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About Weekly constitutionalist. (Augusta, Ga.) 185?-1877 | View Entire Issue (Feb. 27, 1867)
&I)C iUcchln (Constitutionalist BY STOCKTON & CO. OUR TERMS. The following are the rates of Subscription: Daily, one year $lO 00 Wbekly, one year $3 00 [From Frazier’s Magazine Far Away. The land that is very far off.—lsa xxxiii: 17.* Upon the shore Os Evermore We sport like children at their play; And gather shells Where sinks and swells The mighty sea from far away. Upon that beach, Nor voice nor speech Doth things intelligible say ; But through our souls A whisper rolls That comes to ug from far away. Into our ears The voice of years Comes deeper, deeper, day by day ; . We stop to hear As it draws near, Its awfulness from far away. ~ At what it tells We d'op the shells, W T e were so fail of yesterday; And pick no more Upon that shore, But dream of brighter far away. And o’er that tide, Far out and wide, The yearnings of our souls do stray; We long to go, We do not know Where* it may be, but far away. The mighty deep Doth slowly creep Upon the shore where we did play; , The very sand Where we did stand . A momenl since, swept far away. . ' Our playmates all, Beyond our call, Are passing lienee as we, too, may; Unto that shore t Os Evermore, Beyond the boundless far away. We’ll trust the wave, And him to save, Beneath whose feet as marble lay. The rolling deep, For He can keep Our souls in that dim far away. Come Home. Come home, come to the land you lov’d And fought so bravely for, Her arms are open, to enfo'd, Her glorious sons of war. She needs you now no less than when Her banner was unfurl’d, And you look’d proudly on it as An ensign of the world. What if it now no longer waves ? The hills and valleys where Your noble daring carried it, Are pleading for your care. Her council chambers needs your minds— Her marts of trade your will, While learning, art and science—all Demand your practis’d skill. Ami hearts and homes that long have been Unue’d to sounds of glee, Ask lovingly for your return, From o’er the distant sea. We miss you, brothers, when we meet Around the social hearth, And half our joy is lo t while you Are waml’rers on the earth. Then homeward turn your weary feet, Step on her soil once more, — Step proudly, none have better right, On her historic shore. The Contrast. GKNTLBMiN BEFORE MARRIAGE. My dearest duck, my sweetest girl, I love you most sincerely; I’d rather own this sunny curl Than win a fortune yearly; This little hand, so soft and white, Was only made for kisses; This little form so frail and light, Was made for gauzy dresses! I’ll keep my Kate a span of grays, A carriage and a pony; I’ll go with her to balls and plays, And never speak of money ; For her I’ll buy romances new— Attending to her pleasure— And poems bound in go and and blue, I’ll order for my treasure. Our lives shall be'but one sweet dream Os love and sunny weather, No adverse wave shall cro-s the stream Os wedded biiss forever. AFTER MARRIAGE. You always talk of p’ays and balls; You are forever flirting; And scribbling rhymes, a id making calls, And never make shirting; You smile In every whiskered face, You chase all silly fashion*; You load with jewels, flaunt in lace, And show your angry passions. The baby’s left to cry and moan, I’ve ne’er a decent dinner; You drag me ou\ you call me down— I am a hen-pecked sinner, An abject Slav e—l tell you so I Madam, your folly’s ended; You shall not flirt—and go and go—. I’m weary and offended. I’m going to a reading room— I’ll join a club thereafter— So mend your manners, home, And dry your eyes with laughter 1 [From the Metropolitan Record. Spring is Coming. . BT A. 1. RKQCIER. I know by it the hyacinths Which now begin to blow, And flitting voices strangely sweet Aud tremulously low. By something punei in the sun, And softer in the air. And holier in the twilight stars, That Spring will soon be here. The Almanacs are well enough For gardners and for cooks— I seek the seasons in the sky, And find them by the brooks; - I hear them on the breezy hills, And. in the hollows, see The token-flowers and signs that 6peak Their messages to me.' And thus I gleam from gleaming isles Os sunset m the We9t; From wavmgs of untiring wings That will not go to rest; From spells of tragrance spiced afar, Aud peeping spears of green, And silver bugles in the wind, The advent of a Queen! I know it by the hyacinth Which now be.ins to blow, That Winter, on his icy bed, Is dead, or nearly so. And soon will come, with flaxen curls, Led by the laughing hours, The blue-eyed daughter of the Sun, In glorifying showers! The Albany correspondent of the N. T. Com mercial Advertiser gives the following figures concerning thepresent condition of the Fenian organization : There are now in New Fork un der control of the Fenian leaders, 36,000 Snyder breech-loading rifles; 100,000 equipments there for ; 10,000,000 rounds of ammunition, and 59,- 000 complete suits ol uniform. THE ENGrINEEB’S STOBY. • lam an engineer. For since road was laid I’ve traveled over it every day, or nearly every day, of my life. For a good while I’ve had the same engine in charge—the San Francisco—the prettiest engine on the road, and as well managed, if I say it, as the best. It was a southwestern road, running, so we will say, from A to Z. At A my good old mother lived ; at Z I had the’sweetest little wife under the sun, and baby; and I always had a dollar or two put by for a rainy clay. -I was an odd kind of a man. Being shut up with the engine, watching with all your eyes and heart and soul, inside and out, don’t make a man talkati e. My wife’s name was Josephine, and I called her Jo. Some people called me unsociable and couldn’t understand how a man could feel friendly without saying ten words an hour. So, though I had a few friends —dear ones, too—l did not have so many aeq mintances as most peo ple, and did not care to have. The house which held my wife and baby was the dearest spot on earth to me, except the old house that held my mother, up at A. I never belonged to a club, or mixed myself up with strangers in any such way, and never should if it hadn’t been for Granby. You see Granby was one of the shareholders, a hand some, showy fellow. I liked to talk with him, and we were friends. He often rode from Zto A, and back again, with me, and once he said You ought to belong to the Scientific Club, Guelden.” • “ I never heard of it,” said 1. “ I am a member,” said he. “We meet once a fortnight, and have a jolly good time. We want thinking men like you. We have some among us now. I’ll propose you if you like.” I was fond of such things, and I had ideas that I fancied might be \v*orth something. But then an engineer don’t have nights or days to himself, and the club would have one evening a fortnight from Jo. I said : “ I’ll ask her. If she likes it, yes.” “ A«k whom?” said he. “ Jo,” said I. “If every man had asked his wile, every man’s wife would have said, 1 Can’t spare you my dear,’and we should have no club at all,” said Grauby. ♦ But I made no answer. At home I told Jo. She said,: “ I shall miss you, Ned; but you do love such things and then it Granby belongs they must be superior men.” “ No doubt,” said I. “It isn’t every body who could be made a member,” said jo. “ Why, of course, you must say yes.” So I said yes, and Granby, proposed me. Thursday* fortnight I weut with him to the rooms. The real business of the evening was the supper, and so it was every evening. I’d always been a temperate man, I actually did not know what effect wine would have on me; but coming to drink more of it than I ever had before at the club table, I found it but steam on. After so many glasses I wanted to talk ; after so many more I did. I seemed like somebody else, the words were so ready. My little ideas came out, and were listened to. I made sharp hits ; I indulged in repartee ; I told stories ; I even came to puns. I heard somebody say to Granby: “By George, that’s a man worth’knowing. I thought him dull at first.” Yet I knew it was better to be quiet Ned Guelden, with his ten words an hour, than the wine-made wit I was. I was sure of it when, three months after, I stumbled up stairs to find Jo waiting for me with her baby on her breast. “You’ve been deceiving me,” said Jo. “ I sus pected it, but I wasn’t sure. A scientific club couldn’t smell like a bar-room. “ Which means I do,” said I wavering in the middle ol the room like a signal flag at a station and seeing two Joes. “And look like one,” said Jo ; and went and locked herself and baby in the spare bed-room. One club night, as I was dressed to go, Jo stood belore. “Ned,” said she, “ I never had a fault to find with you before. You’ve been kind, and good, and loving always ; but I should be sorry we ever met if you go on in this way. Don’t ask me what I mean. You know.” “Jo,” said I, “ it’s only on club night.” “ It will grow,” said she. Then she put her arms around my neck. “Ned,” said she, “do you think a thing so much like a bottled up and strapped down de mon as steam is, is fit to put into the hands of a drunken man ? And some day, mark my words, the time will come when not only Thurs day night but all the days of the week will be the same. I’ve often heard you wonder what the feelings of an engineer who has about the same as murdered a train full of people, must be, apd you’ll know if you don’t stop where you are. A steady hand and a clear head have been your blessings all these years. Don’t throw them away. Ned, i*' you don’t care for my love, don’t ruin yourself.” My little Jo. She spoke from her heart, and I bent over and kissed her. “ Don’t be afraid, child. I’ll never pain you again.” "And I meant it; but at twelve o’clock that night I felt that I had forgotten my promise and my resolution. I couldn’t get home to Jo. I made up my mind to sleep on the club sofa and leave the place for good the next day. Already I felt my brain reel as it had never before. In an hour I was in a kind of stupor. It was nibrning. A waiter stood ready to brush my coat. I saw a grin on his face, "My heart seemed ready to burst; my hand trem bled ; 1 looked at my watch; I had only just five minutes to reach the depot! Jo’s words came to my mind. Was—l fit to take charge of an engine ? I was not fit to an swer. I ought to have asked some sober man. As it was, I only caught ray hat and rushed away. I was just iu time. The San Francisco glittered in the morning sun. The ears were filling rapidly. From my post I could hear the people talking—bidding each other good-by, promising to write and come again. Amongst them was an old gentle man I knew by sight—one of the shareholders ; ■ he was bidding two timid girls adieu. “ Good-bye, Kitty—good-bye Lue,” I heard him say; “ don’t be nervous. The San Francis co is the safest engine on the line, and Guelden the most careful engineer. 1 wouldn’t be afraid to trustee very mortal I love to their keeping. Nothing could happen wrong with the two to gether.” I said I’ll get through it somehow, and Jo shall never talk to me again. After all, it was easy enough. I reeled as I spoke. I heard the signal. We were off. Five hours from L. to D.; five hours back. On the last I should be myself again. I knew now. I saw a red flutter, and never guessed what it was until we were past the down train at the wrong place. Two minutes more and we should have had a collision. Somebody told me. I laughed. I heard him say respect fully : “Os course, Mr. Guelden, you know what you are about ?” Then"! was alone and wondering whether I should go faster or slower. I did something and the cars rushed on at a fearful rate. The same man who had spoken to me before was standing near me. I heard some question. How many miles an hour were we making? I didn’t know. Rattle, rattle, vattle! I was trying now to slacken the speed of the San Francisco. I could not remember what I should do—was it this or that ? Faster or slower ? I was playing with the engine like a child. Bnddenly there was a horrible roar— a crash ! I was flung somewhere. I was in the water. By a miracle I was sobered, not hurt. I gained AUGUoTA, GA., W dDNI SDAY MORNING, FEBRUABY 27, 1867. j the shore. 1 stood upon the ground between j the track and the river’s edge and there gazed at my work. • The engine was in fragments, and the cars in splinters ; dead, and dying, and wounded were strewn around —and men, women and children —old age and tender youth. There were groans and shrieks of despair. The maimed cried out in pain ; the uninjured bewailed their dead ; and a voice unheard by any other, was in my ear, whispering, “ Murder!” The news had gone to A., and people came thronging down to find their friends. The dead were stretched on the grass. I went with some of the distracted to find their lost ones. Searching for an old man’s daughter, I came to a place under the trees, and found five bodies lying there all in their rigid horror —an old woman, a young one, a baby and two tiny chil dren, Is it fancy—was it pure fancy, born of my anguish—rtiey looked like —oh ! Heaven ! they were my old mother, my wife, my chil dren ; all cold and dead. How did they come on that train ?—what chance has brought this about? No one could answer. I groaned, I screamed, 1 clasped nay hands, I tore my hair. I in the good old face of her who gave me birth, bn the lovely features of my wife, on my innocent children. I called them by name; there was no answer. There never could—never would be. And as I comprehended this, onward up the track thun dered another train. Its red eye glared on me; I flung myself before it; I felt it crush me to atoms! “ His head is extremely hot,” said-somebody. I opened my eyes and saw my wife. “ How 'do you feel ?” said she; “ a little bet ter ?” I was so rejoiced and so astonished by the sight of her that I could not speak at first. She repeated the question. “I must be crushed to pieces,” said I, “ for the train went over me ; but I feel no pain.” “ There he goes about that train again,” said my wife. “ Why, Ned !” 1 tried to move—there was nothing the mat ter with me ; I was in my own room, opposite, me a crib in which my two children were asleep, besi'de me a tiny, bald head. My wife and chil dren were safe! Was I delirious, or what could it be ? “ Jo,” cried I, “ tell me what has happened!” “It’s nine o’clock,” said Jo. “You came home in such a dreadful state from the club that I couldn’t wake you. You weren’t fit to manage steam and risk people’s lives. The San Francisco is half way to A, I suppose, aud you have been frightening me to death with a dread ful talk.” And Jo began to cry. It was a dream ; only an awful dream. But I had lived through itas-though it were a real ity. “ Is there a Bible in the house, Jo ?” said I. “Are we heathens?” asked Jo. “ Give it to me this moment, Jo.” She Jprought it, and I put my hand on it and took the oath (too solemn to be repeated here) that what had happened never should occur again. It never has. And if the San Francis co ever comes to grief, the verdict will not be, as it has so often been— “ The engineer was drunk /” • • * One Way to Do It.—We notice in the Turf j Field and Farm , an advertisement by an Ala bama gentleman, in which he offters, fbr the sum of ten thousand dollars, to impart to any man a secret, “ the knowledge of which will give the owner of a horse such an advantage that, all other things being equal, will enable him to win every race in which his horse may start.” This sounds very much like a Yankee gull-trap advertisement; but we venture the assertion that, coming as it does from an Ala bamian, his secret will do what he promises, and do it fairly. The notice, however, recalls to our mind an anecdote of Gen. W , an old friend of ours, now deceased, which he used to tell, as he did all his entertaining stories, with a zest that made him one of the most interesting and agreeable men of his day. He had a fast horse, named Rawdon, we believe, and was not a man to be backed out when any <fne else thought he could beat him in a race, or any other way. A party of Tennesseeans brought a race horse to his neighborhood, and a match was soon made up between their nag and Rawdon. The Ten nesseeans, however, wanted to Ynake a “ dead thing ” of it; so they concocted a plot to steal Rawdon from his stable at night and run him secretly against their horse—if the latter won, all right; and if he lost, they could pay forfeit and back out. The General, by some means, sot knowledge of what they intended, and took measures to facilitate the carrying out of their plot. He went to his stable early in the night and securely fastened upon each of Rawdon’s fetlocks a bar of lead bent to make a snug fit. Then, leaving the stable door unlocked, and giving the propet instructions to the groom, he awaited the result. The Tennessee horse, of course, beat Rawdon that night easily ; and the General was not surprised, the following day, to receive from his backers a proposition to “ double the bet.” To this he readily as sented, and in the real race, when Rawdon had free nse of his heels, the General won all the money the Tennesseeans could stake. [Cilumbus Enquirer. The Manufacture of Money.—ln one thing, at least, the Americans have outstripped the rest of the world, aud that is in the manu facture of paper money. The artistic and mechanical skill which is lavished upon our bank notes exceed that of any other country on the face of the globe—the bank notes of England are rude in comparison. Strange as it may seem, the finest and best steel engraving is done in the citv of New York, and for speci mens exhibited the American Bank Note com pany took the first premiumjatfthe World’s Fair, held in London. Asa reward for their triumph of skill and art, it may almost be said with truth that the city of New York, through this one es tablishment, furnishes the whole world with her bank notes. Greece, Italy, Russia, and the British Provinces, Brazil, Nicaragua, and the South American republics, too numerous to mention, with Mexico and the United States send their orders to this establishment, receiv ing in return money which commends itself for its exceeding beauty. The Italian order for money, next to that ofthe United States, is the largest one ever executed. Some idea of its size •nay be formed when it is stated that one hun dred and twenty thousaud sheets, containing twenty-five notes each, are seut off each week. Death of Brandt’s Last Daughter.—A somewhat remarkable Indian lady died tbe other day at a place along the lake shore called W ellingtonsquare, a few miles from Hamilton. This personage was Mrs. Catharine John, the last surviving daughter of Joseph Brandt, the Indian chief who fought so bravely at the time of the American Revolution, and continued faithful to the British Crown, refused to take part with the revolutionists, and finally settled in the \ alley of the Mohawk, near Brantford. Mrs. John was a truly estimable woman, and had won the esteem of all who knew her. She comd tell many remarkable stories of the early settlement of the country, and was very gener ally known throughout the section of country m which she Hved. Her remains were con veyed to Mohawk, and interred with mnch ceremony alongside the grave of her father, in Upjfer^anada*^ 1 * ever was inclosed in Astounding —The Buffido Commercial Ad vertiser states that the Etrst National Bank of that city has, in a period of four years, accumu lated a surplus greater than its original capital, and, without impairing this surplus, it paid its proprietors a dividend for the past year of fifty per cent. ! A.-Double Attempt at Murder.—'The most i deliberate and unmanly attempt to commit murder, that it has ever fallen to bur lot to re cord, occurred last Sunday morning at the house of Mr. Thornly, of Morgan county.— The family, consisting of the father and two sons, one of whom has a wife and chil_ren, the other a single man, were in the house,apparent ly quiet, the elder son sitting at the window readiug, when the old man arose from his seat, deliberately drew a revolver and shot him through the back part of the head. Supposing he had killed him—as he afterwards expressed himself—he went out into the back yard and aimed to shoot himself iu the mouth, but fail ing in his aim the ball entered the lower part of bis jaw without proving fatal. The ball has been extracted from the head of the son, and at last accounts both were doing as well as could be expected under the circumstances, with a probability of recovery. The suffering of both are reported as being "intense, yet they are conscious. The cause or the attempted murder is supposed to be an old feud, ol which w*e have no knowledge of facts. [ Central Illinoisan, Feb. 7. The Opening op the Coosa River.—ln view of the speedy completion of the Will’s \ alley Railroad to Gadsden, where it crosses the Coosa river, the improvement of navigation «pon that river so as to render the course of trade by-Water unimpeded from that point to the Gulf of Mexico, becomes of great import ance to the future welfare of Chattanooga, in common with all East Tennessee and Northern Alabama and Georgia. Navigation would thus also be rendered practicable from Rome, Ga., at the head of the Coosa river, with which £lace we are already in railroad communica tion ; and the same benefits would be coqferred upon us, by placing us in easy communication with the cities of the Gulf, and enabling us to obtain all the products of the tropical regions in great abundance, and at a much less price than now, while we would be enabled to pro fitably exchange eur corn, wheat, bacon and manufactures for these products Without losing as now all profits by the great cost 6? railroad transportation. Through the kindness of a gentleman of this city we have been furnished with a copv of a survey made in 1858, of the Coosa river, from Rome, Ga., to Wetumpka, the present head of navigation, by C. M. Pennington, civil engi neer. The report mentions every obstruction to navigation, and makes an estimate of the cost overcoming them, both by stone' and wooden locks. It gives the length of all the shoals and falls, as also the comparative levels of the cities or villages along the course of the river. His estimate of the cost of improving the river, for stone ldPks is $971,000 ; for wood en locks, $416,000. — Chattanooga Union. A Good Thing.—A jokist, of Somerset, Ky., tells the Cincinnati Commercial that the follow ing took place in the Kentucky Legislature a few days ago : “ A member from one of our mountain coun ties, full of conservatism, and a strong advocate of the Louisville Journal, each morning as he would take his seat in the House, as business opened, would commence reading his favorite paper, and about the same moment some mem ber would move to dispense with the reading of the journal, and our mountain member would lay down his paper. He stood this for some time, when, rising from his seat one morning, after the usual motion, he exclaimed at the top of his voice : “ Mr. Speaker, I’ve sot here in my seat fur mor’n a week, and submitted to the tyranny of this House. Somebody, every morning, moves to dispense with the reading of Journal, send I’ve lost every paper I’ve bought fbr a week by it, and no man lias ever moved to dispense with the Democrat or Commercial, and, Mr. Speaker, I won’t stand it any longer. Mr. Speaker , “ Here the balance was lost in the general laughter.” Suicide of a Prominent Citizen of Hart ford. — Hartford, Conn., February 15. —Shortly after one o’clock this morning, Major H. C. Ransom, while laboring under a temporary fit of insanity, threw himself from a window of his residence, falling a distance of 15 or 20 feet, crushing his skull and causing instant death. The circumstances of the tragedy were as fol lows : For several days Mr. Ransom had been in great trouble and perplexity in consequence of some disarrangement in his business- affairs, and it was observed that his mind was affected. Just before bis suicide he was lying down in his room, and his wife had been bathing his head. He made some excuse for sending her out of the room for a moment, and when she returned he was missing. The open window revealed the terrible occurrence. Major Ran som was well known all ovfcr the country, and especially in Hartford and New York. He has lor many years been the leading merchant of the city, and major commanding the Governor’s foot guards. The deceased leaves a wife and three children. Subsequent information confirms the belief that Major H. C. Ransom did not commit sui cide, as was at first reported, but fell out of the window in a fainting fit while his wife was ab sent from the room. Major Ransom’s life was insured for $13,000. A Remarkable Goose.—There is a wild goose living on the plantation of a widow lady, several miles west Os Columbus, that has been part and parcel of said domain over twenty years ! She bears her age wonderfully well— has never had occasion to use paint, cotton or false teeth, and is, in every respect, a remarkable goose. She is a great favorite with the other geese, and although never permitting too much familiarity <sn their part, treats them with un varying kindness. Conscious that she is of no “common stock,” and that the F. F. V. blood flows freely in her veins, she generally takes her meals in solitary state, granting the other geese the privilege of eating what she leaves over. The ganders seem to be satisfied of her lineage, and treat her with marked and deferen tial courtesy. The neighbors claim that she is a hundred years old, but Josephus not men tioning it in his Antiquity of the Jews, we are disposed to doubt this part ofthe story. [Mississippi Index. Inauguration of a Bust of Lincoln. — Louisville, Feb. 12.—C01. A. P. Henrie’s marble bust of President Lincoln was inaugurated at the Academy of Music. The hall was densely crowded with a very select audience, a large proportion being ladies. Gov. Bramlette pre sided, and gave an account of the life of the artist, who is a native of Kentucky. Ex-Attorney General Speed made one of his happiest efforts iu pronouncing the eulogy on Mr. Lincoln’s life. His remarks were appro priate, impressive, and at times sublime, and were received unbounded admiration. Generals Thomas and Davis followed in a few appropri ate remarks. Subsequently the bust was re moved to the custom-house building, and placed permanently on a pedestal in the wester* ly end of the law library. Masonic Reception.—Some of the Masonic Fraternity of Charleston have arranged fora reception of the Delegates from the North, who are now in the State, bringing contributions, jewels, &c., for tbe benefit of certain of oar suf fering Lodges. A Banquet will be given at the Mills House this evening, at six o’clock. [Courier, yesterday. Charley Flood, the well known editor, was selected to speak to the toast “ Woman,” at the Franklin Festival in Columbus, but he refused. He says woman iB able to speak for herself, and any man who undertakes to do it for her will get into trouble. The Auburn Horror. Fiendish Outrage Upon Two Aged Females — They are Outraged and Afterwards Brutally Murdered—The Lifeless Bodies Remain for ! Three Days Undiscovered. Since the publication in the Stm of Tuesday | last, of a brief telegram announcing the butch- J ery in West Auburn, Maine, of the two aged | females, Mrs. Susannah Kinsley and Miss Polly Caswell, full details of the shocking affair have reached the office, which stamp this double outrage as one of the most fiendish and inhu man recorded in the history of crime. From the accounts, it'appears that the first informa tion concerning the deed was elicited on the evening of Saturday last, when a neighbor, upon visiting the residence of the females, dis covered the frozen bodies of the victims. The condition of the bodies at once showed that a most shocking murder had been committed, all the circumstances of which known at the present writing are as follows : Saturday night, about midnight, Mr. Isaac Libby, a shoemaker, living the third house this side of widow Kinsley’s, (perhaps the distance of a quarter of a mile) went to her house for the purpose of obtaining some shoes which she and Miss Caswell had been binding or stitch ing. He noticed thut no track had been made to the door since the storm of Thursday,'but thought nothing of this nor of thef ict that the two doors on the front siejp ol the house were fastened, as the inmates were advanced in years and lived alone. He went to the shed door and found that unhasped but fastened by a prop leaning against it from the inside. This led him to notice that there was no smoke issuing from the chimney, and being somewhat startled, he proceeded to the nearest neighbor’s, Mr. Otis Keith, about sixty or one hundred rods distant, and requested him to go with him to tiro widow Kinsley’s. Mr. Libbey aud Mr. Keith went back to the house of widow Kins ley, and passed around the building to the rear where they lound the back door open, and snow blowed in the small entry. The door leading directly from the entry into a small cook-room, 8 feet square, as well as another leading from the cook-room into the sitting room were shut, not fastened. Opening both doors and looking around by the dim light of the moon, they discovered a white object on the floor—so suggestive of some horrible tragedy that both gentlemen at once beat a hasty re treat and proceeded to a neighbor’s to obtain a lantern and assistance. Having procured both, they returned to the house and there discover ed a scene which made the blood almost freeze in their veins. On the floor, lying across the door-stool ot an open door leading into a small entry separating the sitting-room from a sleep ing apartment, was stretched the lifeless body of Polly Caswell—her head and shoulders iu the entry and her body and lower limbs in the fitting-room. The bodv was partially covered with a night-dress, and on proceeding to take hold of it, it was found frozen stiffly, and giv ing evidence of having been in that condition for several days. A broken chair, covered with blood, lay near, affording evidence in itself tliat it had been used in aiding in the murder of Miss C. Hardly had this terrible scene been realized, before another more terrible met their gaze. In the bed in a small bedroom, about ten fleet square, adjoining the sitting-room, and con nected with it by a door—which was open—was the lifeless and ghastly bod}’ of the widow Kinsley, also frozen stiff, and lying with her night clothes in a pool of congealed blood. The bed clothes were matted with blood, the quilt and feather tick torn, and feathers were scatter ed about, and everything indicated that a terri ble struggle for life had there taken place, Mrs. Kinsley being a large and powerful woman. The body of Mrs. Kinsley was horribly cut and mangled. The jugular vein was severed by a deep gash on the side of the throat. There were also cuts on the left jaw bone and on the left forehead, a gash nearly six inches in length on the left leg, and severe bruises on the left shoulder, not to mention many minor cuts and bruises. The evidence was conclusive that a rape had been committed or attempted. The immediate cause of her death was the severing of the jugular vein. Appearances indicate thqt the murderer or murderers had attacked widow K. in her- bed, from which she had not arisen. Miss Caswell had received severe blows on her head and face, (probably by the chair,) her skull was fractured, her left wrist broken, her wrist and left shoulder bruised. There was also a bruise over her right eye, a cut on her arm above the elbow, and a cut on the left knuckles. The immediate cause of her death was probably the fracture on her skull, although ■it is possible .that this might only have pro duced insensibility and that freezing did the rest. Blood was found by the side of the stove in the sitting-room near the mantel-piece, in dicating that Miss C. had been attacked there first, and pursued toward the door to the entry opening into the room, where she was stricken down. The supposition is that Miss C., who 6lept in a room in another part of the house, was awakened by the noise in the struggle in Widow Kinsley’s room, and arose and came out into the sitting-room, and was reaching to the mantel-piece for a lamp and a match to light it, when she was struck by the villain (who prob ably had completed his work with Mrs. K.) with a chair. Miss C. not being rendered sense less by the blow, probably attempted to flee to her room, the villain following, and beating and cutting her until she fell in the doorway. Her wrist was undoubtedly broker! in attempting to ward off the blowo of the chair. There were no indications that the house or any of the bu reau , drawers, or trunks had been examined, or that anything had been removed. The mur derer had left nothing behind which had been used by him in the commission of the crime except the broken chair. Although his clothes must have been more or less covered with blood from the struggle with Mrs. Kinsley, yet no indications of anything removed or left be hind could be discovered. Neither was there the least indication that plunder was the object of the villain. A coroner’s jury, which was sum moned on Saturday night examined the bodies and wounds, arriving at the conclusion that a rape had been committed on the body of Mrs. Kinsley. All the facts which we have narrated, and others of which we will speak hereafter, were elicited. The investigations of the jury extended into Sunday forenoon, and their ver dict, of course, could only be that the deceased were murdered by some person or persons un known. Wednesday evening I called at the house and spent a portion of the evening there, leaving Mrs. Kinsley and Miss Caswell in their usual health and spirits. A third member of • the family (Miss Kinsley), a daughter of Widow K., was providentially absent at Auburn, and thus her life was saved. These circumstances point very clearly to some time Wednesday night or early Thursday morning, as the time when the mnrder was committed. Thursday the storm raged, and scarcely a person passed along the road during the day, and Friday the wind blew and the roads were blockaded ; and it was not until Saturday that any one would have been likely to notice the house. In in vestigating as to who committed the deed, the only circumstances of significance are these: About half-past 2 o’clock Thursday morning the family of Isaac Libby, who lives in the third house below Widow Kinsley’s, as we have already stated, were awakened by a noise of someone trying to get in at the window of their sleeping room. Mr. Libby arose, went to tne window, and there saw a man. Mr. L. im mediately asked him what he wanted ? “I want to go in and warm me,” he replied. Mr. L. being very suspicions of the appearance of the man, responded, “I can’t let you in; go away.” Upon this the strange visitor went around to another window, and made an attempt to raise it, and soon alter v?ent away. Sauday, one VOL. 25. NO. 9 Nathaniel Johnson, of North Yarmouth, who has been a laborer in this vicinif v for some time was arrested by Constable Ricker, at Mr. Ricker’s, near the Poor Farm, in Auburn, on suspicion of being the murderer. Johnson was at once turned over to the hands of officer Lit tlefield, who brought him to Auburn jail Sun day afternoon, where he is now confined. John son is a heavy man, about 35 or 40 years of age, wears a long frock and a Kossuth hat. He has nothin years past sustained a good reputation, having been before the police court for druuk enness, and having served* season in jail for larceny. He has driven a team for various parties in Auburn, and has been frequently on the streets here. He avers that he is innocent of the murder. [From the Mobile Evening News, 11th. The Tragedy at Oitronelle—Death of Mr. and Mrs. Gilgan. In our edition of Sunday morning we men tioned briefly that Mr. Martin Gilgan had shot his wife and committed suicide the night before at Oitronelle. The following, which we find in an extract issued yesterday evening from the Times office, embodies all the particulars of the tragedy we have learned : “ Tills morning, at an early hour, we were informed that a private dispatch had been re ceived from Oitronelle, stating that Mr. Martin Gilgan, a well known citizen of Mobile, had killed his wife and committed suicide at that place sometime during the evening. Not be ing able to ascertain the facts of the case, and as Mr. Gilgan was at the time in trouble, we re frained from mentioning the affair in our moru ng edition. Since then we have learned tho following particulars: Late last evening Mr. Gilgan went into the kitchen of his house at Citronelle—where his wife wn£ at the time, and after sending his chil dren out he shut the door. A few minutes af terwards the report of a pistol was heard. Mr. Hart, who was in the house at the time, ran into the kitchen, where he found Mr. and Mrs. Gilgan ; Mrs. G. was laying upon the floor, and upon Mr. Hart’s entrance she said: “For heaven’s sake, John, don’t let him kill me.”— Mr. Hart then shoved Gilgan off, who then turned and went out. Mr. Hart then turned his attention to Mrs. G., who had received the jt>all. from her husband’s pistol through her right breast. Immediately after leaving the kitchen Gilgan went into the yard and placing his pistol to his breast, shot himself through ■the heart, and was dead Mr. Part reached him. Mrs. Gilgan lived about two hours and a half ’after being 6hot. We could not learn, posi tively, whether Mrs. G. spoke after being shot. No positive reason for this terrible deed of blood can be given ; but we have heard it stated that Gilgan wjs deeply involved here, and this fact, in connection with the peculiar circumstances by which he had been surround ed since the destruction of his store on New Year’s night, are supposed to have affected his mind. We learn that he remarked to a gentle man in town on Wednesday, that he would go to Citronelle and get enough money from his wife to pay all his debts in Mobile, or no one would see him in Mobile again alive. Subse quently a gentleman received a letter from him dated at Citronelle, saying that they Would cot meet again Until they met in Heaven, and re questing that the St. Patrick’s Benevolent Asso ciation would have him buried In his lot in the cemetery at Three-Mile Creek.” now (to Kill Little Girls.—Warmly and fashionably dressed mothers may be seen ou the street, leading their shivering little daugh ters around, with hardly enough of clothing on their lower extremities to protect them from sight, to say nothing of the piercing blasts.— An exchange says : * Yesterday we saw a little girl led by its mo ther through the street. Her little collar and muff and hat were of the warmest fur, and well she needed them, for it was bitter cold; but her little legs, bare and blue, between her stock ings and skirts, told** shivering tale. Who does not daily see the same thing ? Lit tle frail girls, with head and shoulders bundled in unneeded furs, while from the feet to a point above the knee the little darlings are almost lit erally naked. Os course mothers who thus dress their children are very far from intending to kill them or render them permanent invalids, butwuch is the probable result of this fashion able exppsure. It is true that most children have their limbs well protected, because most mothers have an intelligent regard for the health of their offspring, but there are many who are clad as we have mentioned, and to the mothers of these we address our appeal. As little girls are now dressed, their skirts arc no protection against the wind or cold be low the knee ; and what do they have as a sub stitute ? Linen drawers, reaching just below the knee, and there meeting tbe top of stock ings which usually have about half the warmth possessed by men’s socks. Let us compare this armor with the clothing of boys and men, who have at least five times the power of en durance possessed by the little girl. The father of this same little six-year old girl would con sider himself coldly clad, and a certain candi date for rheumatism, if his lower extremities were not protected against the winter blasts by first, thick wool socks reaching more than half way to the knee; second, wool drawers reach ing from the waist to the feet; third, bootlegs of double leather reaching nearly to the knee; and fourth, thick woolen pantaloons covering all else, and reaching to the foot. And yet that same father permits his delicate, blueweined child to so out in winter with legs encased in a single thickness of linen. How would he like to walk in the winter streets clad in linen pan taloons and nothing else? A Crazy Lawyer.—A correspondent of the Chicago Republican tells the story of a rejnark able lunatic, who goes every day to the tele graph office, corner of Broadway and Liberty street, New York, to communicate with the resident on the condition of the country. The operators always take his dispatch as y they deemed it as important as he does. Twenty years ago he was Tine of the most prominent lawyers in New York, had an ample fortune, and was a ripe scholar out of his profession.— He lost his reason on account of some unfor tunate love affair, (think of a lawyer falling a victim to his heart!) squandered his means, and at last became a monomaniac on the subject of patriotism. For years he deemed it his duty to confer daily with the President whoever he may oe, upon the condition of the Republic, and he never fails to make out hjs telegram, accom panied with diagrams and characters that no one can understand, but which he declares the Chief Executive will comprehend. He is sup ported by his relatives, and is entirely harmless and even good natured at all times. He is in the best of spirits, in spite of the responsibility he bears, and is as convinced that the fate of the country hangß on him as if he were a member of Congress. A queer story is afloat in social circles re specting a party given last week by a lady whose husband occupies a front rank among New York men of science. The principal in vited guest was—well, a star in the musical fir mament, and everybody went in hopes of hear ing the rich notes of the songstress. At the appropriate moment the hostess began persua sively, “ Won’t you sing to us, Mademoiselle ?” “ By no means, dear Mrs. —-—Was the re sponse ; •* I came to be entertained, not to en tertain.” Whereupon there was a flattering, blank looks, much whispering, and a world of gossip since.— New York Gazette.
