&I)C iUcchln (Constitutionalist
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[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.
