We had then been in London about
Biz months, and I had been unable
chiefly on account of my precarious
health to get any thing to do. About a
month, however, before the day I speak
of, my only friend in London had held
out a hope of obtaining for me the post
of private physician to a wealthy rela
tive. But my friend had been compell
ed suddenly to go abroad, and though he
was daily expected back,yet three weeks
'had now passed, and I had gone to his
house in Kensington day after day
without getting any tidings of him.
Meanwhile our little stock of money
was quite exausted ; and on this Sunday
evening, with a month's rent due next
day, my wife and I sat before a misera
ble apology for a fire, with absolute
want staring us in the face. We had
not quite a shilling left, and when I
looked at my sleeping children' and
thought of the future, I fairly broke
down in utter despair. It was then I
found what a treasure I had in the noble
woman by my side. Affecting a cheer
fulness which she could not feel, she
Imparted to me a portion of her own
courage,and at length induced me anx
ious to please her, and glad to do any
thing rather than sit powerless to go
once more to my friend's house.
It was 10 o'clock, on a cold drizzling
night, when I set out on my walk. I
somehow felt a kind of fictitious hope
fulness and walked briskly, resolutely
shutting out the thought of failure. I
stood some time at my friend's door
before I dared to ring the bell that would
change my hopes or my fears into cer
tainty; and when at last the servant who
answered my ring told me that her
master had not yet returned, I fairly
staggered into a chair in the hall, over
come with disappointment.
The woman seeing my condition,
brought me a little brandy, which re
vived me somewhat ; but it was some
time before I felt able to move, and it
struck midnight as I left the door for
my long and cheerless walk. The rain
fell in a steady drizzle, but though I
was lightly clad I never heeded it ;
my thoughts were fixed on my poor
, wife sitting alone and watching for me,
and on the wretched news I was bring
ing her. I walked on, heedless of the
bitter cold and constant rain, feeling the
numbness of misery in my heart.
How it happened I do not know, but
somehow I lost my way, and after wan
dering aimlessly for some time, I found
that I was In a street I did not know
the Gray's Inn Road, as I afterward
learned. I could see no one to direct me,
and was walking on rather anxiously
when I stumbled over the form of a man
who was lying half in and half out of
the covered entrance of a wretched
court. For a few yards I walked, too
absorbed in my own troubles to think of
aught else; but then, thank God, I
thought of the unfortunate man lying
in the rain, and as a doctor ,felt, perhaps
more strongly than I otherwise should,
that it was my duty to go back and as
sist him if possible. There was a gas
lamp in the entrance to the court, and
by it I was enabled to see that the pros
trate figure was that of a singularly tall
and powerfully-built man; and on a
closer inspection I was surprised to find
that his dress was that of a gentleman.
At once I thought that he had been rob
bed and murdered; but, taking his
hand to feel his pulse, I saw that be
had a remarkably haudsome ring on his
finger, and the beating of his pulse,
though faint, showed me that, he was
not dead.
Then I thought, with something of
contempt, I had a case of mere drunken
ness to deal with ; but yet on careful ex
amination I could detect no fume of
spirits, and the faint action of his heart
at length convinced me that the man
was in a state of complete exhaustion,
probably from want of food.
With considerable labor, in my weak
condition, I managed half lifting, half
dragging him to convey him into the
covered passage, and determined to stay
with him until some passer-by would
assist me. I bad not waited long when
a half-tipsy woman, walking past, look
ed into the passage and came over to see
what was the matter. She looked keenly
at me and at my unconscious patient,
and I noticed her eye gleam as she
caught sight of a massive gold chain on
his vest.
I asked her to go at once and fetch
assistance, but she immediately replied
that 1 need not trouble myself any
" I know him well. He's Booney,
that owns the public-house close by. I'll
get him home all right."
At first her assurance almost imposed
upon me, but when I looked at the pale,
aristocratic face that I supported on my
knee, I felt convinced that she had in
vented the story with a view to plunder
ing the helpless man.
I told her sternly that if she did not
go for a policeman I would do so myself.
She went off hurriedly as I thought for
that purpose but came back no more ;
and now I was once more alone with
my strange patient, and as the minutes
went by I knew not what to do.
Help, however, was near. I noticed a
poor girl she did not look more than
sixteen walking slowly on the other
side of the street ; I called to her, and
after a moment's hesitation she came
over. I briefly explained to her, if she
possibly could, to get me a drop of
cordial, or the man would die.
"I have only got fourpence," she
said, in a kindly Irish voice, "and I was
going to pay for my bed with that at
the kitchen in Fulwood's Bents ; but,
sure I'll get something from the chemist
Instead, and I'll trust to God for a
night's lodging I've slept out before
And away she went surely not the
worst of Good Samaritans.
Very soon she returned with the
medicine, and I sent her again to fetch
a policeman. I forced a little between
the man's teeth, and presently he came
to and opened his eyes. I asked him
how he came there; he said: "Tired
and starving." And then I asked him
where he came from, and he suddenly
brightened up, and looking at me keenly
for a moment, said, "Edinburgh," but
from the way he said it I felt convinced
he was deceiving me, and shortly after
asked the same question again, and he,
with the same look, said, " Glasgow."
In his weak state, however, I forbore
questioning him further, and a police
man presently coming up, we got him
into a cab and took him to the hospital,
where I waited until he was put to bed.
Before I left I asked the house surgeon
to give a shilling to the poor girl Mary
Kennedy was her name. He readily
did so, and she went off to sleep in
"Old Walter's" lodging-house in Ful
wood's Rents.
Wlieu at last I got home, I found my
wife anxiously waiting for me. How
ever, when I told my Btory she forgave
the delay, and in talking over the
strange circumstances of the night we
forgot for the time our own trouble.
My wife insisted that something good
would come of the matter, and at eight
o'clock next morning she roused me
and made me set off for the hospital.
As I was on my way there, my eye was
caught by the following advertisement
on a boarding :
" One Hundked Pounds Reward.
A gentleman of unsound mind lias
escaped from the M Private Asy
lum. The above reward will be paid to
any person finding him and restoring
him to his friends."
Then followed a description which
exactly tallied with the appearance of
my patient. Everything was now clear
to me, and I fairly ran to the hospital.
Here however, my hopes were damp,
ed, for I found that Policeman Z had
gone there before me and told a story
very different from the true one . which
I have narrated, and had actually gone
the length of warning the authorities
against me. The solicitor whose address
was given in the advertisement had
been sent for, and the worthy constable
had evidently determined to brazen it
out and secure the 100. I saw the
house surgeon, and told him the whole
story. He thought for a few moments
and then Bald :
" We must get that girl at once."
I went myself immediately to the
wretched den where she had stopped,
and brought her back with me. A very
short examination before the solicitor
settled Policeman Z's case ; and an hour
afterward I was able to go back to my
wife with more money in my pocket
than I had had for many a long day.
But that was not the best of it. I
visited my patient who was no other
than the wealthy baronet, Sir Charles
Cram pton every day.
He seemed to take a strong liking for
me, and when he was well enough to be
moved his friends proposed that I should
take him under my care.
He was perfectly harmless, and after
residing abroad with us a couple years,
he so far recovered that he was enabled
to dispense with my services, and to
manage his own affairs. He showed
his gratitude, however, in most princely
fashion ; settled an annuity on poor
Mary Kennedy ( she had previously
been liberally rewarded by his friends),
and bought me the practice which I still
From that day everything has proper
ed with me, and I am now rich enough
to leave the work to my oldest son, and
amuse myself in writing some of the
incidents of my life, not the least
strange of whloh is the providential oc
currence in Gray's Inn Road.
A Strange But True Incident.
IN the year 1723, a young man, who
was serving his apprenticeship In
London to a master sailmaker, got leave
to visit his mother, to spend the Christ
mas holidays. She lived a few miles
beyond Deal, in Kent. He walked the
journey ; and on his arrival at Deal In
the evening, being much fatigued, and
alsr troubled with a bowel complaint,
he applied to the landlady of a public
house, who was acquainted with his
mother, for a night's lodging. Her
house was full, and every bed occupied ;
but she told him that if he would Bleep
with her uncle, who had lately come
ashore, and was boatswain of an India
man, he should be welcome. He was
glad to accept the offer, and after spend
ing the evening with his new comrade,
they retired to rest.
In the middle of the night he was
attacked with his complaint, and waken
ing h bedfellow, be asked him the way
to the garden. The boatswain told him
to go through the kitchen ; but as he
would find it diffioult to open the door
into the yard, the latch being out of
order, he desired him to take a knife out
of bis pocket, with which he could raise
the latch. The young man did as he
was directed, and after remaining nearly
half an hour In the yard he returned to
his bed, but was much surprised to find
bis companion had risen and gone.
Being impatient to visit his mother and
friends, be also arose before day, and
pursued his journey, and arrived at
home at noon. The landlady, who bad !
been told of his Intention to depart
early, was not surprised ; but not seeing
her uncle in the morning, she went to
call him. She was dreadfully shocked
to find the bed stained, with blood, and
every Inquiry after her uncle was in
The alarm now became general, and
on further examination, marks of blood
were traced from the bedroom Into the
street, and at intervals down to the edge
of the pier-head. Rumor was immedi
ately busy, aud suspicion fell of course
on the young man who slept with him,
that he had committed the murder and
thrown the body over the pier Into the
sea. A warrant was issued against him,
and he was taken that evening at his
mother's house. On hla being examin
ed and searched, marks of blood were
discovered on his shirt and trousers, and
in his pocket were a knife and a remark
able silver coin, both of which the land
lady Bwore positively were her uncle's
property, and that she saw them in his
possession on the evening he retired to
rest with the young man. On these
strong ciroumstances the unfortunate
youth was found guilty.
He related all the above particulars in
his defence; but as he could not account
for the marks of blood on his person,
unless that he got them when be re
turned to the bed, nor for the silver coin
being in his possession, his story was
not credited. The certainty of the boat
swain's disappearance, and the blood at
the pier, traced from bis bedroom, were
supposed to be too evident signs of his
being murdered; and even the judge
was so convinced of his guilt, that he
ordered the execution to take place in
three days. At the fatal tree, the youth
declared his innocence, and persisted in
it with such affecting asseverations, that
many pitied him, though none doubted
the justness of his sentence.
The executioners of those days were
not so expert at their trade as modern
ones, nor were drops and platforms in
vented. The young man was very tall ;
his feet sometimes touched the ground ;
and some of his friends who surrounded
the gallows contrived to give the body
some support as it was suspended.
After being cut down, those friends bore
it speedily away in the coffin, and in the
course of a few hours, animation was
restored, and the Innocent saved. When
he was able to move, his friends Insisted
on his quitting the country, and never
returning. He accordingly traveled by
night to Portsmouth, where he entered
on board a man-of-man on the point of
sailing for a distant part of the world ;
and as he changed his name, and dis
guised his person, his melancholy story
never was discovered.
After a few years of service, during
which his exemplary conduct was the
cause of his promotion through the
lower grades, he was at last made a
master's mate, and his ship being paid
off in the West Indies, he and a few
more of the crew were transferred to
another man of war, which had just
arrived short of hands from a different
station. What were his feelings of
astonishment,' and then of delight and
ecstacy, when almost the first person he
saw on board his new ship was the
identical boatswain for whose murder he
had been tried, condemned, and executed
five years before. Nor was the surprise
of the old boatswain much less when he
heard the story.
An explanation of all the mysterious
circumstances then took place. It
appeared that the boatswain had been
bled for a pain in the side by the barber,
unknown to his niece, on the day of the
young man's arrival at Deal; that when
the young man awakened him, and
retired to the yard, be found the band
age bad come off his arm during the
night, and that the blood was flowing
afresh. Being alarmed, he rose to go to
the barber, who lived across the street,
but a press-gang laid hold of him just as
he left the public house. They hurried
him to the pier, where their boat was
waiting, a few minutes brought them
on board a frigate then underway for
the East Indies; and he omitted ever
writing home to account for bis sudden
disappearance. Thus were the chief
oircu instances explained by the two
friends thus strangely met. The silver
coin being found in the possession of the
young man could only be explained by
the conjecture, that when he took the
knife out of the boatswain's pocket in
the dark, it Is probable, as the coin was
In the same pocket, it stuck between the
blades of the knife, and in this manner
became the strongest proof against him.
On their return to England, this won
derful explanation was told to the judge
andjury who tried the cause, and it Is
probable they never after convicted a
man on circumstantial evidence. It
also made a great noise in Kent at the
A Touching Ssene.
A touching scene occurred recently
in front of a ' lunch room" on Broad
street, says the Providence Journal,
which caused tears to flow from the
eyes of many of the ladies who happen
ed to be standing by. A well-dressed
genteel appearing man, and a tidy look
log girl about fifteen years, came up
Bennett street, and it was noticed that
the child was weeping while the father
was swearing at a furious rate. It seems
that the child had taken the drunken
father's pocket-book for safe-keeping,
as he was entering every drinking
saloon that he came to. He swore at
her and said : " Mamie, give me that
pocket-book." The child replied : "But
father, what will mother do for food for
breakfast '( You have taken every cent
from the house ; and, remember, Graoie
is ill ; and, mother could not send for
the doctor, as she had no money. O,
please, papa, come home with met
You promised Girty when she was
dying that you would not drink again."
At this point the father completely
broka down and wept like a child, and
kissed his little Mamie, and said: "Yes,
dear, I do remember, and I will go home
with you now." He covered his face
with his hands, and moaned, " O, Ger
tie I Gertie I Hark I Mamie, I can hear
her sweet voice saying to me, 'papa,
dear papa, you will always love Mamie,
aud stop drinking.' Yes dear, I will
go home; cornel" When the dialogue
ended, there was many a stout heart
that could not bold back the tears, but
said " amen" to that new resolve on the
part of the father, and praised the cour
age of the child.
Who Is a Gentleman.
A gentleman is a person not merely
acquainted with certain forms and eti
quette of life, easy and self-possessed in
society, able to speak, act and move In
the world without awkwardness, and
free from habits which are vulgar and
in bad taste a gentleman is something
more than this ; that which lies at the
root of every Christian virtue. It is the
thoughtful desire of doing in every in,
stance what others should do unto you.
He Is constantly thinking, not indeed
bow he may give pleasure to others for
the mere sense of pleasing, but how he
may avoid hurting their feelings. When
be is In society he scrupulously ascer
tains the position and relations of every
one with whom he comes in contact,
that he may give to each his due honor,
his proper position. He studies how he
may avoid touching in conversation on
any subject which may needlessly hurt
their feeling- how he may abstain
from allusions which may call up a dis
agreeable or offensive association. A
gentleman never alludes to, never even
appears conscious of any defect, bodily
deformity, inferiority of talent, of rank
of reputation in the person in whose
society he is placed. He never assumes
any superiority to himself never ridi
cules, never sneers, never makes a dis
play of bis own power, or rank, or ad
vantages such as is implied in habits
or tricks or inclinations which may be
He Got Even.
A man formerly of considerable note
in the journalistic and literary world,
whose renown has since been clouded by
the notoriety of a great scandal, was at
a crowded evening party in New York
some years ago, standing in an upstairs
corridor. To him a lady, in a magnifi
cent dress and sparkling jewels, came
with great eagerness. Though she was
unknown to him, he naturally suppos
ed she had recognized him by the light
of the genius, shining on his Hyperion
brow, or knew him by reputation. He
was therefore prepared to receive her
with smiles. " Are you the waiter T"
she demanded. "Not" retorted he,
with looks of thunder, " are you the
chambermaid V" and he darted down
stairs. "