Below is the OCR text representation for this newspapers page.

®k Siwcnnifli CTribintc. Published bv the Tersmsa PablishiM? 00. 1 J. H. DEVEAUX. MAXiasM > VOL. 111. / MM HOUSE GSES ME.' A JOYOUS SCENE IN COURT. Judge Macdougall Discharges the Southern Refugee. How Georgia Would Have Dropped the Case for S2OO h- Judge Macdougall’s rooms at Church and Adelaide streets were crowded to . suffocation to day to witness the final scene in the Morse extradition case, j There was the usual large attendance of the colored friends of the prisoner, of whom he has scores, and their interest in his case and their sympathy for him have i never flagged. Besides these, there were . present Senator Macdonald and several other prominent citizens ready with their moral, and, if need be, financial help to ' see the prisoner through his troitde. Rev. Messrs. Oliver and Johnson were [ there, and the little son of i J he prisoner and Mrs. Morse. The greeting of the three when Morse was brought in by the j detective was very affectionate. The prisoner himself was in hopeful mood, and there seemed to be an air of happy i anticipation about the party as if the day i of jubilee had'come at last. Mr. Badgerow is away attending a meeting ol some social organization in the South, so Mr. Carson appeared in his stead. Messrs. Walter Read and W. G. j Murdoch represented the prisoner, and , members of the bar thronged the space : about the table. “order!” cried mr. ravvvj.oß. The constable and his monition at once j ■suppressed the buzz and hum of conver- ! sation while Judge Macdougall took his i scat. “Are yon ready to go on with the Morse case V'. he asked. "Your Honor,” said Mr. Carson, “ow ing to the unfortunate illness of Mr. Weatherhorn, I am forced to ask a re > nutnd for one week. I have a telegram here from the Solicitor Genera! of Geor gia, -stying that he thinks the detective ' will come to Canada next week. He is 1 not yet able to start.” Mere Mr. Read said: “.Your Honor will recollect that last week you made 1 the enlargement peremptory. I enter a protest against further enlargement, and say it is an injustice to my client to keep him.confined any longer. Mr. Carson is : a private prosecutor and the Crown is not present. There is no affidavit, and . no authority is given for any further re mand. If all ma'ters are disclosed, your 1 Honor will see a state of facts that is not ' at all creditable to the prosecution. The attempt to get the prisoner back to 1 Georgia is an obstinate endeavor of the prosecution. We do not ask sympathy, but justice. The court must ' stand by its judgment when it was stat eel that the last remand should be per emptory? 7 •T certainly did say,” responded the judge, “that I would require strong evi dence for further remand. I ten «ur- 11 prised that there is only a telegram here, i with no affidavit. I told Mr. Badgerov, * . that I would require an affidavit.” Mr. Carson made the most of nothing and strongly urged a further remand 1 using every available argument for that ' pur[>cse. But it was left for Mr. Read to fire the last shot in this legal locker, , and it was hot shot, too, shot that com- t 7 pletely routed the prosecution, ana virtu- j ! 1 ally made morse a free man. I B GEORGIA WILL FAY S2OO. jL-.. “I am bound to say now, your Honor,” i j Kpbegan Mr. Read, “that the state of Geor , gfia eame to us as counsel for Morse, and K' offered to drop the prosecution if we would pay S2OO. But my client is a pov erty stricken man and has lost all his}, . , property. He is too poor to pay this mon- , ?, f-y and, besides this, we are anxious that the case shall be tried on its own merits , without the attachment of money consul - I - t:t»tUn Nowlecaus we won’t pay, the wants another remand. Georgia has acted unrighteously and un fairly, and 1 am satisfied that a British j court will not countenance such action. I There Is no reasonable excuse for a rt f’ maud.” - After the judge referred to W< ather-. 'corn’s bsence and his neglect to sign hi deposition,and to secure the signature' of the otter witnesses for the prosecution, a | rocedure necessary under the Extradi tipn Act, he said: "1 hive no evidence to satisfy me that the man is ill. In the fa e of Mr. Read's statement it is doubt -• ful if Mr. Wiutherhorn will turn up again. 1 announced in distinct terms that I would require a strong case, and nothing of the kind is offered.” Mr, Carson—" Mr. Badgerow never. mentioned the matter of an affidavit to me." Mr. Read—“No, he thought we would pay Georgia.” THE WORDS THAT SET HIM FREE. After this colloquy there was absolute silence in the room while Judge McDou gall took his pen and wrote out his judg ment. Indeed 'he silenoewvas intense in its significancy, for everyone knew that he was penning words that would almost break hearts or fill them with joy and gladness. Great beads of perspiration stood out upon the forehead of Moive, and that pained, agonizing look so often seen, once more rested in the face of his devoted wife. Then there was a pause in the judge’s writing, and he looked up and said: “There is no evidence before me to show that Weatherhorn’s illness prevents him from travelling. No 'Case is made out for a further remand.," Mr. Read—“l move for the discharge of the prisoner.” Mr. Carson —“He can’t be discharged to-day.” The Court—“ Why not?” Mr. Carson-—“ Because your judgment has been given that he shall be extradit ed.” The Court-“I have not signed any order for extradition, and no depositions have been signed. The law has not been com plied with. The judgment, so far as it went, was only conditional upon the fulfilment of the extradition law." Then the Judge read his decision:— “There being no evidence before me to warrant the belief' that the absence of Mr. Weatherhorn is occasioned by such illness as prevents his traveling, ami it being stated by the counsel for the prisoner that offers to drop the case were made by the prosecution it their costs were paid, I must hold that no case has been made out to. warrant a further remand. The prisoner must be dis charged.” “the day of jcbii.ee has come.” The pent-up excitement of the colored people when this announcement was made at least found scope to exercise itself, and no attempt whatever, was made by the court officers to repress it. Everybody jumped to his feet in a wild endeavor to grasp the prisoner’s hand. There were affectionate embraces, and many a voice cried out “Thank God.! ’ “Bless the Master's mime!” “Glory lie to him who set you free!’ And not only this but many a dusky cheek was stained with tears; old gray-headed men, doubtless recalling the old slavery days, bent their heads and wept; young men cL'inl.ered over the seats to reach the tree man. The British flag this day has been made dearer than ever to the colored people of Toronto, and the news will soon travel to the fa? - South, and speak in trumpet-tones of the liberty to be>en joyed in her Majesty's Dominion. The feelings of the prisoner himself cannot be described. He was so overcome that he could not speak a word. With both hands extended and eyes full of tears, but with a glad smile ligh'ing up his face, he could only look the grat itude he could not speak. In the midst of all this Rev. Mr. Oliver’stepped for ward and said to the judge: ‘ In behalf of Mr. Morse I want to thank you for what you have done. His heart is too full to speak for himself.” “I have only done my duty,*' returned the judge. The white citzens then congratulated Morse; nor were his counsel forgotten in the jollification. Many compliments were extended them for the able, persis tent and judicious manner in which the defence wag conducted. With hearty laughter and repeated ex pressions of congratulation the crowd gathered about Morse, his wife and little boy:, and in that happy circle he disap peared —a free man. Senator Macdonald has contributed *IOO for the purpose of starting Morse in btwint ss in this < ity. Other contribu tions are being made for that purpose. A jubilee meeting of the colored citi zens of Toronto will be held next Monday evening, at * o’clock, in the church at the corner of Queen and Vic toria streets. Ballroom Politeness. “Miss Kaektus,” said the young man at the Arizona ball, casually resting his hand on the butt end of his six-shooter, “I believe the next waltz is mine, isn’t it?” “I think you are mistaken, Mr. Roun lup." said another young man who was standing by, as he pointed in a care less, easy manner at Miss Ka -ktns card with a l>owie knife eighteen inches long, , “my name is down for that waltz.” “Tou are right Mr. Lariat,' re j. fined ' Mr. R undup, with his eyes on tie ght- | terii g blade.— Chicago Tribune. Customer (to burl»T>- See hero, ray , friend, you are shaving slices of my face. Barl>er—Ye», sir; but the slices are very thin. ' SAVANNAH, GA.. SATURDAY. JULY It. ISSS Memory’s Sepulchre. A mound, a stone and violets, A bird song in the air, A child that gathers flowers and lets The wind play with its hair; A field of wheat across the hedge Rippled by fairy hands, A silver stream that downward runs To cheer the lower lands. No mound, no stone, no violets— A blue sea overhead, A sobbing wind that ne’re forgets Its chanting for the dead; Beneath the stars on summer qights That deep, blue grave, how fair, The while upon the shore the waves Beat low, as if in prayer. No mound, no stone, no violets, No birds, no wave, no star, . A spit where memory forgets ‘ What spring and summer are; Deeper it lies than deep sea graves, From land and sea apart, A grave, so sad and desolate! A grave within the heart! i —[Clarence T. Unmy, in the Journalist. A NOBLE WOMAN. “I wonder if it idealizes her?’’ We stand beside the statue of the famous woman, Margaret of New Or leans, and, after the manner of strangers, conjecture oa what we for the first time I see. “Not at all,” a voice answers in the soft Southern tongue. “It looks just I like her.” “Ah, thank you. You live here?” “I was born here; this is my home.” “You were hero during the war, and yellow fever and everything?” A nod answers each one of my young I companion’s impetuous queries. ['} “How delightful!" concludes my ; I friend, but the lady shakes her head and taps her fan lightly on the girl’s soft ’ cheek, and says, musingly: “It did [ , not seem as if I would live through itj but I have, and now comes one who ' calls my trials ‘delightful.’ How cruel I” “Ah, pardon. But I was thinking of i how perfectly lovely it mfist be to live in a city that has had such a history—it is 'so romantic. And can you tell us any | thing about Margaret?” “This little space—‘Margaret place,’ it is called—is a pleasant spot to rest in.” With this invitation, given more in | looks than in words, we seated our selves near our new acquaintance on the settees ia tho little park. The perfume of roses overhangs the city; wo forget in its deliciousness the signs of decay that in portions of that quaint old town j impart a pensive melancholy to its beauty. “She was a working woman—a ser- I vant here. When I first remember her I was living near here, and she was tak ing care of the cows in a stable that stood almost oa the very spot where her statu I stands now. Silo was working then for the sisters of the asylum. She • fed and milked their cows, and sold j milk in a cart about the city. She was a strange-looking person—remarkable in I her appearance. 1 think now as I recill i her she had a broad forehead, serious eyes, a pleasant, broad smile, a rather I short, stout figure. I do not suppose she ever in her life wore any dress bet ter than a Guinea blue calico; she always wore heavy shoes and a black straw bonnet trimmed with a neat band of black over the top. From my residence I could see her many times a day while she was at her stable work or coming tack and forth with her milk cans. “What was her name? Her name was Margaret Hauggery; she hud been mar ried, an I at that time was a widow. Her husband and little child died just after she came to New Orleans; so we learned after she became famous. She was alone and poor in a strange country, and went to work in the stables for a living. Somehow, everybody liked Margaret; her smile was sweet and her words } shrewd. The children called her Mar- I garet, and she knew their namemid an swered their salutations along the street as she drove by in the milk cart. “After some years Margaret had , raved enough to Luy a bit of ground that had on it a small bakery. The 1 place was sold for a trifle, but now Margaret was in royal trim; a land , owner and a manufacturer; for she opened the shop and began I read nnd pie making for the neighbors. Presently there was a large bakery built; soon bread carts were running over the city bearing the words, ‘Margaret’s Bakery.’ It became the fashion to buy at Mar garet’s place. During war, pestilence and disaster Mirgaret's fires were never out, and the delicious rolls kept up their weight and quality, no matter what else in life failed. Then she be gan running her free bread carts during the fever panic. No one wont hungry who was withii sound of her cart wheels. From that time on no one need go hungry ia New Orleans—those too poor to buy were given a loaf fresh and white as the best, and it was given heartily, with a ‘God bring thee better times.’ There was no di Unction in Margaret’s favors. She gave to white and Hack of nny church, or none. ‘Are you hungry?’ that is nil that was nec essary. 'Here is bread, take it with God’s blessing! There have been in this city dread days, which seemed as if God and everybody had failed us but Margaret; days when she almost literally fed the city. During the yellow fever panic Margaret began her noble work of tak ing the children ftom the homes of death and putting them into a house under good care, supporting them her self in every particular. Soon the one asylum grew into many; the dozens of her little charges wore numbered by hundreds—an I at ths time of her death, thousands. At the gate of every orphan asylum in the city Margaret’s bread cart, with its smoking rolls was seen daily; at every charitable institution whatsoever she took tho privilege of giving her bread freely, and Margaret’s name headed the list for every charity. Our grand Charity Hospital, one of the most famous in the world, was largely the gift of Margaret. You must visit that hospital. It will make you better all your life for having seen it. Right through the trees there, at the right, do you see that magnificent building with its four galleries run ning around the first four stories of the house? Its gate tells in golden letters that this is a children’s home, given by Margaret, where to the end of time orphans will be cared for and educated by her bequests. Many of our cemeteries contain in form of hand some tombs Margaret’s simple yet mu nificent thoughtfulness, line you know, all are burie' 1 above ground in crypts or ovens of masonry, and when you visit our cemeteries —as strangers always do, for there are no burial places like those in America—you will «eo some tombs, (containing one, two or four dozen bodies maybe) inscribed: ‘Given to the Little Sisters of the Poor by Margaret.’ ‘The Strangers’ Tomb, given by Margaret. I suppo e Margaret spent more money for the city than the richest man in the history of the State; and of the sympathy and discernment of tho needs of thepior the half could never be told. She spent nothing on herself. A clean, blue calico, stout shoes, a black straw bonnet, knitted jacket or shoulder shawl, an iron bed- stead in a room without even a rocking chair and overlooking the bakeshop. She had no time to enjoy luxuries, even had she possessed them. As long as there was a weeping child or a friend less woman in the city what time had she to fold her arms in a rocking chair? While there w re unburied, ccffinless forms, could she adorn her home of the livi g? Also it happened that to the end of life Margaret spent neither time; c.re nor money on herself. She forgot there was such a mortal as Margaret. “And, when, one day, the news went around that Margaret was dead, the great city arose and put on mmrning; the business houses were closed; all the employments of the »city stood still. The day of the burid thousands of her little orphans followed her bier, as mourners .every church sent delegations of honor bearers; tho public school children joined in the throng; the hqßiscs were draped along the line of inarch; al! the bells ir. th) city tolled; civic and military joined hr tho proces- (f 1.25 P'r Annnm; 715 ents for Bix Months; J 60 cents Tl.rre Months; Single Copies ( 6 dents--In Advance. sion with ecclesiastics; there never was hero n funeral like Margaret’s. “Afterward it was found that her pos sessions had been so disposed that had death come at any moment tho affairs Os this life were well and intelligently wound up. There were no personal effects of value, but even her few gar ments she lolt to tho poor, and with tho proceeds of her wise investments her charities nro royally endowed. “This statue is the gift of the jity, to show in this public way tho esteem in which she is held. It is very like Mar garet. The motherly figure, seated with one arm encircling a standing child at her side; the untrimmol dress, coarse shoes, the little crochcttel shawl about her shoulders are homely, but who would change them for finer clothing? Tho smooth hair, with its old-fashioned French parting; the strong chin, tho pleasant mouth, tho serious eyes—is there not something fascinating in tho contradictions of the face? “Did you ever see such a head on a woman’s shoulders? Massive, wonder ful. That is tho bend of n statesman and financier, while its mouth, with its pleasant smile, telling of tho tact and natural suavity of Mirgaret’s character, proclaim tho elements of a born diplo mat. Yet, look again at tho broad, massive brow, and sco tho earnest, lov ing eye that speaks of a true woman hood; look once more at tho coarse gar ments and you will see that poverty added her load to the ordinary burden of womanlioo I. while ignorance, be reavement, affliction, loneliness join hands with poverty against this soul. But the massive brow conquered; the untaught brain triumphed, and under the leadership of tho sad, gentle eyes 1 gave to the suff ring what might, had she been a mtn, born .in other circum- 1 stances, have been th : gain of nations and tho glitter of the trappings of a di pic mat. “When I consider what Margaret did for one city under meh desperate disad vantages 1 wonder what rhe could have done for the worl 1 if all the environments had been right. I was thinking of that as I looked, in passing for the hundredth time, nt the strong, fascinating face this morning, when ymr quoition met my ear. “Yts, it looks like her, ami there will never bo another ;n mnrblo like it to tho end of time. She wn< a grand charac ter —tender, strong, oii.inul, pitiful, helpful, wise.” “Lo, the Poor Indian.” Colonel Dodge, the most reliable au thority on tho wild Indians, in com menting on their variotii dispositions, makes use of thii most truthful descrip tion: “Within the limits of the United States tho Indian tri:c, though pre senting a general similarity of character vary in habit', manners, customs and beliefs in so remarkable a degree that no general description is applicable to all, except that all are savage, all are ssvindled, starved and imposed upon.” —[Detroit Free Press. When the Moon Is Getting Full. A novel theory is gravely advanced and earnestly insisted upon in police circles. It is that tho moon influences drunkenness as it docs the tides. They say it has been remark-d for years that J dru ikennens pr. vails to a greater extcnuß from the first quarter to the full of tbJH moon than at other times. In othW word-, while the moon is getting jMr the tipplers imitate its example.—fjjißtr ford Times. .F* He Was Fond of Huntiu?> Sportsman: Are you fond stranger? “Yes, I am. Been hunts-g two months.” “What kind of gam''? “Debtors. I have a against you here that must be at once, or—” The bill wasn’t collected. — [Lincoln Journal. —— ' Y u see the tumble * w.th “j>ucccss’ that is too d < ’* rl y bought is that yen i have t& go M wili> J our ' soil biter you - I **'’® attained it. NO. 39.