Newspaper Page Text
A CLOSE SHAVE.
A I’rUon Harh.r Wlio Slcmiil Murder.
Detroit Fret Prmi.
Yon c.inJ- readily understand why a
newspaper man would be attracted to
visit a State prison, but you may well
wonder why lie should seek permission
for the prison barber to shave him,
when he knew that barber to be a mur
derer serving a life sentence, yet. in
the composition of most meu there is a
yearning to trend upon the skirts of
adventure—to stand, as it were, close
to the edge of some abyss down which
a fall would be certain destruction.
All men will take chances, but some
men will risk everything when this feel
ing is upon them.
“So you want old Jack to skavejyou?”
repeated the Warden as a look of as
tonishment crossed his face.
- Yes.”
“ Don't you know that he is mur
derer ?”
•* Yes.”
“ And in for life ?’*
“ Yes/’
“ Ooh! I’d sooner have a snake
crawling over my face than his black
fingers, which cut the throat of his wile
and two children 1 What is to prevent
him from slashing your jugular vein ?”
“ Nothing!”
“ Yet you will take the risks ?”
“ I will. I want to be shaved by' a
murderer. I want the sensation ot
having him pass a keen razor slowly
over'my face and around my throat,
and of knowing that I stand in
door of death 1”
“ Old Jack has been ngly-tempered
of late.” •
“ I don’t care.”
“There isn’t a convict in the prison
who doesn’t fear his razor.”
“So much the better. I will take
all the chances.”
“ You may try it,” said the warden
after a long silence, “ but—”
But nothing. Is there a glass in
front of the chair.”
“ Yes.”
‘‘That's all 1 want. Let ine go into
the barber shop alone and make my
own arrangements. That’s it-—open
the door —so long—don’t worry.”
Old Jack was one of the prison bar
bers. Every convict knew him as a
triple-murderer. lie had made awful
threats. He had no one to say a good
word for him, but all dreaded and avoid
ed him. lie was a man about 50 years
old, slightly gray, thick-set, and no one
could find a pleasant line in his face.
As to his heart, he had slashed the
throats of his family, piled the corpses
in a corner and slept and ate in the
next room until the horrible odor
brought the police and discovery.
“ Shave,” 1 said, as I entered his lit
tle den, threw off hat and coat and sat
down in his hard chair.
He was seated on a stool behind me
stropping a razor, lie looked up in
surprise, seemed puzzled to know wiio
I was and why I had come in, and then
tested the edge of the razor on his bare
thumb. I could see all this in the
glass. He looked up in a furtive way,
passed the razor over the strop a few
times more and then slowly rose up
and began preparing the lather.
lie didn’t like me. That was plain
enough by the ugly glances from the
corners of his eyes. I had no business
in there in the first place, and then I
had probably interrupted his revery or
broken in on hi3 plans. He didn’t
know whether he would shave me or not.
He stopped making the lather, set his
jaw more firmly, and the look in his
eyes grew ugly.
“ Didn’t you hear me ?” I demanded,
as I turned on him all of a sudden.
“ Go ahead and shave me.”
“Yes, sah!” he growled as he lifted
up the lather and advanced.
He knew I did not belong in the
prison. lie also reasoned that I was a
stranger. It puzzled him to know why
I had entered his den, as I had been
shaved the clay previous. I could see
that he was bothered, but I was glad of
it. He reasoned with himself all the
time he was putting on the lather, and
he got mad over it. He began to see
see that it was sort of an intrusion and
imposition, and he picked up his razor
with a spiteful grab. Yet I would ag
gravate and anger him.
“ That was a horrible deed of 3'onr's,”
I said as I seated myself in the chair.
I could not see his face, and he made
no reply. The razor touched my face,
and I felt that his hand trembled.
“ They ought to burn 3-ou at the
stake ?” I went on as his razor made
the first cut.
I could now see his face in the glass,
and his eves fairly blazed. He clench
ed his hand and raised it to strike, but
The 1 Labtwell Sun.
By BENSON & McGILL.
VOL. IV—NO. 21.
let it fall again after four or five seconds
and went on with Ids work. His hand
•shook, he breathed hard and fast and
yet he had no reply. After he had
scraped away for a minute, I said :
“ You must be a fiend and worse to
do such a deed as that.! No wonder
that all men hate and avoid you !”
The hand with the razor went up
into the air. llis first impulse was to
slash me. He could seize me by the
hair with his left hand and slash my
throat with his right. The idea came
to him, and if I had made a move he
would have carried it out.
“ Come —hurry lip!” 1 said, and
his hand fell’and he resumed his work,
trembling with anger and wondering
to himself why r he did not revenge
upon tnc.
Ah ! I saw anew light shoot into his
eyes like a flash, and I knew he had a
plan. Ho had committed three mur
ders. Another would be nothing to his
bad heart. He was in for life, and his
sentence could not be lengthened. Yet
he dared not cut my throat with a sweep
of his hand which he easily might.
What was the plan? With eyes half
shut I watched and waited. The look
in liis eyes grew more crafty, lie forced a
smile to his wicked face and tried to
laugh as lie said :
“ Doan be too hard on de ole man,
sah —Izc had a heap o’ trouble.”
“ Yes."
“ An’ I isn’t so bad as dey try to
make out, sab,” he continued as he wiped
beard and lather on a piece of paper on
my shoulder.
I could see his face as it was above
me, but the piece of paper fell to the
floor on my left side. He had finished
shaving the right cheek and would now
begin on the left. What was his plan?
It came to me in an instant. When he
had his razor just right his foot would
slip on that piece of soapy paper ! He
had dropped it there on purpose, and it
would not be a had excuse.
“ No, I isn't so worry bad,” he said as
he put the razor on my left cheek.
I could see his jaw in the glass, and it
was hard-shut, as if he was terribly ear
nest.
Well, perhaps not.”
“ Nobody knows how much trouble I
haz had, sail,” he sighed as the razor
crept over my check towards the jugular
vein, and his fingers tightened their grasp
on the handle. He was ready!
“ Jack!”
“ Yes, sah.”
“ A man will live a full minute after
his jugular vein lias been severed! In
that time be could shoot the mail who
did it! In five seconds after you cut
me I’ll put six bullets into your head!”
Would he? The razor shook and
trembled on nay neck, and he breathed
like one with the asthma. His foot was
all ready to go down on that paper but
he hesitated.
“ Who means' to cut you, sah!” he
growled at last as he kicked the paper
away.
“No one,” I answered as I looked
into his eyes.
He began his work again with a fierce
scowl on his face, hurried italoug arid in
five minutes had finished.
“ Good-bye, old man !” I said as I put
on my coat and tossed him a quarter.
He lifted his head to give me one
fierce and murderous look. The money
fell to the floor, and he kicked it aside
in contempt.
“ And he didn’t even scratch your
face?” said tlic Warden as I returned to
him.
"No, not a scratch, and it was a close
shave, too!”
Slavery Times Coming.
Union Timet.
A few days ago a colored man came
to town and sold his cotton, receiving a
check on the bank for the money, lhe
bank paid him in gold. On receiving
the old fashioned coin the man gazed
on it awhile in astonishment, and go
ing into the street called some of his
colored friends to him, saying, “look a
’heah, niggas,” holding out the shining
810 and 820 pieces in his hand. “\ou
see dat. Look like old times don’t it ?
I tell you what niggas, it looks like
slavery times, and if dis ting goes on
much longer we’ll all be put back into
slavery agio, sure.
HARTWELL, HA., WEDNESDAY JANUARY 21, 1880.
A LEADVILLE WEDDING.
A ClfrßyinM Iho Hrld mill
I’oli -li s Oil tin- Itriili't:room.
There is no doubt, says the romanc
ist of the New York Times, that the
rector of St. George’s Church, Lead
ville, belongs to the church militant.
He has just proved it beyond contra
diction, and at this moment public sen
timent in Leadville pronounces him the
ablest and most powerful clergyman for
liis weight in the United States, while
a committee of leading citizens is
about to present him with a silver
mounted revolver as a testimonial of
respect and admiration.
The Rev. Mr. Withers earned this
enviable reputation a few' weeks ago
while engaged in marrying the well
known Mr. Roaring Hill to one of the
most beautiful and accomplished daugh
ters of Leadvillc. The bridegroom was
a man of most excellent reputation,
having killed three men in hand-to
hand fights, and wounded a number of
others. He was not accompanied to
the altar by any groomsmen, and the
bride was similarly devoid of brides
maids, though their places was to some
extent taken by her brothers. Withers,
who, up to that time, had been known
as an extremely peaceable man, and
was not supposed to have a particle of
lighting ability about him, had been
warned that the bridegroom was very
quick tempered and exceedingly jeal
ous and that he would do well to “ la
dle out the service pretty considerable
mild.” To this warning, however, lie
paid no attention, being determined to
do liis duty, no matter what the conse
quence might be.
The service proceeded smoothly un
til the clergyman readied the point
where he asked the bridegroom if lie
took the “ woman ” to be his wedded
wife. To this Mr. Roaring Bill replied
by remarking that he was about to
marry a “ lady,” and that any man who
called her a “ woman ” must be remark
ably" anxious to incur the expense of a
personal funeral. Baying no attention
to the remark, the clergyman proceed
ed, and inquired if the bridegroom
would love, cherish and protect the
bride. This was regarded by Mr. R.
Bill in the light of an unnecessary ask
ing of foolish questions. “In course I
do,” he replied ; “ what do you take me
for ? I)o you mean to insinuate that I
am a playin’ it onto her ? I want you
to understand that this byer's a square
deal, and if you don’t just go ahead
with your marry in’and drop this askin’
of impertinent questions, it’ll lead to
difficulties. You hear me.” Still the
courageous clergyman, heedless of the
brewin’ storm, ignored the bridegroom’s
interruptions, and read the service with
cool and steady courage. Presently he
inquired of the bride if she would
promise to love, honor and obey her
husband. At this point the latter drew
his revolver and informed the clergy
man that he was fast ripening for the
grave. “Any more personal questions
will require me to answer with thishyer
weapon. I don’t wisli to make a row
in church, but if you will have one
just continue as you have begun. I’m
a peaceable, long-sufferin’ man, but the
holiest feelin’s of this lady’s heart isn’t
goin’ to be pried into by no man with
out he hears from me.”
Still the clergyman pursued the even
tenor of his way. One might have im
agined that he was deaf, so utterly
heedless was he of the irregular re
sponses made by the bridegroom. The
spectators who had assembled to wit
ness the ceremon3% were making bets
freety as to whether Mr. Bill would kill
him at the first fire or whether he would
merely mark him with a bullet for fu
ture identification. Contrary to the
general anticipation, the bridegroom
made no further interruption, either b3'
word or bullet, and the ceremony came
to an end. All might have ended
peaceably, had not Mr. Withers, de
termined to do his whole duty, supple
mented the ceremony by kissing the
i bride.
The first bullet missed its mark, and
the bridegroom, while pausing to adjust
his aim, remarked that “this painful
j immorality on the part of the clergy
; must lie checked.” Just as he was
about to fire the second shot—having
Devoted to Hart County.
got the clergyman’s right ear in line—
the brother of the bride sprang on him
and took away his pistol. At the same
moment Mr. Withers tore off his sur
plice. and leaping over the railing,
struck out at Mr. Roaring Hill in a
most beautiful and scientific way.
A ring was immediately formed.
The brido climbed on the baptismal
font and alternately encouraged each
combatant with such inspiring remarks
as, “ Now, then, Hill, bust him in the
eye," or “ liooray', parson, the eye of
the church is on you ! Hack up your
religion like a little man!” The eager
spectators swarmed into the church and
fought for good positions in tho pulpit.
The betting at first was on the bride
groom, but at tho end of ten minutes
large odds were offered on the clergy
man. liis courage was undoubted, and
bis pugilistic skill was simply astound
ing. liis adversary scarcely touched
him, while the clergyman danced around
him, now closing an eye and now shak
ing the foundation of liis teeth with a
smiling confidence that created the
wildest enthusiasm. In twenty min
utes and five rounds he had reduced
liis man to perfect helplessness. Mr.
Roaring Hill, cried “ enough,” the spec
tators cheered and the bride, descended
from her perch, kissed the clergyman
with hearty frankness, and informed
him that she should never allow any
husband of hers to come between her
and her religion.
Such was the public enthusiasm in
Lead ville over the clergyman’s victory
that no less than thirty citizens came
forward and offered to be confirmed,
as an evidence of tlicir good will pro
vided the rector would refrain from in
terfering with card-playing and other
usual Sunday recreations. As lias been
said, the admiration of Leadville is
about to be expressed in silver-mount
ed pistols, and there is no doubt that
the prosperity of St. George’s Church
and the popularity of Mr. Withers are
fully assured.
A Morning Sketch.
He wanted his razor strop. He had
just lathered his chin in the ino3t ex
haustive manner, and was preparing to
put a finer edge on his razor. Now the
razor-strop w r as always kept in the
wash-stand drawer, the one nearest the
wall. He fancied he always put it
there himself; certainly he had made a
rule to do so. lie had already taken
out the razor, and lie now put his hand
mechanically into the drawer for the
razor strop. No strop was there!
His hand mechanically caine in contact
with air of a peculiarly exasperatiug
thinness.
“By Jove !” he thought to himself,
as he was opening the other drawer,
“ what a singular quantity of female
mind that is ! Not able to distinguish
between two drawers for two (lays con
secutively. Yet I would wager any
thing Fanny would swear I had put the
strop in here myself.” He was groping
discursively among what appeared to
be the stock in trade of a small frisour,
but nothing so palatable as a razor
strop resisted his touch through the
silky fluffiness of the general contents.
“ Where is the confounded thing?”
he exclaimed, staring about the room
vaguely, but like a man whose angry
passions are very near the surface.
“ Why can't they leave my tilings
alone, I should like to know? Fanny!
Fanny!” he called over the banister
with more accent than was absolutely
necessary. “ What the deuce have you
done with my razor-strop?” The se
rene voice of conscious rectitude was
heard in flutey tones replying :
“In the waslistand drawer, love —
one nearest the wall.” Now there was
something in these flutey tones of Fan
ny’s just at that moment that suggest
ed to her husband a second trial of the
drawer, For when Fanny threw a cer
tain timbre into her voice, he usually
found that she had the maddening qual
ity of being right in regard to the sub
ject under discussion. Back he strode
into the room, with an uncomfortable
stiffness about his chin as of dry soap,
and pulled both drawers oqL and turn
ed them upside down upon the floor.
Positively no strop! By this time
there was a grimness in the man’s de
meanor visible to the meanest capacity,
81.50 Per Annum.
and particularly noticeable In his walk
as he strode a second time to tho head
of the stairs.
“Fanny!” he shunted in loud, im
petuous accents. “ I toll you again, it
isn’t then*! What in the thunder do
you mean by always meddling with my
shaving things?”
The answer was perhaps a trillo
staccato than before. “ Your strop is
in the drawer, my dear. 1 put it there
myself, yesterday morning, when 1
found that as usual you had loft every
thing on the dressing-table."
“Drawer!” hu is believed to have
muttered at this point. “I’ll drawer
her!" and he fairly jumped back into
the room, and dashing at the bureau ho
began throwing the contents of each
drawer, one after the other, out on tho
floor, with an awful impartiality that
knew no distinctions. Hut after emp
tying these receptacles, and shaking
and stamping upon each article they
had contained, no razor-strop presented
its simple proportions to his blazing
sight. “ Fanny!” he yelled over tho
banisters for the third time, in a voice
of thunder that curdled the blood in the
veins of liis little children as they sat
at their early porridge.
“ Fanny!”
And then his wife came up stairs and
stood at the door while he danced upon
the scene of devastation, and brandished
a curious weapon in liis hand, after the
fashion of a fearful Fet-jec, or other un
tamed denizen of wilds too gruesome to
name.
“This is past believing,” lie observed.
This is the kind of method and order
you would expect in Bedlam. Look
round this room, will you? By Jove!
it is too much. Look you, madam, I’ll
dine at the Club niter this—and sleep
and breakfast there, too. Then perhaps
my razor-strop, ha ! ha ! will lie forth
coining when 1 dare to treat myself to
the luxury of a shave! 11a! I’m a
monster, of course, to presume to want
to shave in my own house. I admit
that, hut for mere curiosity’s sake now, I
should like to know where the strop is!
The coffee’s done by this time, and the
bacon sodden, so a few minutes spent in
cheerful conversation can’t hurt the
breakfast. Did Freddy take it for a
hammer, or has Flosso dressed it up for
a doll? Or did you give it to as esthet
ic tramp, ns you did thatfilc?”
Pausing a moment for breath, Fanny
took the opportunity to make a single
remark:
“ Are you speaking of the razor-strop
in your hand,” asked she softly, “ or of
some other one?” A peculiar tingling
sensation seemed to creep along his arm
as he heard these words, and lie appear
ed to shrink together, and to measure
several inches less than usual in every
direction. But as ho vigorously re
sumed the operation of sharpening his
razor, which be remembered now he
had dropped while he applied the lather,
he returned angrily :
“Why the deuce didn’t you say so
before?”
- —.
Trussing in (o*t.
Dr. Derma, in Frank Lculie'* Sunday Afternoon.
To believe that the Lord is at my
hand, and at the hand of the men
whom 1 most fear or most love, influ
encing them and me, connecting all
business and acts, working together
with men for grand results, which are
to affect society a thousand years to
come, what an antidote to fretful care
lessness is this! When you have
striven to train your child as an heir of
immortality, with what freedom from
care you can hand him over to the
Lord. When you have been diligent
in business all day, neglecting nothing,
hurrying nothing, acting as an agent
for the Lord, leaving all your books
and transactions to his inspection and
protection ; when you have had intelli
gent, faithful, trustful carefulness all
day, liow free from fretting care you
ought to be at night! When I have
prepared my sermon for you, thinking
carefully, reading discreetly, earnestly
striving to find what is the mind of the
Spirit in the Word of God, and then
have delivered the sermon, how free I
should be from distraction of spirit,
for was not the Lord near me in the
study, and “at hand ” in the pulpit ?
To be wisely spiritually minded is to
be serenely lofty.
WHOLE NO. 177.
IMMORTALITY.
In the year <126 of our era, when Ed
win, the Anglo-Saxon King, was delib
erating on receiving the Christian mis
sionaries, one of liis nobles said to him :
“ Tho present life of man, O King,
compared with that space of time be
yond, of which wc have no certainty,
reminds me of your winter feasts where
you sit with youi generals and ministers.
The hearth blazes in the middle and n
grateful Imat is spread around, while
storms of rain and mow arc raging with
out. Driven by the tempest, the little
sparrow enters at one door and flics de
lighted around us till it departs through
the other. Whilst it stays in our man
sion it feels not the winter storm ; but
when the short moment of happineai has
been enjoyed, it is forced again into the
same dreary tempest from which it had
escaped and wo behold it no more.
Such is the lifo of man, and we are ns
as ignorant of the state which preceded
onr present existence ns of that which
will follow it.”
In the first records of a nation in any
way thoughtful and cultivated, some be
lief in the life beyond life would of course
be suggested. The Egyptian jieople
f\irnish ns the earliest details of any es
tablished civilization, and 1 read in tho
Hook of Herodotus this remarkable sen
tence : *• Egyptians are the first of man
kind who have affirmed tho immortality
of the soul. There never was a time
when the doctrine of a future life was
not held. The whole life*of man in the
first ages was ponderously determined
on death. It made every man an un
dertaker and the priesthood a senate of
sextons. The chief end of man being to
be buried well, the arts most in request
were masonry and embalming, to givo
imperishability to the corpse.
The Greek, with his perfect senses and
perceptions, had quite another philoso
phy. Ho loved lifo and delighted'in
beauty- He drove away tbeembalin
ers, lie built no more of these doleful,
mountainous tombs. He adorned death
brought wreaths of parsley and laurel;
made it bright with games of strength
and skill and chariot races.
Nothing cun excel the beauty of the
sarcophagus. The poet Shelley says of
them : “They seem not so much tombs
as voluptuous chambers for immortal
spirits
Christianity brought anew wisdom.
But learning depends on the learner.
No more truth can be conveyed than
the popular mind can hear. Death is
seen as a natural event and is mot with
firmness. A wise man in our time caus
ed tube written on his tomb : “Think
on living”
“The name of death was never terrible
To him that knew to live. ”
The saving of Marcus Antonins it
were hard to mend : "It were well to
die if there be gods, and sad to live if
there he none. ”
I think all sound minds rest on cer
tain preliminary conviction, namely,
tLsit if it he best that! conscious per
sonal life shall continue,it will continue;
if not best, then it will not; and we, if
we saw the whole, should of course see
that it was better so. Schiller said,
“ What is so universal as death must bo
a benefit.” — Ralph W. Emkkson.
Business on the Brain.
One night last week the wife of Jus
tice Moses was aroused from a sound
sleep by a stern voice:
"A re you ready for trial, I say ?”
“Ilusb! Don’t make a noise, or elso
you’ll wake the baby,” she replied, en
deavoring to sooth him.
“Don’t talk back to this court,” ho
vociferated. “If you've got any wit
nesses bring’em on, but let your law
yer do the talking.”
“Why, Tom, how you take on!
What is the matter ?”
“I send you up for sixty days—
that’s what’s the matter. Here, len
ders, take her away. Now, I'm ready
for that larceny case. Bring up the
prisoner.”
And, jumping out of bed, he started
for the next room to summon a jury,
hut fell over a rocking chair, barked
his shins, woke up, and asked his wife
what the dickens was the matter, any
now.
“Come here, my lad,” said an attor
ney to a boy about nine years old.
The boy came and asked the attorney
what case was to be tried next ? The
lawyer answered, “A case between the
Pope and the Devil, which do 3'ou
think will be most likel3' to gain the
action ?” The boy replied, “I guess
it will be a hard squeeze—the Pope has
the most money, but the devil has the
most lawyers.”
Plant your own supplies.