Democratic Sentinel, Volume 8, Number 11, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 11 April 1884 — Page 6

SOLITUDE. BY i *T■ A W H h>KKl<Kh» laugh, and the world laughs with yon;. Weep, and you weep alone; For the sad old earth must borrow its mirth, But baa trouble enough of its own. * Sing, and the hills will answer; B.gh—it is lost on the air: The echoes bound to a Joyful sound* But are slow to voice your care. Rejoice, and men will seek you; Grieve, and they turn and go: They want full measure of all your pleasure, But they do not need your wo. Be glad, and your friends are many; , Be sad, and you lose them all: There are none to decline your nectared wine, But alone you must drink life’s gall Feast, and your halls are crowded; Fust, and the world goes by: Succeed and give and it helps you live. But no man can help you die. There is room in the halls of pleasure For a large and lordly train: But one by one we must all file on Thro' the narrow aisles of pain.

WILKES BOOTH.

The Man Who Carried Food to the Assassin Tells the Story of the Escape. The actor, John Wilkes Booth, shot President Lincoln about 10 o’clock on Friday night, April 14, 1865. Near midnight he and his uninteresting road pilot, David E. Herold, called at Surratt’s tavern, about ten miles southeast of Washington, and obtainedthe arms, fidld class, etc., previously. prepared for them there. Saturday* morning they were at Dr. Samuel A. Mudd’s, tirenty miles farther on, where Booth’s broken ankle was set and a crutch made for him, and that evening the two fugitives were guided in a roundabout way to the gate of Samuel Cox, a prosperous Southern sympathizer, about fifteen miles southwest. The last witness in Maryland ended here. The Government, in its prosecution of the conspirators, took up the fugitive next at the crossing of the Rappahannock River, in Virginia, the 24th of April, having failed to trace Booth a single step further in Maryland, although he did not cross the Potomac until Saturday night, April 22. A whole week remains unaccounted for, and for the first time the missing links of the connection are here made public. Probably not half a dozen people are alive who ever heard the narrative fully told. Near Pope’s Creek, in Lower Maryland, lived Thomas A. Jones, and, as his place was peculiarly well situated for easy intercourse with Virginia, he Jbecame the ferryman of people who wished to cross the Potomac, and for this offense served a term in the Old Capitol Prison. He was released in 1862, but continued to aid the Confederate cause in every possible way, being always in full sympathy with the South. Jones, who is still alive, is a man of hardly medium height, slim and wiry, with one of those thin, mournful faces common to tidewater Maryland, with high cheek bones, gray-bine eyes, n’t great height .or breadth of foreheads and thick, strong hair. The tone of his mihd and intercourse is slow and mournful, somewhat complaining, as if the sumlner Jjeats had given a nervous tone to >his views, which are generally instinctive and kind. About the third year of the .war Jones understood that' a very important act I had been agreed upon namely: to seize the President of the United States in the city of Washington and by relays and forced horses take him to the west side of Popt Tobacco Creek, about four miles below the town of that name, and dispatch him across the Potomac a prisoner of war. I possess the names of the two persons on Port Tobacco Creek who, with their sons, were prominent in this scheme; but the frankness with which the information was given to me persuades me not to print them. A person already named, in Washington, was in the conspiracy; and it was given out that “the big actor, Booth,” was also “in it” Jones heard of this about December, 1864. It wag not designed that he should take any part in the scheme, though he regarded it as a proper undertaking in time of war. From the time this scheme was proposed until the very end of the war the bateau which was to carry Mr. Lincoln off was kept ready, and the •oars and men were ever near at hand to dispatch the illustrious captive. That winter was unusually mild, and therefore the roads were particularly bad in this region of clay and marsh, and did not harden with the frost—a circumstance which perhaps spared Mr. Lincoln the terrors of such a desperate expedition. Inquiries were made from time to time as to when the thing W to be done, and it was generally answered. that the roads were too heavy' to give the opportunity. The idea Jones has of this matter is that Mr. Lincoln was to be seized, not on his way to the Soldiers’ Home, but near the Navy Yard, and gagged quietly, j and the carriage then driven across the Navy Yard bridge or the next bridge above, while the captors were to point to the President and wave their hands to the guards on the bridge, saying: “The President of the United States.” When we consider that he was finally killed in the p&sence of a vast audience, and that his captors then crossed the same bridge without opposition and without passes, the original scheme does not seem extraordinary. *

Jones heard of the murder of Lincoln Saturday afternoon, April 15, at or near his own farm of Huckleberry. Two Federal officers or cavalrymen came by on horseback, and one o; them said to Jones: “Is that your boat a piece above here?” “Yes,” said Jones. “Then you had better take good care of it, because there are dangerous people around here who might take it to cross the river.” “That is just what lam "thinking about,” said Jones, “and I have had it pulled up to let my black num go fishing for the shad which are now running.” The two horsemen conferred together -a minute or two, and one of them said: “Have you heard the news from Washington?” “No.” “Our President has been murdered. ” “Indeed 1” said Jernes, with a melancholy face, as if he had no friend in the world. “Yes,” said the horseman; “President Lincoln 'was killed last night, and we are looking out for the men, who, we think, escaped this way.” Sunday morning, the 16th of April. aJbout 9 o’clock, a young white man

came from Samuel Cox’s to Jones’ second farm, called Huckleberry, which has been already described as about two and a half miles back from the old river residence, which Jones had been forced to give up when it appeared probable that the Confederate cause was lost The Huckleberry farm consisted of about 500 acres, and had on it a one-story-and-garret house, with a low-pitched roof, end chimneys, and door in the middle. There was a stable north of the house, and a barn south of it, and it was only three-quar-ters of a mile from the house to the river, which here runs to the north to make the indentation called Port Tobacco Creek or river. Although Jones, therefore, had moved some distance from his former house, he was yet very near tidewater. The new farm was very much retired, was not on the public road, and consisted of clearings amidst rain-washed hills and deep gullies, almost impenetrable short pines, and some swamp and forest timber. Henry Woodland, the black servant, who was then 27 years old, was still Jones’ chief assistant, and was kept alternately farming and fishing. The young man who came from Cox’s was told if stopped on the road to say that he was going to Jones’ to ask if he could let Cox have some seed corn, which in that climate is planted early in April. He told Jones that Col. Cox wished him to come immediately to his house, about three miles to the north. The young man mysteriously intimated that there were very remarkable visitors at Cox’s the night before. Accustomed to obey the summons of his old friend, Jones mounted his horse and went to Cox’s, Cox’s property, called Rich Hill, made an agreeable contrast to the somber short pines which at no great distance seemed to cover the plain almost as thickly as wheat straws in the grain-field. Taking Jones aside, Cox related thtt the previous night tlTe assassin of President Lincoln had come to his house in company with another person, guided by a negro, and had asked for assistance to cr.oss the Potomac River; “and,” said Cox to Jones, “you will have to get him across.” Cox indicated where the fugitives were concealed, perhaps one mile distant, a few rods west of the present railroad track, and just south of Cox’s Station. Jones was to give a signal by whistling in a certain way as he approached the place, else he might be fired upon and killed. Nobody, it is believed, ever saw Booth and Herold after this time in Maryland besides Cox’s overseer, Franklin Roby, and Jones. Cox’s family protest that the fugitives never entered the house at all; his adopted son, still living, says Booth did not come into the house. Herold, who was with Booth, related to his counsel, as the latter thinks, that after they left Mudd’s house they never were in any house whatever in Maryland. The negro who was employed to guide Booth from Dr. Mudd’s to Cox’s testified that he saw them enter the house; but as the Government did not use him on the trial, it is probable that he related his belief rather than what he saw. But there is no doubt of the fact that when Dr. Mudd found Booth on his hands Saturday with a broken ankle, and the soldiery already pouring into Bryantown, he and Booth and Herold became equally frightened, and in the early evening the two latter started by a road to the east for Cox’s house, turning Bryantown and leaving it to the north, and arriving about or before midnight at Cox’s. There the negro was sent back. Herold advanced to the porch and communicated with Cox, and Booth sat en liis horse off toward the outer gate. The two men cursed Cox after they backed out to where the negro was—he remaining at the outer gate—and said that Cox was no gentleman and no host. These words were probably intended to mislead the negro when they sent him back to Dr. Mudd’s. This negro was arrested, as was a colored woman in Cox’s family, and with the same remarkable fidelity I have mentioned, the woman confronted the negro man and swore that what he said was untrue.

Nevertheless, Booth and Herold were sent into.the short pipes, and there Jones found them. He says that as he was advancing into the pines he came upon a bay mare, with black legs, mane, and tail, and a white star on the forehead; she was saddled, and roving around in a little cleared place as if trying to nibble something to eat. Jones took the mare and tied her to a tree or stump. He then advanced and gave what he calls the countersign, or whistle, which he does not precisely remember now, though he thinks it was two whistles in a peculiar way, and a whistle after an interval. The first person*he saw was Herold, fully armed and with a carbine in his hand, coming out to see who it was. Jones explained that he had been sent to see them, and was then taken to Booth, who was but a few rods farther along. Booth was lying .on the ground, wrapped up in blankets, with his foot supported and bandaged, and a crutch beside him. His rumpled dress looked respectable for that country, and Jones says it was of black cloth. His face was pale at all times, and, never ceased to be so during the several days that Jones saw him. He was in great pain from his broken ankle, which had suffered a fracture of one of the two bones in the leg, down close to the foot. It would not have given him any very great pain but for the exertion of his escape, which irritated it by scraping the ends of the broken bone perhaps in the flesh; it was now highly irritated, and whichever way the man moved he expressed by a twitch or a groan the pain he felt. Jones says that this pain was more or less continuous, and was greatly aggravated by the peril of Booth’s situation —unable to cross the river without assistance, and unable to walk any distance whatever. Jones believes that Booth did not rise from the ground at any time until he was finally put oh Jobes’ hortetO be taken to the waterside some days afterward. Booth’s first solicitude seemed to bo to learn what mankind thought of/ the crime. That question he put almost immediately to Jones, and continued to »ask what different classes of people thought about it. Jonies told him that it was gratifying news to most of the men of Southern sympathies. He

frankly says that he himself at first regarded it as good news; but somewhat later, when he saw the injurious consequences of the crime to theßouth, he changed his mind. Booth desired newspapers if thev could be had, which would convey to him an idea of public feeling. ‘Jones soon obtained newspapers for him, and continued to send them in; and Booth lay there, where the pines were so thick that one could not see more than thirty or forty feet into them, reading what the world had to say about his case. He seemed never tired of information on this one subject, and the only thing besides he was solicitous about was to get across the river into Virginia. Jones says Booth admitted that he was the man who killed Lincoln, and expressed no regret for the act, knowing all the consequences it involved. He harped again and again upon the necessity of his crossing the river. He said if he could only get to Virginia he could have medical attendance. Jones told him frankly that he would receive no medical attendance in Maryland. Said he: “The country is full of soldiers, and all that I can do for you is to get you off, if I can, for Cox’s protection and my own, and for your own safety. That I will do for you, if there is any way in the world to do it. ” When I received this account from Mr. Jones, I asked him question after question to see if I could extract any information as to what Booth inquired about while in that wilderness. I asked if he spake of his mother, or where he was going when he reached Virginia; whether he blamed himself for jumping from the theater box; whether he expressed any apprehension for Mrs. Surratt or his friends in Washington. To these and to many other questions Jones uniformly replied: “No, he did not speak about any of those things. He wanted food, and to cross the river, and to know what was said about the deed.” Booth, he thinks, wore a slouched hat. At first meeting Booth in the pines, he proved himself to be the assasin by showing upon his wrist, in India ink, the initials J. W. B. He showed the same to Capt. Jett in Virginia. Jones says Booth was a determined man, not boasting, but one who would have sold his life dear. He said he would not be taken alive.

Mr. Jones went up to Port Tobacco in a day or two to hear about the murder, and heard a detective there from Alexandria say: “I will give SIOO,OOO and guarantee it to the man who can tell where Booth is.” When we consider that the end of the war had come, and all the Confederate hopes were blasted and every man’s slaves set free, we may reflect upon the fidelity of this poor man, whose land was not his own, and with inevitable poverty before him perhaps for |he rest of his days, when the next morning he was told that to him alone would be intrusted that man for whom the Government had offered a fortune, and was increasing the reward. Mr. J ones says it never occurred to him for one moment that it would be a good thing to have that money. On the contrary, his sympathies were enlisted for the pale-faced young man, so ardent to get to Virginia and have the comforts of a doctor. Said he to Booth: “You must remain right here, however long, and wait till I can see some way to get you out; and Ido not believe I can get you -away from here until this hue and cry is somewhat over. Meantime Twill see that you are fed. He then continued to visit them daily, generally about 10 o’clock in the morning. He always went alone, taking with him such food as the country had—ham, Musky, bread, fish, and coffee. Part of the way Jones had to go by the public road, but he generally worked into the pines as quickly as possible. His intercourse at each visit with the fugitives was short, because he was in great personal danger himself, was not inquisitive, and was wholly intent on keeping his faith with bis old friend and the new ones. He says that Herold had nothing to say of the least importance, and was nothing but a pilot for Booth. Not improbably Cox sent his own overseer into the pines sometimes to see these men or to give them something, but he took no active part in their escape. The blankets they possessed came either from Cox’s or from Dr. Mudd’s.

Booth, as has been said, rode a small bay mare from the rear of Ford’s Theater to Cox’s pines. Herold rode a horse of another color. These horses were hired at different livery stables in "Washington. Jones is not conversant with all the facts about the shooting of these horses, but the testimony of Cox before he died was nearly as follows: After Booth entered the pines he distinctly heard, the next day or the day following, a band of cavalry going along the road at no great distance, amd the neighing of their horses. He said to Herold: “If we can hear those horses, they can certainly hear the neighing of ours, which are uneasy for want of food and stabling.” When Jones, Sunday morning, came through the woods and found one of the horses loose,, he told Cox. as well as Booth, that the horses ought to be put out of the way. Cox had Herold advised to take the horses down into Zekiah Swamp and shoot them both with his revolver, which he did. > * The weather during those days and nights was of a foggy, misty character —not cold, but although there was no rain. At regular intervals the farmer got on his . horse and went through the pines two or three miles to the spot where still lay the yearning man with tire great crime behind him and the great wish to see Virginia. Booth had a sympathetic nature, and seldom failed to make • a good imr pression; and that he impress sion on Jones will presently appear. No incident broke the monotony of these visits for days. Jones sent his faithful negro out with the boat to fish with gill-nets, so that it should not be broken up-in'the precautions used by the Federate to prevent booth’s escape. Jones was now reduced to one poor boat, which had coat him $lB- in Baltimore. He had lost several boats in the war, costing him from SBO to "$125 apiece. Thislittle gray or Teatl-colorei} skiff was the only means by which the could get acrqas the river. Every evening the man returned it to

the mouth of the little , gut or marsh called Dent’s Meadow, in front of the Huckleberry Farm. This is not twe miles north of Pope’s Creek, and from that spot Booth and Herold finally escaped. Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday passed by, and more soldiers came in and began so ride hither and thither and to examine the marshes; but they did not penetrate the pines at all, which at no time were visited. The houses were all examined, and old St. Thomas’ brick buildings, of a venerable and imposing appearance, above Chapel Point, were ransacked. The story went abroad that there were vaults under the priests’ house leading down to the river, and finally the soldiers tore the farm and terraces all to pieces. Yet for six nights and days Booth and Herold kept in the wooods, and Friday Jones slipped over to a little settlement called Alien’s Fresh, two or three miles from his farm, to see if he could hear anything. A large body of cavalry were in the little town, guided by a Marylander, and while Jones in his indifferent way was loitering about he heard the officer say: “We have just got news that those fellows have been seen down in St. Mary’s County.” The cavalry were ordered to mouift, and set out. At that time it was along toward the gray of the night, and instantly Jones mounted his horse and rode from Alien’s Fresh by the road and through the woods to where Booth and Herold were.

Said he, with decision: “Now, friends, this is your only chance. The night is pitch-dark and my boat is close by. I will get you some supper at my house, and send you off if I can.” With considerable difficulty and with sighs and pain Booth was lifted on to Jones’ horse, and Hferold was put at the bridle. “Now,” whispered Jones, as we cannot see twenty yards before us, I will go ahead. We must not speak. When I get to a point where everything is clear from me to you I will whistle so,” giving the whistle. In that way he went forward through the blackness, repeating the signal now and then; and although the wooded paths are generally tortuous and obstructed nothing happened. For a short distance they were on the public road; they finally turned into the Huckleberry farm, and about fifty yards from the house theassassin and his pilot stopped under two pear trees. At this moment a very pathetic incident took place. Jones whispered to" Booth: “Now I will go in and get something for you to eat, and you eat it here while I get something for myself.” Booth, with a sudden longing, exclaimed : “O, can’t Igo in the house just a moment and get a little of your warm coffee?” Jones says that he "felt the tears come to his eyes when he replied : “O, my friend, it would not be safe. This is your last chance to get away. I have negroes at the house; and if they see you, you are lost and so am I.” But Jones says, as he nyent in, he felt his throat choked. To this day he remembers that wistful request of the assassin to be allowed to enter a warm habitation once more before embarking on the wild and unknown river.

The negro, Henry Woodland, was in the kitchen stolidly taking his meal, and neither looking nor asking any questions, though he must have suspected from the occurrences of a few days past that something was in the wind. “Henry,” said Jones, “did you bring the boat back to Dent’s Meadow, where I told you?” “Yes, master.” “How many shad did you catcji, Henry?” “I caught about seventy, master.” “And you brought them all here to the house, Henry?” “Yes, master.” Jones then took his supper without haste and rejoined the two men. It was about three-quarters of a mile to the water-side, and although it was very dark, they kept on picking their way down through the ravine, where a little, almost dry stream ran off to the marshes. Not far from the water-side was a strong fence, which they were unable to take down. Booth was now lifted from the horse by Herold and Jones, and they got under his arms, he with the crutch at hand, and so they nearly carried him to the water. The boat could be gotten by a little wading, and Joites brought it in. Booth took his place in the sstern. He was heavily armed, and Jones says, had not only his carbine, as had Herold, but revolvers and a knife. Herold took the cars, which had been left in the boat, and sat amidships. Jones then lighted a piece of candle which he had brought with him, and took a compass which Booth had brought out with him from Washington, and by the aid of the candle he showed Bocih the true direction to steer. Said he, “Keep the course I lay diown for you, and it will bring you right into Machodoc Creek. Bow up the ereek to' the first house, where you-will find Mas. Queensberry, and I think she will take care of yooif you use my name.” They were together at the water-side an unknown time, from fifteen minutes to half an hour;. At last Booth, with his voice full of emotion, said to Jones: “God bless ycxn, my dear friend, for all you have done- for me. ” The last words Jones thinks Booth said were: “Goodby, old fellow!”" There was a moment’s sound of oars on the water, and the fugitives were gone; A few daya after Booth, crossed the river and had been killed, suspicion turned upon both J cues and Cox. -The negro who had taken the fugitives to Cetx’s gate gave information. Negroes near Jones’ farm said he had recently concealed men, and showed the officers a sort of litter or camp about two hundred yards from his house. Here, in reality, quite a different fugitive had 'hidden some time before. Jonesleoked at it in his mournful way, and expressed an opinion that it was nothing but where a hog had been ijcaned up. He was arrested and taken to. Bryantown, and kept there eight days in the second story of the tavern where Booth had stopped, and in sight of the country Catholic Church where Booth first met Dr. Mudd and others six months before. Cox was there, but in two or three days was sent to Washington. The detectives from all the cities of the East sat in the street under Jones and and described how he was to be hanged. He remarks of Col. Wells: “He was

a most bloodthirsty man, and tried to scare out of me just what I’m tellin* of you now.” In eight day. J ones was sent to the old Carroll Prison, Washington. There he contrived t communicate with Cox, whe was com pletely broken in spirit, and told hi* by no means to admit anything; am; when Jones, in about a month, saw Swan, the negro witness, going past hi* window toward the'navy-yard bridgtwith a sachel, Jones said to Cox: “You have nothing to fear.” The Government soon released these men, who indeed had taken no part in Mr. death, though they may have been ao complices after the fact. Jones wa* kept six and Cox seven weeks. Mr. Jones is married again, and now has ten children. He has filled some places under the Maryland and Baltimore political governments, and now keeps a coal, wood and feed yard in North Baltimore. George Alfred Townsend, in the Century.

Mercy Warren.

One of the very best bits of reading left to us from the early days of the American republic is the correspondence carried on in 1807 between J ohn Adams and Mercy Warren, and first published in the centennial volume of the Massachusetts Historical Society. Mercy Warren was a woman of rare ability and character, the sister of James Otis, the wife of General James Warren, and the author of a history of the American Revolution. John Adams, reading this book after his retirement from office, took offense at certain phrases, and corresponded with her at great length about them, showing in advancing years an undiminished keenness of mind and only an increase of touchy egotism. He makes it, for instance, a subject of sincere indignation when the lady in one case speaks of Franklin and Adams instead of Adains and Franklin. Mrs. Warren, on her side, shows to the greatest advantage, keeps her temper, and gives some keen home thrusts. She shows clearly in this how strongly and even justly a portion of the most intelligent people of Mr. Adams’ own State dreaded what she calls his “marked and uniform preference.to monarchic usagesshe brings him to the admission that he hates “democratic” government, and is satisfied with such republicanism as that of Holland —a nation, which, as he himself says, “has no idea of any republic but an aristocracy”— and that he counts even England a republic, since a republic is merely “a government of more than one.” She even quotes against him his own words, in moments of excited impulse, recognizing monarchy as the probable destiny of the United States. But the most striking fact, after all, is that she, a refined and cultivated woman, accustomed to the best New England society of her time, is found dissenting wholly from the Federalist view of Jefferson. “I never knew,” she bravely says, in answer to a sneer from Mr. Adams, “that ‘my philosophical friend,’ Mr. Jefferson, was afraid to do his duty in any instance. But this I know—he has dared to do many things for his country for which posterity will probably bless his memory; and 1 hope, he will yet, by his wisdom, justice, moderation, and energy, long continue the blessings of peace in our country, and strengthen the republican system to which he has uniformly adhered. ” Such a tribute from a woman like Mercy Warren—a woman then nearly 80 years old, but still showing unimpaired those mental powers of which John Adams had before spoken in terms of almost extravagant praise—is entitled to count for something against the bitterness of contemporary politicians.— T. IK. JHgginson, in Harper’s Magazine.

A Cop’s Courtship.

The cold, pale moon was sailing gracefully through the cloudless heavens, making the earth as light as day, and the clock in the far-off church tower had just stricken the hour of 9:30, when.a young girl of about 19 summers emerged from the back door of one of the large houses of the city and seated herself, with a dull thud, upon an overturned ash barrel. One. look would have told an observing person that this fair creature was a nurse-girl. Her rich red, alburn hair peeped out ’neath the trim little white cap, and as the moonlight fell upon her “Langtry bangs” it threw a deep, red shadow on her face like a calcium light through a red glass lager beer sign. For seven weary minutes she sat thus, seemingly lost in deep thought, when suddenly a gentle tap was heard at the back gate, and as she started to open it the form of a man, “a real live man,” was seen to enter. Stepping out of the shadow where the- moonlight could fall upon his manly figure, the‘silver stars and brass buttons showed thatt he was a policeman.. With a low cry of joy she sprang into his strong arms and gently laid her tiny head over his left lung. Just at than moment a couple of “Thomas felines” in the adjoining yard began to sing a selection from “The Damnation of Faust,” and as their clear voices swelled out on the night air, the two lovers walked over and seated themselves on> the overturned ash barrel. Thus they sat in silence for several moments, when turning her head she slowly rolled her old gold eyes until they met fiis, and said:. “Michael, darling, do you really love me as much as you say, or are you giving me cough He gave- her a searching glance, amd putting his arms around her with the grip of a vise,, was about to tell her of kps love again, when, with, a bang and a crash, the barrel caved in, leaving them among the staves and hoops,. The moon, as though trying to keep from laughing* hid behind a pass ing eloud, and tlte two cats in the next yard began to warble “Sweet Violets.” When the moon again appeared a transformation scene had taken place in th< back yard. The gitl’s cap was down over her eyes, and her hair looked as though it had been combed out with a corn-cob, while brave Michael had mads a bolt for the back fence, thinking that the Sergeant bad ran onto him. Slowly, with measured tread, the fair but “al broke-up” young girl went into tin house, leaving the cats to finish theii duet, and the moon to finish its weary journey.— Peck’s Sun.

REVELATIONS OF A PROOF-READER.

Th* Copy Furnished by Senator*, BeprelenUtlTei, and PretldenU. • One of the chief proof-readers of the Government, a man who has looked over the copy of the great men of the past decade and more, gives me the following interesting facts about their handwriting and the publication of their speeches: “Most Congressmen,” ■aid he, “are very particular as to how their speeches are printed in the Congressional Record. They must have a proof sent them, and they often change words and ideas so that the matter which appears in the Record is entirety different from the words they uttered on the floors of Congress. Most of the long speeches, however, are written out before they are delivered, and this copy is handed over for publication. Some men, Eke Bayard and Edmunds, make their speeches off-hand and don’t trouble themselves about them after they are once delivered. I don’t think Conkling ever wrote a speech. At least we did not get it in his handwriting. Senator Blaine prepared some of his speeches very carefully, and they were well written. Once, I remember, he brought the manuscript to the office, and, finding that the foreman was not present, he cut it into takes himself and distributed it among the printers. On the foreman coming in he said: ‘I know what I am about; I am an old printer myself.’

“SenatorVoorhees writes his speeches on very large sheets of printing paper, all of the same size and neatly cut. He has used the same paper ever since he came to Congress, and his writing is not bad. Senator Call also uses printbig paper, but his hand is terrible to read. He writes two or three letters of a word and ends in a scrawl so that half •of his words look alike, and none of them are legible. Senator Beck gives the printers a good deal of trouble, but he is a favorite because his matter is largely made up of statistics and is consequently ‘fat.’ “Senator Logan writes a decent hand, but it is said his wife has a good deal to do with his speeches. She often came in times past to look over tho proofs. She knew as well as he what a good speech should be, and would correct to suit herself. “ Senator Sherman almost always dictated his speeches to his private secretary, but his copy was not good. It was interlined and reinterlined. Sherman is very particular about his expression, and not about the comfori of the printer. Senator Anthony furnishes much better copy, and has his pages always of the same size. “Senator Hawley trusts a good deal to the printer. He said once, ‘The printer is bound to have his own way about the punctuation, and there is no use in fighting against him.’ Senator Lamar is of a different make. He is very painstaking with his speeches before they go to print. When he has a speech to be published he a secretary to the Government Printing Of« fice, and the two stay there correcting and recorrecting till they get the speech to suit him. “When Senator Jones, of Nevada, delivered his big silver speech,” the proofreader laughed as he spoke, “he brought his secretary to the office with him. It was a long speech and it took, I think, 150 pages of the Congressional Record. During the reading the secretary ventured to advise some change, when Jones turned to him and said: ‘Who in the d —1 is making this speech ; you or me?’ Jones, they say, turned his whole salary over to his private secretary. He did not do it to have him write his speeches, I know.”

“How about the members of the House ?” “Sam Cox prepares poorer copy than any other Congressman. He writes on pieces of paper torn from envelopes, newspaper wrappers and scraps of all shapes and sizes. He pins these scraps together and thus sends them in to the printer. His hand is hard to read, and he corrects, interwrites, and recorrects, so that his proof takes more time than the first manuscript. “Sam Bandall used to rewrite his paragraphs very frequently when he was in the chair. Tom Reed never bothers the printers, but the average Congressman makes trouble. The worst men are those who doa’t know what they want to say till they see it in print, and some of them furnish terrible copy. I remember a man named Brooks, from New York, who was here in 1868,1 think. His writing was worse than Greeley's. The copy looked as though it had beean written with a rake. Wb couldn’t decipher a dozen words in it, arid one of the boys took it to Brooks to ask its translation. Brooks said, T should think you could make- it out by the sense.’ The printer replied: ‘We don’t see a darned.bit of sense in it,’ • “Same of those Congressmen are very particular. Some write ‘applause* so often that they might as well buy rubber stamps with the word marked on them to save time. Gne- member of the- Forty-fifth Congress made only one speech during a session, and that speech waa a remark of two- lanes. He came to the Government Printing Office in a. eaorriage with a secretary to correct it* -and at the close looked proudly around and said: “Well, I guess that will do; won’t it ?”

“What kind of eopy do the Presidents furnish ?” “Much of the manuscript that comes from the White House is written by secretaries. Arthur writes his messages on paper fourteen by seventeen inches, large foolscap, like some they use m the State Department. It is very plainly written. I set up some of Andy Johnson’s messages. They were written plain and clear, but I think he .dictated them. Hayes* hand was ra’ther pinched and eramped, Garfield’s waa good, and, as to Grant, he usually wrote most cd his matter on manifold, and did not call to correct it after he had it once prepared. ” It is well enough to talk about the mantle of charity, but it does seem as though some of it given to the poor widow and orphan was mighty thin to keep out the cold of winter. The mantle seems to have been used on the principle that charity begins at home and is worn out before it is given to the poor.