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I 
 
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ROBERTSON'S CHEAP SERIES. 
 
 / 
 
 POPULAR READING AT POPULAR PRICES. 
 
 y 
 
 ALL FOR HER; 
 
 OR. 
 
 ST. JUDE'S ASSISTANT. 
 
 .A. ITO^^EXi. 
 
 BY 
 
 • • • • 
 
 1^ 
 
 
 m 
 
 ^1 
 
 i: 
 
 ,it J iJ 
 
 *• As Man N6ver Loved Woman Before. * 
 
 COMFL ETE, 
 
 TOEONTO: 
 J. BOSS ROBERTSON, 55 KING-ST. WEST, COR. BAT. 
 
 1880. 
 
 
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 ^J^„ iiBL**.c; 
 
 
 I . 
 
 /?AJ»J^O«l 
 
ST. JUDE'S ASSISTANT. 
 
 I'-A-RT I-THE SET.A.PO'TV. 
 
 'I 
 
 'i 
 
 1'.!^ 
 
 i, 
 
 CHAPTER 1. 
 
 UTTLB ST. JUDE 3, 
 
 Vespers were over at little St. Jade's. 
 Faithful ladies in sealskin, in a thin stream, 
 puiired out upon the sidewalk. Within, in 
 the dim light of a single gas jet, as yet un- 
 quenched upon the Evangelistic Eagle, red- 
 <tened by the sunset through a painted 
 window, a young girl, alone of all the 
 worehippers, lingered. 
 
 As sh'^ stood, glancing furtively from the 
 wheezy old sexton bolting the street doors, 
 to the low-cut vestry entrance whence the 
 last amen of the clioristers has just died 
 iiway in wail of (H-gan, like the din of break- 
 ers spent upon a lonely beach ; one could see 
 that she waited, not boldly as of right, but 
 timidly,as if the act were a confession she 
 liardly cared to make. 
 
 The vestry door opened. It vas only a 
 belated little chorister, but Olive Gray 
 tinahed and made pretence of dropping her 
 Ffyranal and picking it up again. A second 
 time the door opened, however, and she 
 looked consciously around at the wheezy 
 sexton again. She heard a low voice at her 
 oar say, ' Olive ;' and, in the darkness — for 
 tlie solitary g&s jet had been shut, and the 
 Minsethad sunk below the diamond panes — 
 he felt a large, heavy hand close tightly 
 over her own. 
 
 The large, heavy hand belonged to the 
 Keverend Mr. Brand, Assistant Rector of 
 St. Jude's On-the-Avenue, and curate in 
 charge of little St. Jade's, the most f'tV' of its 
 chapels. St. Jude's was a power in the city. 
 Oil Sundayn, its costly pews must have con- 
 tained some millions' worth of furs and 
 diamonds. The portly gentlemen at the 
 pew heads, for the privilege of sitting at 
 which they paid soOie thousands yearly, 
 represented untold commercial wealth down- 
 
 town, and untold orisons — the choicest St. 
 Jude's could pay for — up-town. For the 
 rest of the week, wherever they m-ght hap- 
 pen to be, the Lord was absolutely wearied 
 with petitdons to deal gently with such valu- 
 able sinaers ; and when, in vacations, they 
 or theirs crossed the neighbouring ocean, the 
 grand Episcopal 'Form of Prayer for Influ- 
 ential Parishioners at Sea,' was uttered 
 ceaselessly until tlieir return. St. Jude's 
 pulpit was the most eloquent that money 
 could buy,and alternated with glorious music 
 culled from the masters of Italian 
 and German melodv, in Benedicites 
 to all the works of the Lord. So, great 
 Saint Jude's with its Rector and five assist- 
 ants — with its site upon the costliest comer 
 lot on all Fifth Avenue — with its four Sun- 
 day services conducted at what would be a 
 largo fortune for the inheritors of tlie earth 
 who meeCly prayed in its modest Mission 
 upon Avenue A. was a power in the city. 
 
 Little St. Jude's was gr^at St. Jude's 
 most fashionable Cliapel. It was choice and 
 chaste in design, Pompeian — if the adjective 
 applies to a sacred place — in the diminutive 
 
 fterfection of proportions and the delicate 
 uxury of its stained glass, sculpture and il- 
 lumination. Xeed it be said that George 
 Brand was the typical assistant to preside at 
 this perfect little shrine ? the tj'pical young 
 New York, deputy Man of Gotl, alike culti- 
 vated and dreaded by mammas, patronized 
 by papas, and idolized by daughters ? He 
 liadadeep rich voice, which he certainly 
 did bring to bear with great eiTect upon the 
 collects, epistles and gospels : black hair, 
 parted irregularly in the middle, over a very 
 low forehead ; a pair of large piercing black 
 eyes, and a thick well trimmed moustache — 
 ITie difference between High Church, at this 
 juncture, had Ijeen said by the sacreligious 
 to be expressible in Collar. A Low Cliureh- 
 man was indicated — these held — by a collar 
 
 
f 
 
 ST. JUDE'S ASSISTAJ^T. 
 
 iiixl 110 cravat — a Broad Clian;lniiiiii by a 
 collar atul a cravat aiul a Higli Cliurohiuan 
 l>y a cravat and no collar. Brand was oer- 
 tiiinly dresaed in accordance with this rule — 
 for fi'niii hiu eloquent tliroat to the soles of 
 hi^ !>. t.), he was as black as an undertaker. 
 
 It was very dark, and so Olive allow ed 
 her slight hand to remain an instant in the 
 gieat one before drawing it gently away. 
 Curate and parishioner, they piissed together 
 down the fihaded aisle- he tall, strong, 
 stately in chest and limb : she slight, frail, 
 alinoat oliildish in her diminutive figure — 
 conversing (for the beuctit of Mr. (jolls) 
 al)oiit tlic service, the hymns, and tlie sharp 
 wintry wtiather. But not even old Golfs 
 was deceived, or failed to recognize the in- 
 fatuated girl and the elegant young parson, 
 wlio lost none of his heart under the familiar 
 infliction. As they emerged upon the street 
 and walked towards the avenue, along 
 which lights were already springing up, they 
 (juite ran against a shortish stick-ret man, 
 with a hat very much over his eyes. 
 
 ' You had best take my arm,' said the 
 Rev. Mr. Brand. 
 
 ' It's growing dark, and perhaps I may,' 
 said Olive, drawing a little nut of the way 
 of the stout man, and towards the divine. 
 So she took his arm, and they disappeared 
 in the dark. 
 
 The stout man stands watching them out 
 of sight, and then starts off in the same di- 
 rection. Ho does not attempt to follow 
 them, however, but turns down the Fifth Av- 
 enue, and stops before the steps of one of the 
 many little elegant hotels upon that clioic- 
 est of all thoroughfares. The hali boy who 
 answers his bell, leads obsequiously to a 
 pretty elcvat(jr, whence a suite of apart- 
 ments au quartrieme, as one would say 
 abroad, are gained. 
 
 It is an elegant, though somewhat dis- 
 orderly, bachelor's sittir^ -oom or library to 
 whieli the door leads.' Tlicrc is just enough 
 of sj lumetry in its airangeiuent to show tliat 
 the furniture, fixtures and ornaments ate 
 tho«e which a man of wealth und taste woul 1 
 gather in the course of a loitering life, not 
 confined to these shores, and just enougli 
 of incongruity to show that no woman hand 
 liad management or dominion therein. 
 Between two windows, commanding the 
 glorious avenue, was a case of books ; and 
 on two other sides of the room wei'c well- 
 lillcd dwarf boolishelves ; while on the side 
 opposite was a broad russet leather sofjv.sueli 
 as men who have no wives love to spread 
 their heels upon. At various irregular 
 
 fioints around the room were chairs of dif- 
 nsive model, calculated to suiYer tlio weary 
 and masculine form in almost any posture 
 
 which listlessness or indolence could suggest. 
 These, with a broad greeii-i;overed table, 
 piled with books, inkstands, pipes, and other 
 rubbish, completed the furniture of the 
 room. The walls were painted a delicate 
 utMitral, and were hung with such pictures as 
 a man and not a woman would purcliase, ex- 
 cept that a St. Cecilia and an Ecce Homo 
 .seemed quite out of place in the assortment. 
 A Uuge crucifix of ebony and bronze, with 
 two swords crossed above it, sunnounted the 
 mantel. Quite a numVjer of other swords 
 were displayed over pictures of saint ami 
 sinner alike ; while a brisk fire of Cannel 
 coal, in an ample grate, lighted up the 
 whole apartment and the deep red lambre- 
 quins over the window. 
 
 Divested of his wraps aud ulster, whicii 
 were heavier that the season would warrant, 
 Mr. Paul Ogden, gentleman, now in pos- 
 session of his own rooms, was not so stout 
 nor so shortisii, and not so oldish as he had 
 appeared on his way from little St. Jude's 
 
 t)Ovtal. Not tall, but slim and well made ; 
 le was a voim^ gentleman of thirty or 
 thereabouts, with light hair and eyes, and a 
 moustache. 
 
 • Mr. Paul Ogden enters, his dressing-room 
 to array himself for dinner. 
 
 At twenty-five, Paul Ogden had been 
 graduated successfully and successively from 
 Yale College and from oue of the great Law 
 Schools where it is correct for rich muu.s 
 sons to acquire a title to the Metropolit.ui 
 Bar and to a profession whose harsli duties 
 they never tempt, but whose prestige it is 
 good to secure. He found himself, there- 
 upon, with a not immoderate fortune, a 
 gcatlomanly air and person, a decided taste 
 for ease, and a cnriositj' concerning Paries, 
 Vienna, and certain other continental capi- 
 tals which are supposed to present to youtii, 
 blase of New York sins, new and charming 
 variations of dissipation. With youth 
 and strength enough to purchase 
 experience at every shop where in 
 found it spread out for sale, . and yet with 
 gciit!oiiuiuly soul enough to retain, — wliile 
 toucliiug the bottoms of all tiiat wealth aud 
 beauty could offer — the glow of history ainiil 
 the vestiges of a stately Past, he ate liis 
 breakfast in the city of *he Cicsars, climbed 
 the Alps in the track of the Napoleon, and 
 loitered among tliose relics of romantic and 
 feudal time in whicIi the island of England 
 surpasses all other lands. 
 
 True, he sipped his sour red wine under 
 the shade of tne mighty Coliseum. True, 
 the music of the great Cathedrals ran con- 
 fusedly in his ears, .sometimes, with the 
 music of less saintly resorts. True at Enji' 
 and Baden-Baden — (ere the conqueror of 
 
ST. JUDES ASSISTANT. 
 
 iggest 
 
 table, 
 I other 
 of thu 
 ielicatu 
 urc» as 
 ise, ex- 
 ! Homo 
 rtment. 
 3, witli 
 ited the 
 
 awords 
 ant anil 
 
 Caniiel 
 
 up the 
 lambre- 
 
 , which 
 rarrant, 
 in pos- 
 
 80 stout 
 
 J he had 
 ;. Jade's 
 [I made ; 
 ihirty or 
 BS, and a 
 
 iug-room 
 
 lad been 
 ,-ely from 
 veat Law 
 ;h nieii'.s 
 I'lipolitiui 
 3h duties 
 jtige it is 
 If, there- 
 ortune, a 
 led taste 
 ing Paris, 
 utal capi- 
 to youth, 
 charming 
 th youth 
 purcliase 
 (irhere hi 
 yet with 
 n, — while 
 ealth ami 
 tory amid 
 le ate his 
 climbed 
 ileon, and 
 lantic and 
 f England 
 
 rine under 
 True, 
 ran con- 
 -with the 
 ue at Emi' 
 iqueror of 
 
 Oravellotte was virtuous and exiled cakes 
 and ale,) he lost his Lmis d'ow and drank 
 philosiophy in his Absinth? I He had lost 
 his heart. But who has not ? W^ho has 
 jiot found himself relished all the more for a 
 little seasonable siu ? Why, not even in 
 ' heaven are absolutely sinless soula popular. 
 There is more joy in heaven over one real 
 wicked sinner who repents, than over whole 
 <lreary nincty-and-nines of models for whom 
 no tears were ever shed, no prayers were over 
 prayed, and whom no bliss of holy forcive- 
 1109S has ever enfolded. In order to feel the 
 true happiuc^ of forgiveness, we must needs 
 do something to be forgiven for ; and the 
 glory of present goodness loses its sheen 
 unless it stand out against a more sombre 
 background of badness. 
 
 With Mr. Paul Ogden abroad, we 
 tiien, have nothing to do. He was no 
 better than the rest of us. But he 
 did love his native land, and was not 
 ashamed of it. And, just one year before 
 this history opens, his steamer sailed up 
 along the green shores of Staten Island — 
 passing then in charm, to his and to many 
 otiier homesick eyes straining from that hur- 
 ricane deck, the sheen of fair Campana, or 
 sunsets over cool Swiss lakes. Home ! — 
 there is something in the sight of home — 
 even to the homeless — which brings warmth 
 and life into the heart ! How brave it made 
 Huratius when the spears and arms and 
 craven ranks of his enemies — thirsting for 
 the city and ior his poor life — faded from his 
 vision, and he only saw 
 
 ••OhPalatinus- 
 The white walls of his home f 
 
 «nd 80 this boy, who loved his native land 
 (as who must not would he enjoy others ?) 
 stepped upon the stoned of brave New York, 
 satisfied — sated, and — shall we lisp it — 
 sad 1 
 
 Sad and sated, satisfied and sad. Ah, 
 gloomy recompense of pleasure, grim foot- 
 man, dogging the footstepa of youth, do 
 what we may, there comes this messenger 
 to us all, laden with his long bill for the ex- 
 perience we have purchased : and, wince as 
 we please, extortionate as the charges are, 
 we must pay in full. 'A is bad enough to 
 be wise — it is bitter enough to have the 
 knowledge of good aod evil which eve i our 
 first parents — models and masterpieces 
 of God, strong in the likeness of Deity and 
 of Eden, could not bear — thrust upon 
 us at all ; but to have to buy it at so great a 
 price ! Take it away — we never ordered 
 it, we wont pay your bill — only we must. 
 
 We are told that Ulysses wandered far 
 
 manners, and the 
 IM he foot the bilk? 
 
 and wide, and saw tlie 
 
 men of so ihaiiy cities. 
 
 Di<l he come back to Penelope tlisillusion- 
 
 ized, dissatisfied, bitter, cynical and blase 
 
 with all mankind ? 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 liUdre— qui ncscit campestrlbns abstinet arniis 
 Indoctns <]ue pilm diaolve tr ihive quiesoit 
 Ne sprisso! risum tollant im. le coronte— 
 (1 nescit, vesus tamen auuet flugere i 
 
 De Artk Poet, 880. 
 
 Miss Isabella Singleton -was a virgin of 
 fifty sweet sunmiers, or thereabout — albeit 
 she herscl^lllnight have pleaded to something 
 I less — who was very reluctantly outliving her 
 tranquil faith in a certain young Duke or 
 Prince or Apollo Belvidere, who was on his 
 way from Spain to claim her as his bride. 
 That faith had been outlived, however, to a 
 certain extent, and Isabella now believed 
 that Literature (with a capital L) was her 
 liege, and upon him — so wholly was he hers 
 — lavished whatever of devotion, of sand- 
 paper, of midnight oil and of maiden grace 
 — to say nothing of ink — she still possessed. 
 So rapt was she indeed, that, for her posses- 
 sion, a fleshly Prince would have had 
 doughty tilt with Prince Literature, (a 
 
 trope originating 
 signed to express 
 with which she gave 
 strutted alone on the 
 
 with herself, de- 
 the faint reservation 
 thanks that Literature 
 campus of her heart. ) 
 
 Horatius Flaccus once declared — in lines 
 which appear above this chapter — that 
 whereas certain study, discipline and labour 
 were necessary to produce good wrestlers at 
 the public games, nothing of the sort was 
 supposed to oe required to make a poet. Upon 
 a similar theory — if not upon Flacciis'a direct 
 authority — Miss Isabella became a poetess. 
 
 She became a poet in this wise. Her father 
 and mother were dead; the foimir having 
 lived up to his income and more, ne left her 
 nothing but debts, and her mother nothing 
 but a wardrobe. Isabella therefore found 
 herself, at their death, destitute of any sup- 
 port, and obliged to find some work, useful 
 or otherwise, for her fair hands to do. In 
 this strait she had written tT letter to a cer- 
 tain Mr. Piideaux. 
 
 This Mr. Prideaux was, at this time, 
 editor of a magizine, known as the Seahonrd 
 MoiUhly, published in the city, but popularly 
 supposed to be written at the little Jersey 
 village of Amity, about a hundred miles from 
 the nearest railway station in oommonication 
 with the metropolis. 
 
 The Seaboard at tiiis time, was the ac- 
 knowledged leader of literary taste in the 
 
 ! > 
 
ST. JUDE'S ASSISTAFT. 
 
 il! 
 
 country ; what it coddled, it was en regk to 
 coddle. What it tuubbed, everybody snub- 
 bed ; anil when it took snuff, everybody 
 sneezed. At least two other magazines, in 
 the same town, had struggled manfully but 
 impotently against the SmhoartVa tyranny, 
 but bad now Deoonie its echoes and ciacquers 
 and under its dictation, meekly employed 
 the umtual adiniratiouists of Amity to write 
 it.s poetry and prose, paid them Seaboard 
 prices, and were content. 
 
 Mr. Prideaux was a natty little gentleman 
 of sixty or so, who dressed in the extremity 
 of youthful fashion, and was never visible 
 outside of his straw-coloured kid gloves and 
 his dark malacca stick with a gold oand near 
 its top. He was no weak-eyed eiiitor, whose 
 onion orbs had grown moist and filmy with 
 l)eruBal of maunscripta in masculine, feminine 
 and neuter fists, and whose shouldera, round- 
 ed from bending over quires of Aurelia's and 
 Clarence's, and Lottie Lilac's, and of half a 
 hundred of f > alliterative women of America; 
 to say noth) of reams from Bohemia, which 
 being pre-paid to a lawful destination, the 
 United States mail would peisist in daily 
 delivering at his sanctum door. 
 
 Mr. Pr deaux was an advanced editor. He 
 kept no waste-basket. He selected his own 
 contributors ; assigned the ]X)etry to one, to 
 another the philosophy, and to others the 
 stories, statistics, gossip, ate. He never read 
 anything, in manuscript or print. He had 
 a bilious old bachelor to sneer at the fash- 
 ions, a tragic old bachelor to lash himself 
 over the ill-jointed times, a hectic young one 
 tu poke withering fun at all books 
 t'lat issued from any but a cer- 
 tain press of city publishers (who also oddly 
 enough, published the Seaboard, and whose 
 monograph said hectic young bachelor was to 
 memorise at his peril) ; an old maid to write 
 the poetry, and a young one to prepare the 
 usual number of pages devoted to original 
 romance. It very rarely happened that nvj 
 other description of matter was required by 
 the Seaboard ; but if it were, there was some- 
 bodyat Amity ready to 'do 'it. Mr. Prideaux 
 had no other assistants. 
 
 We have said that the Seaboard kept no 
 waste-basket. Two very small boys instead, 
 at three dollars^a week, were emj loyed to 
 fill up and mail to all the strangers covering 
 manuscripts to the office, the following 
 blank : 
 
 * Mr. Prideaux begs the honour of informing 
 
 M that the manuscript 
 
 which he kindly furnishes the Seaboard 
 Monthly will \ye returned to h — address upon 
 receipt (under present postal regulations), of 
 thirty-six (36) cents. 
 
 'Mr. Prideaux returns thanks for the 
 pleasure of perusing the manuscript afore- 
 said." • 
 
 Upon receipt of the thirty-six cents, a tyvo- 
 cent poMtage stamp was placed upon it, and 
 the contnoution was placed in the post- 
 office. So that Mr. Pndeaux found himself 
 annually in enjoyment of quite a moilest 
 little income from this source alone. 
 
 When Mr. Prideaux received the letter 
 from Miss Isabella Singleton, informing him 
 of her bereavement anti consequent monetai y 
 distress, he had just leam-jd, with deep re- 
 gret, of the demise, at Amity, aged ninety- 
 three, of Miss Angelica Prosser, spinster. 
 
 Now this venerable old maid had made thu 
 
 Eoetry for the Seaboard ever since its estali- 
 ahment, in consideration of her house rent, 
 board and clothes, which, as her wants had 
 been few (she had never possessed any teeth 
 and liad lived on green tea), had been an ex- 
 ceedingly profitable arrangement for Mr. 
 Prideaux.- 'Bad,' he muttered under hi» 
 breath, at the thought of a possible incrensu 
 in his expenses; 'this is bad, very bad.' 
 but the very next letter he had opened had 
 been Miss Singleton's pitiful tale, and he liad 
 mentally closed with the opportunity on the 
 instant. 
 
 He cared very little who wi-ote the Sm- 
 board's poetry, so he got it cheap ; and tht; 
 lady being in reduced circumstances, lie 
 thought he saw his way to a bargain. Miss 
 Singleton's father had been a pedagogue at 
 one period of h.8 life, and Mr. Prideaux his 
 parlour boarder. He recognized an oblij.'a- 
 tion to assist his old tutor's daughter the 
 more readily that he could save money by 
 her ; and upon an interview, the matter was 
 arranged. 
 
 Miss Singleton herself, like most pedagogues ' 
 children, had no educt^ion ; but then, neither 
 had Bums. She did not even recognize the 
 trammels of grammar, but said 'they was' ha- 
 bitually — but then Shakespeare, before heiv 
 had united singular verbs with plural pro- 
 nouns. She couhl not spell — neither coulil 
 Chaucer. She had no invention, neither had 
 Crabbe nor saintly old Dr. Young. It m as 
 settled, then, that she was to write all tl.e 
 poetry for the Seahoard. 
 
 Mr. Prideaux's instructions had been ter^e 
 and comprehensive. 'You're to be always 
 wanting to die, you see. Nothing to live for 
 —that sort of thing. You'll find Walker's 
 Rhyming Dictionary will come handy. I'll 
 send for Prosser's copy for you. It Ijelongs 
 to thi Seaboard. We want two pieces a 
 month That'll be ten dollars. You'll get 
 in with tlic * Slobberer' anA the * Swa»h Tuh, 
 t rough n?. That'll be tlurty dollars— aiii 
 
ST. JUDE'S ASSISTANT. 
 
 f| 
 
 you uught, with your babita, to got on on 
 thirty doUan a month. ' 
 
 It wia the fint time iu Isabella's lung 
 niaiden life, that the had ever aeeu a live 
 uditor ; and she oonld only listen witli rever- 
 ence and awe. She waited for more instruc- 
 tionii, but, OS none came, she faltered, ' And 
 uiii I to send them to you for approval ?' 
 
 ' B1«M you, no I' cried Mr. Prideaux, aghast 
 ut the idea of his reading poetry ur anything 
 i-Iae. ' Send 'em to the office. By the way 
 
 gad, its laoky I thought to tell you ! — 
 !ti'ud em to me, care of Downey and Com- 
 p:iuy — that's our gag. Don't forget that. If 
 vou send 'em tome m to the Seaboard, the^^ll 
 1)6 stacked, and we'll never be able to hnd 
 'em again !' \ 
 
 Isabella followed her instructions to the 
 letter — and so succossfnlly did she yearn for 
 tiie grave as the one great boon of her exis- 
 tence, and so stoutly did she decUne, on any 
 :iuoouut, to survive any longer, tliat i'n due 
 time she not only completed her six poems 
 per mouth, but was often two or even three 
 iiiontlis ahead of the demand. The facility 
 uf rhjone she found to be one which culti- 
 vates itself and grows by what it feeds on. 
 From the simple coincidence of ' youth' and 
 'truth,' morning' and 'warning,' 'love' and 
 ' dove, ' she advanced rapidly to ' youth' and 
 'in sooth,' 'momine' and 'bom in,' ',love' 
 and ' uf ;' and was able to do such verses as 
 the following : 
 
 ' Dear God, I am so weary with it all. 
 
 I fain would rest me for a little space. 
 Is there no great rock where the snadows fall. 
 
 VNIiere I may cast me down and hide my face? 
 
 ' [ work and strive, sore burdened and afraid. 
 The road is flinty, and the way is long ; 
 
 And the weak staii whereby my steps are staid. 
 Bends like a reed when bitter winds are strong. 
 
 ' The lofty thought proves fruitless in the deed. 
 The prize I toll for seems a glittering lie ; 
 
 'i here is no comfort for the present need, 
 Xo gruerdon promised for futmity. 
 
 ' 1 shrink in terror from the endless task, 
 I look with horror on the barren land. 
 
 And ask, as only hopeless hearts can ask. 
 The meaning of my days to understand ;'— 
 
 —while she plastered her curls or adjusted 
 lier whalebones ; and in less time than it took 
 to copy them off afterwards. She was de- 
 lighted to find, too, that, immediately fol- 
 lo\vinp the issue of the magazine, the news- 
 papers would be sure to contain one or more 
 I if her effusions, credited to ' <S'ea6oar(f, for 
 'I line,' or ' Slobberer, for August,' or • Staaah 
 Tub, for April ;' as the case was — a testimo- 
 nial, as she learned afterwards, not to tha 
 lire or fervour of Isabella Singleton, but to the 
 convenience of certain advance slips sent by 
 
 the proprietors of those publications to tlie 
 composwg-rooni of evei^ newspaper on 
 the list of Trowell & Plaster, aavertis- 
 ing agents in the city of New York, and 
 which came very conveiuently to the hand iu 
 filling up columns. 
 
 Isabella livotl, at this time, in a modest 
 house en Gay Street, a tl.orougb£are of about 
 a blook or two in length, where doors had no 
 knobs, blinds no fastenings and but one 
 hinge apiece ; where watenng-carts and po- 
 lioemen rarely came, and whose gutters were 
 
 I strewn with obsolete chignons, fragments of 
 crinoline, and bits of old shoes. A tnorough- 
 
 j fare that knew no delights save wandering 
 
 I minstrels from Italy, with organs and little 
 brown monkeys and dip-shod children. Her 
 
 I great-great-great-grandfather had been a 
 certain John Brand, who lived on a farm 
 near by or in what is now the city of Boston, 
 Massachusetts ; and she was therefore a long 
 removed cousin of tlie reverend Greorge 
 Brand, the popular curate-in-charge of little 
 St. Jude^ — although he was quite oblivious 
 of any such connection, and she had never 
 deemed it available for any practioal purpose. 
 
 CHAPTER m. 
 
 ▲ T riB3T SIGHT. 
 
 When Paul Ogden had once more set foot 
 upon his native pave, and dined the sea 
 flavour from off his palate, he thou;(i'ht him- 
 self beginning a new life, in which there was 
 no new sensation possible. But he was mis- 
 taken ; for, one waning Sunday afternoon, 
 remorseless fate led him to little St. Jude's, 
 and he fell in love with a face. 
 
 It was a little, white, childish face, turned 
 upward under the shadow of an overhang- 
 ing gallery. But a red and golden beam of 
 sunset through the stained <uamond panes, 
 which Paul was just then following listlessly 
 with his eve, happened to light upon it, and 
 he felt in love with it. 
 
 Paul had been rather of a favourite with 
 women, and, like most men, who see them 
 in social swarms, had been idolized by many, 
 and told in unmistakable action that he 
 might wed whom he chose. 
 
 But he had not chosen. It is not unusally 
 the fate of such a man, after being beloved 
 against will and taste over and over again, 
 to finally run mad over some artless utile 
 girl, made to love, doubtless, but not to love 
 him, and to plunge into the blackest black- 
 ness oi despair, and to go the dreariest of 
 dogs, because ot her. So it was, at any rate, 
 in Paulas case ; and to those don he pro- 
 i^eeded, mrithont loss of time. Olive Gray 
 was one of those anomaUee tiiat exist in the 
 
 M. I 
 
 m 
 
 m 
 
 
 ^. 
 
 ^ 
 
 li. 
 
 ^1 
 
 T-5 
 
ly, 
 
 1 1 
 
 ST. J UDE'S ASSISTANT. 
 
 i 
 
 I 
 
 very heart of whirling city life, of the fash- 
 ion, pomp and fatal diaHipation which we 
 call 'society ' in New York. In the niiilat 
 of the profusion, luxury, and, bo far 0- aha 
 knew, bonndlesM wealth of her father' .ome, 
 she was, at nineteen, a.s urtlesa, ainiple and 
 
 Eure an she had been born, or aa if ahe had 
 ved, in a convent. 
 
 She was devout and ekmeat in religioiis 
 observation. Hiie was a communicant of St. 
 .[udc's, and loved, from iier inmost heart, its 
 stately services ; altliouL'h, aa we shall pre- 
 sently aee, at thia period she was on Sun- 
 daya, a« well as on week days, an attendant 
 at little St. Jude'a chapel, where her slight 
 form might ever be aeen at matin and vesper, 
 I tent to the blessing which, they aay, never 
 tails to Holy Benediction. She oocupied 
 much of her time, too, under direction of 
 iier spiritual guides, and from inclination, in 
 real charities. 
 
 iier deft little hands brought timely com- 
 fort to the poor sick of St. Jude's dependent 
 sounding brass and tinkling cymbals. 8iie 
 had classes in its Industrial and Mission 
 Schools, and out of quaint old Testament 
 fables, to the little waifs and strays and 
 atreet Arabd she actually construed genuine 
 intelligible truths. At home, among her 
 dazzling, styliafa aiaters and fast, horsey 
 brothers, whose brows — knitted with the 
 custom of vast intereata — rarely relaxed in 
 homelike smiles except at the sound of her 
 voice or the touch of her hand. But, al- 
 though simple in taste as in features, slight 
 in form, and quiet in speech and action, 
 Olive seemed to be one of that small claaa of 
 women whom all men invariably admire. 
 There are two classes of women in the 
 world. First, the large class who want to 
 maiTy all men, and second, the amaller clasa 
 whom all men want to marry. I have yet 
 to learn that l>eauty, wealth, wit, worth or 
 style have anything to do with the distinc- 
 tion between theae two classes. All the 
 beauty, wealth, wit, worth and style in the 
 world will not admit a woman into the 
 second. She must be born there, and if she 
 is — without one of these attributes — there 
 she will live and die. To be — in the slang 
 of women — 'popular with men' — or in 
 maacnline parlance, ' nice, ' is in Uie blood. 
 
 We cannot give description to this thinsf 
 — whether it is in the eyes of the beholder 
 inatead of in the thing beheld, we will never 
 know. The coila of a loathsome seq)ent 
 sometimes hold a charm for the fairest bird ; 
 and something of the sort lies somewhere 
 between man and woman. Olive Gray, 
 little as she desired it, was bom in this 
 class ; and many men besides Paul Og- 
 den had vowed they would sacrifice their 
 
 heads to move the simple little thhig'a heart. 
 There ia one drawbaok, however, to tkea^ 
 Bort of girla ; although they fall in love 
 alowly, they always do fall in love ultimately, 
 with curates. 
 
 When (leorgo Brand had been called (and 
 his call had happened to be in point of time 
 almost simultaneously with Paul's return 
 from abroad) to be Rector of little St. 
 Jude's, it liad been noticed that Olive.had 
 followed the throng of daughters who quitted 
 the larger for the smaller fold, and, deserting 
 the avenue edifice, crowded the chapel at 
 every service. Unfortunately for Percy, at 
 the mmu he fell in lore with her, ahe had 
 Boaroely a waking thought that was no 
 coupletl with religion. Girls who are in love 
 with curates, always suppose themselves in 
 love with rehgion. It is only the correllative 
 form of that hallucination which (ills the 
 sermons of young clergymen on the eve of 
 their nuptials with mystical allusions to Tlie 
 Bride — which, as everybody knows, is the 
 Church. 
 
 About this time Olive's duties at the mis- 
 sion school began to acquire, even for her, a 
 new and undennable charm. The stories ot 
 Jacob's Ladder and the Gates of Gaza began 
 to thrill her as she rehearsed them to tin: 
 wandering little beggars gathered about her. 
 David and Samson, Jonathan, Absalom, 
 Saul, Joshua, even the Rehuboams and Jero- 
 boams, began to h.ave a lovely side to their 
 characters, which, up to thia time, she felt 
 she had never appreciated. The matins and 
 vespers glowed with a glory she never had 
 absorbed before, and every little chorister's 
 head had a nimbus around it, in the dim at- 
 mosphere. But although Olive seemed to her- 
 self to love her careworn father and showy 
 mother — her elegant sisters and her dissi- 
 pated brothers more than ever, it was not 
 until long after, when, as we have seen, the 
 Reverend George Brand took her little hand 
 into his great one, and called her by her 
 first name, that she suddenly stood aghast at 
 the truth — namely, hat all the new charm 
 of the services, all the new meanings to Holy 
 Writ, and all the new love of father, mother, 
 sister and brother — meant the two large 
 piercing eyes — the dark handsome face, and 
 the deep rich voice of the Reverend Gteorgo 
 Brand ; and that without them, she would 
 care very little for a life on earth or for 
 fruition of her good works in Heaven. But 
 we have not yet arrived, in this preliminary, 
 at the evening when that gentleman took her 
 hand in his. 
 
 On the afternoon when Paul fell in love 
 so suddenly with Olive, the curate, unfor- 
 tunately, had been in charge of little St, 
 Jude's some Sundays, and the charm of his 
 
RT. JUDK'fl ASHT8TAXT. 
 
 
 
 in love 
 nnfor- 
 
 ittle St. 
 of bia 
 
 presence had found plenty of Held for exer- 
 cise. After his ffttc had overtaken him, 
 Fftnl himself had become very attentive at 
 t}w cliapcl. He fonnd that the ve'iiers iost<(l 
 liiin, somehow, very ninch more than his 
 <iiHliio:i« at home or the div-ans at the Chjl>. 
 Tiiwro is nndonhtudly something in thu 
 ritual of the English Church which touches 
 ."pots in reckless worldly hearts, where 
 propofntions, dilemmas ana syllogisms never 
 penetrate. And let us hope that, even with 
 ilio visible motive for his presence, Paul 
 brought some vital enchantment away from 
 among the surpliced prieHts, the choristers, 
 and the voft ntusic in the dim aisle ! 
 
 Poor littlu Olive could not rusitit the suit 
 -of flo eminent asocial favourite as Paul. It 
 was nre8.sed upon her by parents, friends and 
 iiiinily, who were unanimously charmed witli 
 the idea of so brilliant a match for a simple 
 little thing, of whom — among her qiioonly 
 sisters, acknowledged belles and leaders in 
 society — they cherished ' no hopes. ' Her 
 father saw, in the palpable idolatry Of the 
 man, an assuranee, a.s he fondly Bupposed, of 
 the ultimate happiness of his daughter. 
 Such mistakes are far from unusual ; we 
 1 liike them every day. Nothing loth, then, 
 l.j unite their daughter to a handsome, 
 brilliant, rich, high-born, honest and tender 
 yuung man, nor themselves to so influential 
 a family as the Ogdens, Olive's parents 
 brought great pressure to bear upon her ; 
 And, as, far from disliking, she really liked 
 l^aul, and could not but be flattered by his 
 devotion, never suspecting herself at the 
 time to be, as she was, in love with the 
 curate, she gave her word and became en- 
 gaged. She submitted to the burning caresses 
 of her lover with an indifference that she 
 tried her utmost to conceal ; and she trjed 
 as well, with all her heart, to love him — but 
 when did love ever come for the trying ? 
 Poor little Olive ! Go where she would,, 
 congratulations were showered upon her 
 She tried to smile as she received tfiom, but 
 she had not learned to smile without glad- 
 ness. It seemed as if her heart had died out 
 of sincere pity for her lover, whoso ardour 
 she saw dailv increasing with her own illy- 
 disguised coldness. For his sake she tried 
 to put oflf, as far as possible*^ the dismal day 
 she knew must come. But come .it dicl. 
 Olive told him, one bitter evening, that she 
 did not love him — ^that he must go — and go 
 he did, as a man stricken with de^h. With 
 his brain maddened, and with uneven steps, 
 he went out from her door without a word — 
 1 shattered, broken, ruined man. The next 
 time he saw her she was with George Brand, 
 jostling, as we have seen, againsc him, on 
 their way from Lenten vespers. 
 
 To do hei" justice, Oliva had shed bitter 
 tears over the broken engagciiunt, but they 
 wc^re tears of Borrow for Paul, not of re- 
 L'ret for herself. She was very unhappy, an<l 
 tier unhappincsB even brought on a tutrvons 
 attack whioh alarmed the wiiole lioiiHehohl. 
 Dr. Forsyth, the Gray's fauiily pliysician, 
 who^had known Olive froi.> her birth-ninht, 
 had often pronounced hers tile most dclieate-' 
 ly nervous tem]>eramont he h:v\ ever .seen. ' 
 When liix'dy wrought upon, she wouKl b«!- 
 como ternbly excited, and renniiii 
 for two or three days at a time in 
 that state ; after which she would 
 lie almost like one in a tranche, with her 
 «'yeH closeil and her lips moving,'. These 
 l>nroxysms had occurred but twice befoie, 
 upon occasions when near and intimate 
 friends had died ; in l)Oth instances the 
 excitement taking tlie form of an intense 
 religious fear, lest, on account of her own 
 sins, she might not be permitted, in another 
 world, t» meet again those hIic had lost. 
 These fits or paroxysms Dr. l-'orsyth hnd 
 carefully studied. He was a gentleman <{ 
 acknowledged eminenco in his profession, 
 about sixty years eld, and had devoted most 
 of his study to the phenomena of brain 
 diseases. Olive's seconil attack had been on 
 hearing of the death of a schoolmate with 
 whom she had been peculiarly intimate, they 
 having lived together almost constantly at 
 boarding-school, and at the home of each tor 
 four years. When the excitement ha<l worn 
 itself out, Olive had lain upon the l)ed for 
 two days almost without motion, except 
 that her lips moved strangely, un<l articulate 
 sounds were heard. Upon this occasion Dr. 
 F'orsyth had spent several hours alone in her 
 chamber, while she lay in this state; iind 
 upon being questioned as to the symptoiim 
 then observed, appeared quite reticent. He 
 had told Paul Ogden, however, when he 
 supposed that they were to be man and 
 wife, that these symptoms had been in their 
 nature clairvoyant, and that he had heard 
 Olive describe her lost schoolmate, as yet 
 unbnried, lying in a cottin in a large room 
 filled with mourners ; had detailed their 
 dress, positions, the form and feature of the 
 clergyman, the order of the funeral pro- 
 cession, the grave, and other circumstances 
 then in progress, precisely, — as the doctor 
 had afterwanl taken pains to learn — as they 
 occurred. After Ohve had broken the 
 engagement, her excitement wore off 
 gradually, howevef, developing none of the 
 former symptoms. 
 
 1 
 
 1 :>i 
 
 1 
 
 H: 
 
 Vi^^ 
 
 H\ 
 
 
 m 
 
 ' 
 
 f 
 
 
10 
 
 ST. JUDE'S ASSISTANT. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 NOCTCBNAL OATS. 
 
 H 
 
 i 
 
 ■ 
 
 
 1 » 
 
 Bat Paul had taken the blow very badly. 
 He had been a petted, only sou. He had 
 poasehud his own will aud liis own fortune 
 80 long, that, had he tried, he could hardly 
 have remembered a wish or a whim uugrati- 
 fied. Under any circumstauces it would 
 have seemed peculiarly hard to any man of 
 such a schooling, that, having made up his 
 mind to marry, he could not marry the girl 
 he loved. But Paul by nature was a man of 
 fierce passions, and though those passions 
 had never Uin tranquil tor fear of a curb, 
 they had needed some staggering infliction of 
 fate to overcome the native indolence of the 
 man, to rush out in incoherent fury. He 
 Itecame as one possessed ; at first he would 
 lock himself up in his bed chamber and 
 grovel in abject despair. Then he would 
 fall upon his knees and pray wild, desperate, 
 almost ferocious prayers to die — or to regain 
 his lost treasure. Then he would grow 
 calmer, and go carefully over his affairs, his 
 correspondence and his accounts, make his 
 will, and deliberately prepare to take his 
 own life. At one time he visited a small 
 poison shop on a by-street, which did a brisk 
 trade with fallen women who sought keys to 
 tlwir own captivity, and possessed himself of 
 a drug wliich would do its work speedily 
 oixd well. Then he would vow vengeance on 
 the girl, and once bought a small stiletto 
 which he placed under his vest, and started 
 out to take her life. He withdrew himself 
 from all companionship, and denied himself 
 to his nearest relatives. He would pace up 
 aud down his room all through long nights, 
 or would open his window and prepare to 
 dash himself headlong into the street below. 
 He walked the streets aimlessly by day, 
 sometimes with clenched fists vowing revenge 
 against the rivals who had torn his love 
 away, and, in a moment more, with his 
 che^s wet with tears, pleading inwardly 
 with Deity to give him back the idol he had 
 lost. 
 
 He could not recall, from one moment to 
 another, his whoroabouta. He was speedily 
 going mad, when, one evening, in his wander- 
 ings, he met, as we have seen, George Brand 
 and Olive, leaving the door of little St. 
 Jude's. The sight seemed to work a miracle 
 within him. He became calm in a moment, 
 and his reason, which Iiad almost gone, 
 came back to him. 'Ttiere is the rival 
 who has stolen my darling's heart,' 
 lie muttered. "Ah he had them all, 
 could he not have spared me my one 
 ewe lamb ? ' From that moment Paul 
 
 thirsted to be revenged, not as before, upoa 
 all the world, but upon Brand. The world 
 might go on as before ; he did not care for it 
 or for himself ; but he swore an oath to have 
 the blood of the man who bad robbed him of 
 the girl he loved. 
 
 As he swore this oath, not in the rabid 
 fury of the jtast three days, but calmly, 
 breathing it out between bis set teeth, it 
 seemed as if relief hatl found him at last. 
 His brain no longer whirled, and he started 
 homeward, in his right mind. Thither w^ 
 ave already followed him. 
 
 Arrived at his apartments, for the first 
 time since the broken engagement he dressed 
 foi dinner, and showed himself to his friends. 
 When a man to whom self-denial is impos- 
 sible, and whose passions are beyond his 
 own control, meets the shipwreck of all his 
 hopes, he must do either one of t^o things — 
 either shoot himself, or concentrate his men- 
 tal powers upon some task that will require 
 them all. 
 
 In Paul's case the shipwreck of his hopes 
 was accompanied by a blow to his, and to 
 every man's better nature — the nature that 
 loves — and together they had almost bereft 
 him of his senses ; but now he had a 
 purpose, which could overcome both. From 
 that instant, without stopping to question 
 the deliberate malignity of the man who had 
 stolen Olive Gray 'a heart from her lover — 
 a theft, as we have seen, accomplished with- 
 out anything like design on the curate's part 
 Paul Ogden swore that the curate should die 
 the death. 
 
 Paul Ogden's character, like the charac- 
 ters of a long line of stern old soldiers before 
 him, was a strong one. Up to the moment 
 of his falling in love, however, nothing hi 
 developed it into anything more than that of 
 any other vascillating young man about 
 town. That love and rejection had junhap- 
 pily now done its work ; and, with no guide, 
 no mother; father, or friend — with no God, 
 for all that he knew — he had gi'own into a 
 murderer ; a murderer who had not yet 
 struck the fatal blow, but a murderer in 
 heart, none the less. Unhappily, the task 
 upon which his mind had at last concen- 
 trated in uneven pulses, was murder. 
 
 Awful as the contemplation might be, it 
 gave Paul a sort of peace. As he passed out 
 of the house that evening on his way to din- 
 ner, his landlord, Bushnell, accosted him, 
 and asked after his health. 
 
 ' I don't sleep well,' said Paul. ' I wisli 
 you d get a revolver and shoot those cats. 
 They keep me awake. If you don't, I'll do 
 it myself. 
 
 ' It ought to be done, ' said Bushuell. 
 
ST. JUDE'S ASSISTANT, 
 
 H 
 
 ' You are not the only man they keep 
 awake. ' 
 
 .v« 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 THS fATK OF DIDYMDil. 
 
 The next morning Paul called at an es- 
 tabiishiiient on Broadway where fire-arms 
 were exposed for sale, aud purchased a pistol. 
 It was a small but deadly affai]', not more 
 than live inches long, from butt to muzzle, 
 with a revolver of seven chambers ; one of 
 the silent sort, which would project its ball, 
 or slug, with scarcely a report beyond the 
 click of the hammer. Paul particularly specL- 
 tied this as the kind h« wished ; saying to 
 the saluaman that he intended to shoot cats 
 out of his back window, and did not want 
 to disturb the neighbourhood. He put it in 
 Ml inside breast-pocket in his coat, strolled 
 out upon the pavement, presently turning 
 ofit) upon a street running down toward the 
 Jersey ferries. 
 
 Paul had an imcle, his late father's 
 I)rother, a lawyer of some forty years' 
 standing at fhe city bar, who lived at a 
 pretty country seat at Malcolm, a station 
 upon one of the Jersey railways, about an 
 hour from his office on Wall street. This 
 uucle's name was Percival Ogden. Mr. 
 Percival Ogden was a tall, gray-haired old 
 gentleman, in his practice much feared for 
 his sarcasm, and admired for his honesty. At 
 home he was one of the best natured of men, 
 and devoted to the cultivation of grapes. 
 His fortune was not large, but ample enough 
 for any reaso^iable wants, and had been 
 amassed slowly aud by piecemeal, in his 
 forty years' practice. He had three sons, 
 the oldest tiitee:i — for the early years of his 
 married life h*d been fruitless— and tlie 
 youngest about seven years of age. He lived 
 in the country, summer and winter ; and, as 
 we have said, was devoted to his grapes. His 
 spare hours — und, at this time, he never 
 looked at a law book or thought of a client at 
 home — were principally given to perusal of 
 works upon vine culture and the different 
 sorts and brands of wines, in the proper 
 seasons. He spent his evenings, after din- 
 ner, as long as he could see, in consultation 
 with his gardener, in liis vineyaul. He 
 was a man of large reading- outside of law 
 and wines, however, and liad never, in the 
 forty years of his advocate career, been 
 known to be at loss for a ref<;rence to litera- 
 ture ; while his quotatio>" ■• '>f prose or poetiy 
 were always exact and ^osite. He had 
 buon counsel in some ci the largest and 
 iiioHt memorable cases ia the city courts ; 
 notably two great murder trials, wliich had 
 
 occasioned an intense public interest. His 
 was not, however, in any sense, a 
 criminal practice, but lay largely in 
 the Surrogate's Court; any great estate 
 which was to be contended Tt)y heirs-at- 
 law, or any great Will which was to be 
 broken, was almost sure to require his ser- 
 vices. 
 
 On the evening of the day when Paul had 
 purchased the pistol, Mr. Ogden, his wife 
 and three sons were surprised, just as they 
 were takiiig their seats at the dinner-taltle, 
 by seeing Paul enter the room. He wore a 
 light-coloured business suit. His hands 
 were without gloves. He brought in with 
 Iiim a stout short stick and a small round 
 hat. It being the first time Paul had ap- 
 peared among them for months, they allruse 
 to greet him. His uncle gave liiir. his hand 
 with a ' Glad to see you, Paul, my boy ;' liis 
 aunt kissed him, and the tlu-ee boys could 
 hardly be dragged away from ' cousin Paul. ' 
 
 The story oi Paul's diL..ppointmeut and 
 consequent erratic movements was well 
 known to his uncle's family, Mrs. Ogduii 
 l> *d been afraid that some permanent disast. r 
 would result, but her husband had thought 
 differently. ' Paul has the strong common 
 sense ol his father, 'he had said, ' and he'll 
 come out all right. It isn't strange thit lio 
 should take the first disappointment of his 
 life pretty hard.' 
 
 But Mrs. Ogden had put this and that 
 together, and cast around for a remedy. 
 • If he only could find some business, or sonio 
 object, to occupy himself with, or if he could 
 only fall in love with somebody else,' she 
 said, ' it would be a good thing. If yir.i 
 could only take him into your office now, and 
 give him some cases to work up.' - 
 
 Mr. Ogden had laughed at the hornet - 
 pathic potion his wile suggested. •Lo\e 
 don't cure love,' he said. ' But I think we J 
 of your proposition about the office. ' 
 
 He had indeed called several times at 
 Paul's lodgings to suggest the thing, but had 
 l)ecn imable to find his ne))hew, or learn 
 anytliing of his whereabouts. So it was with 
 real pleasure that he welcomed Paul at Mal- 
 colm that evening. 
 
 ' Have yoa dined Paul ? Sit down and 
 have something,' said the old gentleman ; and 
 Paul accordingly sat down. 
 
 After some desultory conversation, Paul 
 alluded to his pistol. ' Uncle, I have taken 
 to shooting cats, ' he said. ' Have you any 
 out here V and he drew the weapon from his 
 breast-pocket. 
 
 ' If you don't put up that horrid thing, I 
 shall go away from the table, ' said Mrs. 
 Ogden, who never could be persuaded thaf 
 guns or pistols would not go off of their own 
 
 r 
 
 .V: 
 
r 
 
 12 
 
 KT. .TUBE'S ASSISTANT. 
 
 I ;;' 
 
 accord, or that any operation of loading or 
 liring was necessary to make them danger- 
 ous. But the boys were eager to see cousin 
 Paul's pistol, amd were allowed, under sur- 
 veillance, to examine it. They were unani- 
 mous, too, in their assertions that cats were 
 •only too plentiful around the place, and 
 anxious for dinner to be concluded, that the 
 felines might arrive and Iks practised upon. 
 
 ' If you'll wait until my grapes begin to 
 ripen, ' said Mr. Ogdcn, ' you can come 
 down and shoot tramps.' In truth, Mr. 
 Ogden's vineyard suffered deplorably from 
 the tramps and marauders which infested the 
 vicinity. ' 
 
 The pistol was ultimately restored' to its 
 place in Paul's breast pocket, greatly to 
 Mrs. Ogden's relief, though she protested 
 that she would rather have a thousand cats 
 ar.d a thousand tramps upon her place than 
 ' one pistol ; and evidently wished that the 
 dangerous weapon had not appeared upon 
 the scene. 
 
 ' Is is against the law to carry a pistol ?' 
 siiid she to her husband, after dinner, but 
 in Paul's presence, 
 
 ' I nnderstand not, ' said the lawyer. 
 * We — that is they in New York — have a 
 law against carrying concealed weapons, but 
 I am of opinion that a pistol is not a con- 
 cealed weapon. I tliink the word " con- 
 cealed" applies to the nature of the weapon 
 itself, ana not to the fact tiiat it might be 
 " concealed" about the person. A " con- 
 cealed Meapon," I take to be something ap- 
 parently hidden, wliich " conceals" Mrithin 
 itself a deadly weapon, — like a sword cane 
 — or perhaps a loaded one. ' 
 
 ' Then we can lock Paul up, ' said Mrs. 
 Ogden ; who, if not a lawyer, was a law- 
 yer's life ; " for his pistol is one that makes 
 IK) noise, and so conceals its presence, and 
 is all the more deadly and dangerous on that 
 account.' 
 
 Somehow Paul did not seem to relish 
 the conversation, an<l turned it to other 
 subjects. 
 
 In the evening some neighbours came in, 
 and Paul seized the opportunity to absent 
 himself. Knowing that he had not yet re- 
 covered from his disappointment, no no- 
 tice was taken by the family ef his absence, 
 however. 
 
 Mrs. Ogden, indeed, was deeply interestec. 
 in her nephew. Slic was a fair, fat bustling 
 little housewife, who even in affluence, 
 superintended her own house-keeping. She 
 was a deeply religious woman, but al- 
 though elioosing the better part, had never 
 lost Mary's love m Martha's care. She had 
 married Mr. Ogden when he was a very 
 •poor young man, and his present wealth was 
 
 none the less to her economy than to his 
 genius and toil. Mr. Ogden heartily recog- 
 nized this fact, and always testified that 
 ' mother' had made vhat money he had. 
 Mrs. Ogden was wrapped up in her husband, 
 her boys, her charities and her household 
 cares, and had always avoided any sugges- 
 tion of city lifK for fear that its artiticial- 
 ities might interfere with her duties to these. 
 She was about the only lady in Malcolm 
 who was kind to tramps, who, at this time, 
 had become the nuisaiiue, if not the peril of 
 the community, insomuch that legislation 
 was invoked in many places to regulate 
 them. A long stagnation of business 
 had led to thousands of these abject 
 creattres perambulating the country, 
 and various hiethods of correct- 
 ing their presence had been discussed in the 
 newspapers. Mrs. Ogden's ideas on the 
 subject were practical. 
 
 "They are human beings; — doubtless 
 they are lazy, and all that, but here they 
 are. They slian't starve on my place, at 
 any rate. No, not if all the tramps in the 
 country come to my door in a body. 
 
 And so she gave them bread and milk, 
 and cold meat ; and, whatever their desserts, 
 their thanks or their ingratitude, she felt 
 that she had done her duty to the best of 
 her means. 
 
 Tlie next morning the two smaller boys 
 rushed in to the breakfast table in tears. 
 Their cat 'Didymus '— (Mr. Ogden had 
 named him from his sex, which was 
 masculine, out of the Bible, having found a 
 vei-se running * Thomas, also called Didymus, 
 one of the twelve ') had been Qjjiiot. 
 
 'Upon my word,' said Paul, 'I'm very 
 sorry. I shot at two or three, and it seems, 
 killed Didymus. I'm very sorry, indeed I 
 am.' 
 
 The boys shed some genuine tears over the 
 loss of their favourite, but ultimately called 
 in several of their playmates, organized a 
 funeral procession, hearse and all. and, 
 following the body of Didymus to a grave 
 prepared under a grape vine, buried it with 
 the honours of war. 
 
 All daring the spring and summet which 
 followed, Paul cherished his design, never 
 allowing it to sleep, or the horror of the 
 crime to appall him. But through all, his 
 dead love was in his heart, and hours would 
 come upon him, as some object would suggest 
 the girl he had lost, when he would throw 
 himself upon his knees and pray his wild 
 prayers for her return. He would go to the 
 sea-side, or to the mountains, or to Spa or 
 lake ; but, among old friends or new ones, 
 he was the same erratic, sombre and dull, 
 was voted no 'company,' and avoided. He 
 
JTJDE'S ASSISTANT. 
 
 13 
 
 would wander down to the beach at mid- 
 night, when the gay guests had left it, and 
 gaze at the white lines of fcntm, and listen to 
 the great roar of the breakers that spent 
 themselves at bis feet. Renioiaeless, al- 
 mighty, and irresistible as Fate, they broke 
 before him. ' God help whatever ia folded 
 in tliat pitiless embrace,' thought he, and 
 yet he k>nged to cast himself into their 
 fleecy arms and die. Nothing but hia 
 purpose seemed to prevent him. ' I will be 
 as implacable, as remorseless as they,' he 
 said, ' Nothing human can keep tliem from 
 reaching 'the shore. Nothing Imman shall 
 swerve me from him. Better ho had died 
 ore he tore from me the only love I ever 
 !cnew ;' and so he nursed iiis purpose. 
 I'erhaps when he walkeil among the mount- 
 ains, he told that purpose to them. Such an 
 .iwful secret must be shared somewhere, but 
 he never shared it with man. 
 
 At Niagara there is a spot where the 
 island which divides into two unetiual 
 torrents the American Fall, is narrowed 
 down to a tiny strip. Upon the edge of this 
 strip of soil is a slender wooden staircase, and 
 upon traversing it, one may stand within a 
 few inches of the very brink of the cataract, 
 and wet his foot in the boiling mass of water 
 that thunders by. Paul stood here alone 
 one evening. The solitude and the crash of 
 the flood were In harmony with his mood. 
 As he gazed at the brink where the waters 
 disapptared iuto the abyss below, he seemed, 
 all at once, t!o see before him the girl he had 
 loved. She ^vas dressed in the white dress 
 of the moonlight mist, but it was like a dress 
 she had often worn. Her dark hair was 
 tlirown from her pale, beautiful brow, and 
 in her breast she seemed to wear a pure 
 wliite jasmine spray. Her face was turned 
 towards him, but her eyes fixed beyond. 
 'Olive!' he cried aloud, but she heeded him 
 not. There was something behind him upon 
 which she seemed to gaze with her whole 
 soul. 'Olive,' he cried, again, but her 
 glance would not light on him. Soniotliing 
 seemed to draw him towards her, but just as 
 lie approached, another figure seemed to 
 come from behind him, ancl moving to her 
 side, to fold her in a tight embrace. It was 
 the figure of George Brand. As ho covered 
 the girl within 4iis arms, he turned his full 
 dark eyes upon Paul. Like a flash, T'anl 
 drew the pistol from his pocket, and pointing 
 it just between those dark eyes, he fired. A 
 thick stream of blood burst from the man's 
 brow, and failing back, sufftised his face. 
 He plunged downward over the tori-ent, to 
 ins doom, bearing the girl with him ; but as 
 he vanished, she— Olive— turned her sad cye« 
 upon Paul, with a look he never forgot, and 
 
 Eointed with I ler finger at his breast. And 
 e felt a strong pull from behind that almost 
 stretched him upon his back — a guide had 
 drawn him from certain death. A moment 
 more and he would have disappeared with 
 the vision over the brink of the howling 
 cataract. 
 
 ' Shooting gulls is not allowed on these 
 grounds,' said the guide, 'nor suicides 
 neither.' At the head of the stairway a 
 lajdy and gentleman were standing. The 
 guide who had brought them to the spot, 
 had seen Paul rush forward and fire liis pistol 
 at a large white figure tliat was hovering in 
 the mist of the Fall, and had plunged down 
 aud seized liim in time to save his life. 
 
 Paul gave the man a trifle from his vest 
 pocket, out 8.-id nothing. As he passed up 
 the stairway he raised his hat to the stran- 
 
 fers, without looking at them. He felt, 
 owe\er, that the incident would surely bo 
 talked »bout at the hotels, and so took at' 
 early train the next morning for the East. 
 Happening to purcliase a paper as he sat in 
 the cars, his eye lighted upon a paragraph 
 chronicling the arrivals at Saratoga. Among 
 them were the names of Miss Charlotte Gray, 
 Miss Gray, Miss Rutli Gray, Miss Olive 
 Gray, Mr. Beekiuan, Mr. Southgat<3, aud 
 Mr. Brand of New York. 
 
 Paul's ticket had been for Saratoga, but 
 he diverted his course and brought up at the 
 lovely lakeside village of Cooperstuwn. 
 
 chaptb:r VI. 
 
 OBAPES OK ESCIIOL. 
 
 \" 
 
 All that Summer aud well into the Fall, 
 Paul wandered a self-constituted pariah, 
 among the resorts of Summer travel. East 
 and Westh, North and South. But no di- 
 versity of landscape or of society could divert 
 liis soul from the one burning thought of 
 his wrong, or of its one fell resource of re- 
 venge. Arriving in the city one day in tlie 
 Autunm, he accidentally heard of the en- 
 gagement of the Reverend George Brand, 
 assistant Rector of St. Jude's, to Olive (iray. 
 
 Who does not know the unerring certainty 
 vnth which news uf an event we do not long 
 for, fiiuls us out ? Paul had determined to 
 pass as rapidly as possible through the hot 
 •ity, and spend the evening at his uncle's at 
 Malcolm ; out stopping to light a cigar in 
 the lobby of a down-town restaurant, where 
 he had lunched, he had overheard the tid- 
 injrs. Strange to say, the news seemed to 
 fall almost comically upon his ear. He al- 
 most laughed to think of it. 
 
 ' It's well they"\'e hurried matters. He 
 liasu't many mure days tolivc,' thought Paul. 
 
 l^ 
 
 \m 
 
44 
 
 ST. .TUBE'S ASSISTANT. 
 
 If. 
 
 He fretted, though, at his own procrastina- 
 tion. ' Had I not let him linger, he might 
 never have clasped her in his arms, never 
 have touched her lips with his. But his 
 4lalliance shall he short. Ah ! it will not be 
 » very long engagement. ' He gave a little 
 jbVpiich shrug to his shoulders as these 
 thoughts passed through his brain. That 
 evening, alter dinner, he appeared at Mal- 
 colm. 
 
 When a man plants vineyards it is not un- 
 natural that he desires to taste the grapes 
 thereof. But, from a favourite vine on one 
 of Mr. Ogdcn's trellises, the fruit was disap- 
 pearing so rapidly that its proprietor's desire 
 bid fair not to be gratified. Even calm, 
 good-natured old Mr. Percival Ogden mani- 
 fested some impatience. The exuberant 
 yield of the vine was disappearing nightly. 
 SVhen one raises grapes himself, he likes to 
 eat them seasonably. Interlopers, however, 
 who g.cther where they have not strewn, and 
 harvest where they have not dug, can afford 
 to take them a little before the perfection of 
 ripeness. There was nothing which pleased 
 Mr. Ojdcn more than to share with others 
 the pr>)duce of liis own grounds. His bounte- 
 ous yield of fruit was always distributed 
 among his neighboars with a pleasure that 
 no consumption of his own could aflFord him. 
 But he liked — as most men — to time his ovm 
 bounty, and to suflFer his tinted grapes 
 to ripen ere he gathered them. So when, 
 as we have said, every morning Of the critical 
 <lays between their purpling and their ripen- 
 ing, brought news of astonishing drepreda- 
 tions upon his favourite grapes (by the 
 tramps, doubtless), he waxed just perceptibly 
 impatient. 
 
 The gardener had suggested man-t.aps, 
 spring-guns, or ferocious dogs ; but Mr. 
 Ogden did not quite cai-e to murder or maim 
 a man in return for stealing fruit. He had 
 never quite accepted as stealing the mere 
 i lelping of oneself out of another's garden, 
 regarding it rather as a nuisance than any- 
 thing approaching a crime ; but he had de- 
 termined, nevertheless, to watch, himself, 
 for the plunderers. It so happened that his 
 lirst watch was to take place on the very 
 night when Paul appeared — suddenly, as he 
 always did — at Malcolm. 
 
 From the railway station at Malcolm the 
 main' road ascended a high liill at right 
 angles. Upon the crest, at ri"ht angles agiiin 
 with tliis, a drive branched off into Mr. 
 Ogden's grounds. This drive ran under a 
 porte cochrre, from which one stepped troiii a 
 carriage upon a broad verandali passing com- 
 pletely around the four sides of the house. 
 
 *I^I • 
 
 This verandah looked northward toward the 
 railway station, and, across it, lay the main 
 
 entrance to the house itself. Off this hall 
 was a large family room, occupied only in 
 summer. Its two outward sides were of 
 glass sliding doors, which, being' pushed 
 aside, converted the room and the verandah 
 into one large apartment. This was known 
 as ' the out-doors room, ' and was used by the 
 family as a sitting-room in hot weather — or, 
 in case of festivities, as a haU for dancing. 
 
 On the presert evening, the room and 
 verandah had been thus thrown into one : 
 and within, inclosed only by mosquito net- 
 ting of delicate wire from the outside, the 
 family were taking coffee when Paul arrived. 
 Paul entered heartily into his uncle's plans 
 for catching the tramps and agreed to share 
 his watch. He suggested the small air 
 pistol, wliich he still carried; but, seeing the 
 suggestion met with no favour from his 
 uncle, he did not allude to it again. Indeed, 
 it was never mentioned again between tlio 
 men, except that his uncle said, after tl)o 
 family had retired, and they were alone, 
 awaiting the tramps, " Paul, I want you to 
 promise me to throw away that pistol. 
 There are a thousand reasons why it should 
 not be carried. Supposing that somebody 
 should be murdered with a pistol like that, 
 with the same sized bore, and carrying a 
 similar ball. You know they are made by 
 machinery, and probably yourshas a thousand 
 duplicates. Don't you see, the very fact 
 that you carried one habitually, would, in 
 such case, necessitate explaiTations upon a 
 witness stand ! The next worst thing, in 
 my experience, to being a criminal, is l^ing 
 a wutness in a court of justice.' 
 
 Paul was struck with the shrewd old 
 lawyer's reasoning, and, acquiescing, pro- 
 mised te carry the pistol no more. 
 
 Theparticulartrelliswhere grewthe earliest 
 ripening grapes, and whicli had suffered from 
 tlie depredators, was quite near the ' ' out- 
 doors room " wliere Mr. Ogden and Paul 
 now sat in the darkness. It was approacli- 
 ing midnight. As they were sitting in 
 silence, each occupied with his own thoughts, 
 they heard a rustling noise at the suspected 
 place. They glided out, and Paul, who 
 was the more agile of the two, crept up to 
 the vine. There was no moon, and the night 
 was verv dark. , 
 
 Somebody was evidently standing there, 
 quietly eating the half-ripe grapes. Paul 
 stepped up behind this person, and threw 
 his arms around the person's waist, in such a 
 way as to pin the person's arms downward. 
 He was about shouting to his uncle, when lie 
 discovered that his arms enclosed a woman, 
 slightly formed, 
 
 ' Who are you ?' he asked. 
 
 Tiie woman made no resistance, and 
 
ST. JUDE'S ASSISTANT. 
 
 15 
 
 I ■ 
 
 there, 
 Paul 
 
 threw 
 
 such a 
 nward. 
 i^hen he 
 
 I'oinau, 
 
 not a word. Paul repeated his 
 • Who are you T ' without releas- 
 
 answered 
 question, 
 ine her. 
 
 By this time, lus uncle hod come up, and 
 Paul said aloud — 
 
 ' Here she is I ' 
 
 ' Here who is ? ' said Mr. Ogdon. 
 
 • The woman who eats your grapes. " 
 
 ' Are there any more of you ? said Mr. 
 Ogden, not harshly. 
 
 ' Ki., they're not,' said the woman, brus- 
 quely. 
 
 It was the voice of a young girl. A sweet 
 pretty voice, illy concealed in the bmsqueness 
 of the tone. 
 
 Paul had a soft heart toe distress, and hf 
 said, releasing her, 'Who are you, my dear'. ' 
 very gently. 
 
 • I'm a thief, I suppose, ' said the girl. 
 ' What do you want ? ' said Paul. 
 
 ' Want ! I want food to keep body and 
 soul together, I suppose. I must live, I sup- 
 pose, until I die. God knows I've tried to 
 die hard enough, but He don't seem to be in 
 any hurry to take me. " 
 
 ' But grapes are not food, my poor child,' 
 said Paul. 
 
 ' Poor food enough, maybe, but what I've 
 stolen off this vine in three nights, is all I've 
 had to eat, lately. I can't remember when 
 
 had anything else last. ' 
 
 ' Come with us, my child, 'said Pau\, 'and 
 you shalMiave something else. And the two 
 men led the frightened girl into the room in 
 which they had been siUing, and turned up 
 the lights. 
 
 The girl they had captured was apparently 
 of about fifteen or sixteen, slightly and 
 gracefully built ; her long hair was crisp 
 black, and flowed, tangled with straw and 
 leaves and bits of twigs, over her shoulders. 
 Her eyes were so large and black that they 
 seemed to deepen tlie dark gypsey colour of 
 lier skin. She had a small and very pretty 
 mouth, slender and delicate hands ; her feet 
 and ankles, which were bare, were of exqui- 
 site mould. Her poor thin tattered dress 
 did not suffice to conceal her breasts, over 
 which, in maiden modesty, she had folded a 
 fragment of shawl. 
 
 In short, they had captured a rovJHg 
 j,'ypsy beauty ; at least it was evident, from 
 tlieir surprise, that such was the mental con- 
 clusions of the twj men. 
 
 Paul ransacked the cupboards with a zeal 
 tliat seemed wonderful even to himself. He 
 tioally secared some cold meat, bread, butter, 
 lialf an apple pie or so, and a dish of fruit, 
 which he triumphantly placed before the 
 girl. 
 
 She ate with the vigour of starvation. 
 
 ' Well, my dear, we'll find you a place to 
 
 sleep to-night, and to-morrow you shall have 
 some clothes and some breakfast, and tell ua 
 who you are. At any rate you needn't live 
 on grapes any longer. ' 
 
 Mr. Ogden said this in a tender tone, which 
 seemed to promise more yet. After a con- 
 sultation, the girl was shown into a pretty 
 bed-room in the French roof of the villr, and 
 left to her reffose. In the morning, however, 
 she was found to he. gone. 
 
 The door was wide open. The bed hatl 
 been slept on, and one or two towels had 
 be^" *'v\en by the girl in her flight. But 
 \othing else was missing. It was with sin- 
 cere regret that Mr. Ogden found his over- 
 night's scheme of charity dissipated ; and 
 good Mrs. Ogden's heart bled at the thought 
 of so young and fair a girl, as had been de- 
 scribed to her, altogether houseless . and 
 homeless. 
 
 Paul did not say much, but in truth, for 
 the first time since the evening of his broken 
 engagement, he had passed a night with 
 other thouphts than of his lost love and his 
 doomed rival. Somehow, even now, the 
 dark-eyed gypsy girl, in her ragged dress 
 and her dazzling beauty, stood betore him. 
 But no respite from the demon of his despair, 
 no object other than hia rival's fearful pun- 
 ishment, was there for him. 
 
 Had the girl remained, who knows, ho 
 might have moulded her into a beautiful 
 burden for his purposeless life to bear, and 
 the crime of his soul been stiffied, ere it 
 worked itself a form without. But it was 
 not for him. He felt that his errand was to 
 carve out the crime of his soul before the eyes 
 of men, to make the crime of his soul the 
 Clime of his hands. 
 
 He was in the breakers of remorseless fate, 
 with a whole ocean behind him, pushing, 
 urging, crowding, forcing nim onward to the 
 horrid, horrid shore. 
 
 CHAPTER Vn. 
 
 QTTOD DBUS VULT PEBDKBB. 
 
 Summer has gone. The second Tuesday 
 in November dawns bright, warm and clear. 
 A day, indeed, 
 
 ' Where every prospect pleases 
 And only man ia vile.' 
 
 for this is New York's day for its annual 
 purification. 
 
 The civic patriots, the Gracclii, the dis- 
 ciples of pure government, assembled in 
 throngs for the great annual Wash. 
 
 Surely the city would be thoroughly 
 scrubbed this time ! Surely no unci- a i 
 thing could survive the scouring of this (l;>y 1 
 
 ') ■ 1 
 
 !:>' 
 
 i* 
 
 m 
 
 fii'i 
 
 ill: 
 
 1 
 
m 
 
 16 
 
 ST. JUDE'S ASSISTANT. 
 
 ) t 
 liiil ' 
 
 
 V 
 
 
 For here were assembled the McAdies, the 
 McAifeeH, the McAlarneys, the McAhaneys, 
 the McAl-iattiina, the McAleriieys, the Mc- 
 Alooneys.i'" MvAlhooh y8,the jfcAllanneys, 
 tHe M jArineuaneys, the AIcAiinereys, the 
 McAnulties tho McAiuiavpeys, the McAiivOS, 
 the McAvenneys, the MoAviiineys, tlit Mo- 
 Avonneya,tbeMcAlatr«rty8 ; the McBerneys, 
 the MclJiggers, the McBre^jjJS, the Mc- 
 Ikiaus, the McBrides, the McB'-ites.the Mc- 
 IJryans, the McBurneys ; the McCahcs, the 
 MiCaddens, the McCaffertys, the M^Car- 
 aicys, the McCaffrays, the McCallans, the 
 McCalligans, the McCalligots, the McCar- 
 rous, the McCarrahers, the McCarrioks, 
 the McCartheys, the McCarneys, 
 
 the McCaskeys, the McCoohas, the 
 McCorkles, the McCotters, the McCoorka, 
 the McCoyles, the McCnickeiis, the Mc- 
 Craiths, the McCranns, the McCreerens, 
 the McCuUhaleys ; the McDades, the Mc- 
 Ebraeveys, the McFaddens, the McFur^us, 
 the McGahans, the McGarleys, the McGar- 
 rons, the McUawleys, the McGloids, the 
 McGoines, the McGinnesses, the McGiiites, 
 the McGillicuddys, the McGloina, the Mc- 
 (Juffevs. the McGfurys, the McGroutys, 
 the jVic({afl'cy3 ; the MoKaigs, the McKavan- 
 iiagha,tlio McKcniias, the McMurrows, the 
 McNealeys, the McNevens, the McQxiades, 
 the McQueenans, the McQuillans, the Mc- 
 Questins, the MeSlienys, the McShines, tlie 
 McSorleys, the McShanes, the McSwenieys, 
 the McSwegans, the ^' ""wiggens, the Mc- 
 Swgnyns, the McTagno^, the McTaveys, the 
 McTugans, the McTernans, the McTanimaiiys, 
 the !NloTigues ; the McWhinneys, the Mc- 
 Wiggins and the McWhoods ! 
 
 And if the names of these were not earnest 
 enough of pure government, closely clamour- 
 ing on their heels came the O'Biernes, the 
 O'Brigaus, the O'Briens, the O'Burns, the 
 (VCallahans, the O'Carrols, tlie O'Caseys, the 
 O'Cleareys, the O'Counels, the O'Connors, 
 the O'Days, the O'Deas, the O'Deays, the 
 O'Donuels, the O'Donohoes, the 'Dono- 
 vans, the 'Dorises, the O'Doshas, the 
 O'Doughortys, the O'Dcnvds, the O'Gor- 
 nians,, the O'Gradys, the O'Hallorans, the 
 O'Hagers, the O'Haras, the O'Hares, the 
 O'Heegans, the O'Henncsseys, the O'Hooleys, 
 the O'Howleys, the Olianes, the O'Keefes, 
 the O'Kennas, the O'Kelleys, the O'Lough- 
 lins, the O'Laneys, the O'Larrys, the 0'- 
 Leareys, the O'Lones, the O'Loughlins, the 
 0'Marays,the O'Mallej'Sjtho O'Mahoneys.the 
 O'Mearys, the O'MuU'ins, the O'Narya, the 
 O'Niells, the O'Reilleys, the O'Rourkes, the 
 O'Rooneys, the O'Roons, the 'Shark eys, 
 the O'Shaughnesseys, the O'Sheas, the O'Sul- 
 livans, the O'Tooles, the O'Teagucs, and the 
 O'Teegans, all pouring on with tumultuous 
 
 haste to purify New York. It was a bright 
 Indian summer day. Swallows twittered in 
 the park, the flags were flying over the ho- 
 tels and club-houses, aud the streets — 
 whilom deserted, save to scissors-grinders, 
 long-hai»'ed men with umbrellas iTke over- 
 grown ^dishes, (in town for the ' Octol)er 
 Anniversaries,') and solitary members of the 
 itay-in-towj« — wore swarming again with 
 siin-bunied citizens, home from the Beaoli or 
 Spa. 
 
 At half past one o'clock in tlie afternoon, 
 Paul entered the Booking-ofiice of the Euro- 
 pean and North American Steam Packet 
 Company, otherwise known as the Cunard 
 line, No. 4 Bowling Green, and asked a 
 blonde-haired clerk behind the counter fur 
 information as to the sailing of its steamers. 
 He was advised that the Scythia left port 
 tlie next day (Wednesday) at twelve, for 
 Liverpool. Upon being shown a plan of tlie 
 Scythia, he found that all but two state- 
 rooms had been secured. Of these ! i se- 
 lected one, and paid for passage thertiii to 
 Liverpool, from a roll of bills which he pro- 
 duced. On being asked for his name and 
 address, he replied, without hesitation, John 
 A. Grant. 
 
 • But the 
 you please, 
 
 address ? ' said the clerk, ' if 
 
 'Ah, yes,' said Paul. 'I forgot. I am 
 staying at the Fifth Avenue Hotel. But luy 
 address is John A. (jrant, Cavoudelet. I 
 only reached tliis city last evening ' 
 
 Upon receiving his ticket, the clerk snid, 
 ' You had better be on board by eleven, at 
 least, sir, as the tides are uiu-ertain, and the 
 captain may sail l>efore twelve. ' 
 
 'All right. Tliauks, ' said Paul, as he 
 strode out of the office, and started up 
 Broadway. After walking up as far as 
 Vesey street he hailed a stage going down- 
 ward, and rode down to Bowling Green. 
 thus quite retracing his 8tep.s. In the stag 
 was a man, a sort of business acquaiutaiKi 
 of his, with whom he exchanged a few 
 trivial remarks. He ascended the stairs 
 leading to the Elevated Railway Station. 
 A train was just starting. He embarked, 
 and was whisked over the iuads of the 
 pedestrians, to Twentieth street. Here he 
 alighted and walked through Twentieth 
 Street to Sixth Avenue. Upon Sixtii 
 Avenue he took a down oar. which ho left at 
 Tenth Street. 
 
 Near Sixth Avenue, upon the north side 
 of Tenth Street, stands a lofty pile of reil 
 brick, known as the ' Studio Buildings. ' 
 The interior of this pile is cut up into artist'^ 
 studios, and is so extensive in long corridor,';, 
 narrow juttings of wall, and dark arch- 
 
ST. JUDE'b ASSISTANT. 
 
 17 
 
 waj'H, that a stranger might easily become 
 loat therein. 
 
 In this l^uilding, Paul knew there lived a 
 young artist, named Frear, and that his 
 room wjw No. 36. But, he also happened to 
 kiijiv that Frear was out of tovrn, having 
 lift the night beforo to spend his holiday 
 ill the country. Indeed, raal had seen him 
 on a feny boat the evening before, and 
 overheard him remark casually to a friend, 
 that, in his haste to catch a train, he had 
 oiuitted to turn hia index at the street door 
 of the ' Studio Buildings,' so that it would 
 read ' Out ' instead oi ' In ' or to tell the 
 ]>ortier that he would 1)e absent all day 
 'I'uesilay. This he reinarkovl and regretted, 
 wheii it was too late. Now Paul had pre- 
 viously ascei-taiTied that the Rev. George 
 Brand, cura' ^ of St. Jude's, the man who 
 liad robl)ed him of his betrothed wife, was 
 occupying, in the absence of an artist friend 
 of his own, that artist's studio, whicli was 
 known as Room No. 37. Li Lis movements 
 I'anl had consumed two hours, and it was 
 (.(iiiseiiuently about half after four o'clock 
 when he reached the ' Studio Buildings. ' 
 
 Paul entered the open doorway of the 
 Building, and demanded of the portier, "Iii 
 Mr. l^'vear in his room ? ' The portier was a 
 burly old Scotchman, who did not care to 
 waste time in answering needless questions. 
 I'eering out of his little square hole in the 
 \\ all, he looked at the Index opjiosite, which 
 said ' In, ' and growled, 'There's the Index, 
 and he is.' 
 
 ' Yon mi^ht as well keep a civil tongue 
 in your heacl. You're paid for it, 'said Paul, 
 a.s he passed up-stairs. 
 
 Throe gloomy flights of iron stairs, and 
 three lonj; corridors, or rather galleries, 
 overhanging the pit or well of the establish- 
 ment, like the gallerits of a prison, brought 
 I'aul to No. 37. Ht caused before the door. 
 At last there was only an oaken plank 
 lietween him and his revonge ! Ah ! had 
 ^)me kind spirit breathed in his ear, as he 
 stood before that door, a merciful word ! 
 I Tad some pity stolen into his heart, some 
 luving hand stayed his knock upon the panel, 
 V. liat souls might have been saved — what 
 new heavens opened upon earth ! But there 
 \s as no •spirit nor breath of angel at tlie 
 murderer's ear. No staying human hand 
 upon the murderer's arm. He was in the 
 giasp of Destiny, and that was driving him 
 oil — on — onward to his doom ! 
 
 Paul rapped upon the door. 'Come in,' 
 said the heavy voice of George Brand ; and 
 he crossed the threshold, he was to recvoss 
 ii;;ain only when the stain of blood 
 blioukl iiave sunken deep into his hands, 
 
 and Lhe curse of Cain have sunken deep into 
 his brow. 
 
 The studio which Paul entered, like its 
 mates in ' Studio Buildings, ' was square and 
 lofty. The walls were wainscoted, and, 
 above the wainscoving — painted a deep 
 brown — were two outside windows, ordinar- 
 ily dosed with heavy shutters, of the same 
 colour, so that, when in use, the studio 
 would receive all its light from the glazed 
 opening in the roof. At present a brown 
 canvas was drawn across this opening, and 
 the outdide windows were unbarred, to ad- 
 mit the air. Around were scattered, in the 
 usual picturesque disorder of an artist's 
 studio, every variety of tool and implement 
 of the craft, easels, lay figures, antique fur- 
 niture, suits of armour, in genuine artistic 
 negligence. The walls were hung with pic- 
 tures, complete and incomplete, and, on the 
 floor, against the wainscoting, leaned, 
 thickly lapped, with their faces turned toward 
 the wall, canvasses of every size. 
 
 In the midst of this confusion, George 
 Brand had drawn a small table up to one of 
 the open windows, and seated iiimself be 
 fore it, where he could catch the light In- 
 dian Summer breeze. He sat in his shirt 
 .sleeves fur the day— as Xovcinber days in 
 tlie city not uufrej^iuently are — was quite hot. 
 Ho had cast off his collar, and his throat 
 was bare. He M'as -a magnificeut looking 
 man, with a face always dark, now ahiiost 
 black with a summer's exposure t^ the sun. 
 A short heavy beard, allowed to grow dur- 
 ing the summer, covered the lower part of 
 his face. He rose to meet Paul, whowab 
 not unknown to him. He knew at least the 
 story of his engagement to Olive Gray, and 
 how heavily he had sustained the biow of 
 its rupture. Naturally the two men, one a 
 discarded aii<l t,'ie otiier an accepted lover of 
 the same girl, met stilHy. * Mr. Paul Ogden, 
 1 believe. I Iku e never had the honour of 
 a call from you before, I think, sir. "Will 
 you be seated /' said Brand, without, how- 
 ever, extending liia liand. 
 
 ' I will not, sir,' said Paul. 'My business 
 with you, sir, will not engage us long.' 
 
 He had not removed his hat, but merely 
 pushed it back from his forehead as he stood. 
 The two men, they were of nearly equal 
 stature (Brand if anything, prrhaps a trifle 
 the taller), confronted each other. Brand 
 could see that his visitor had come for no 
 kindly purpose. They stood for a momenc, 
 face to face. At last, with a sneering af- 
 fectation of politeness, the curate broke it. 
 
 ' And may I inquire your errand ?' 
 
 That was his last sneer, and his last smile. 
 With the eyes and breath of a madman, 
 Paul sei:'.ed him by the throat. 
 
 •4 
 
 ■ i 
 
 si *• .* 
 
 If 
 
 i:; 
 
 ; VJ 
 
 (!: 
 
 •n:; 
 
 II 
 
 
 ^1 
 
18 
 
 9T. JUDE'S ASPWTANT. 
 
 ' Do i'ou know me !' he hissed between hie 
 teeth. ' Do yoa know what you have do. it 
 to me T I have no words to wivste on you — 
 you vile despoiler of women ! You Iiave '- 
 and the words ct-me slowly from between 
 the tight-set teeth — 'you have robbed me of 
 the drl I loved — of the only uirl lever loved 
 in all this world — yes, you robbed me of my 
 betrothed Mite, and she loved me — yes, until 
 you came between us with your soft tongue, 
 and your devilish voice, and your damned 
 black eyes ! Yes, she loved me. By God, sir, 
 I have come to collect my bill ! and by God, 
 sir,you shall pay it ! Yes, no^t^,you shall pay 
 it in full. That girl was engaged to me, and 
 you drew her from me. Ah, you took all— 
 all I had in the world ! Do you know, man, 
 for what I have come ? When you took 
 that girl fi-om me you took my life 1 You 
 left me only that which is a curse to me — 
 my breath, that God knows 1 would not 
 draw if I could help it ! Did you think 
 when you took my life, that I was a man to 
 yive it up without a fight? Did you think 
 that I would not take yours in return? Do 
 you know yet for what I have come I' He 
 iiissed at him between his teeth like a mad- 
 man. 
 
 Paul, although lithe and active, was slight 
 in frame. Brand wao as strong as an ox. 
 At college he had won ^ many a game of 
 strength, had pulled stro'ke in many a crew, 
 and as he Ipoked at the man before him, he 
 almost smiled. It seemed as if lie could toss 
 liini from the window like a feather. With 
 as slight a gesture as if he were drawing 
 <m a glove, he took I'aiil's hand from his 
 throat. 
 
 • Are you mad ?' he said, calmly. 
 ' Yes, I am mad, ' said Paul. ' Do you 
 know how to fear a madman ? Before you 
 took from me the girl I loved, she heard you 
 read one day in your damned false voice, 
 and thought you were a man ^ent from 
 Heaven. It was not Heaven but Hell that 
 sent you here, and I have come to send you 
 back again !' 
 
 As he spoke Paul drew the small silent 
 pistol from his breast-pocket. Brand made 
 a quick motion, as if to seize him by the 
 tiiroat, but it was too late ! Aiming it rigiit 
 between the doomed man's eyes, just as he 
 had once aimed it at his form in a vision, he 
 clicked the trigger. It was over in an in- 
 stant ! The powerful frame of George Brand 
 fell forward, and blood spouted from the 
 wound. The bullet had done its work, and 
 not a gasp had escaped from the murdered 
 man. 
 
 Paul stepped aside from the red stream 
 coursing along the floor. Assurance must be 
 doubly sure. ' He must live to tell no talcs,' 
 
 thought Paul, as he placed the muzzle oloso 
 to the aheidy dead man's skull, behind the 
 ear. A second time the pistol clicked. Then 
 he put it back into his breast-pocket, and 
 without looking at his victim, stepped out 
 into the corridor, closing the door gently 
 behind him, and walked rapidly to the stair- 
 way. He met nobody. As he passed 
 through the street door, he sai<l to the old 
 J portier, who scowled at him, 'That's a valu- 
 j able Index oi yours. Frear isn't in hta 
 r.)om. ' But the old portier only grunted. 
 
 Paul turned down Tentli Street to 
 Sixth Avenue. At the comer of that 
 Avenue tand Ninth .Street was a large gro- 
 cery establishment, where delicacies, wines, 
 J and fruits were displayed. Paul entered 
 and asked for two dozen oranges, to be done 
 up in a paper parcel. 'I will take the parcel 
 myself,' said he. Fancying that the sales- 
 man looked a little incredulous to see an 
 elegant gentleman in lavender gloves,otfering 
 to carry a brown paper parcel of fruit, Paul 
 added, ' I'm only running around the corner, 
 and we won't trouble you to send.' 
 
 As Paul paid for his oranges, he signalled 
 a Sixth Avenue car, going up, entered it .d 
 sat down. As the car passed Tenth Street, 
 a young lady Paul knew got on. He rose 
 and gave her his seat. 
 
 '1 m growing democratic,' said he, smiling, 
 as he took off his hat. ' I caiTy my own 
 parcels. * 
 
 At Twenty-third Street, Paul bade the 
 young lady good day, and leaving the car, 
 walked to the Fifth Avenue, and thence 
 upward until he reached his Club. Entering, 
 he said to the hall-man, ' Is any one in Ho. 
 B ?' (B. was the designating letter of a room 
 which Paul occupied when he slept at the 
 Club.) 
 
 ' No, Mr. Oeden, ' said the man. 
 
 ' Bring me the key, then,' he said, ' and 
 my letters, if there are any. ' 
 
 Paul ascended to room B, and when the 
 man had brought key and letters, he entered, 
 and locked the door. He then oarefuUy 
 untied the parce' he carried, standing 
 it, with one end open, upon the table. 
 Next he drew from his breast-pocket the 
 pistol, and crowding it in among the oranges, 
 he tied the parcel up again. Then he 
 hastily pulled the clothes partly oflF tfie bid, 
 threw one of its two pillows upon the floor, 
 looked at his watch, and taking the un- 
 shapely parcel of oranges under his arm, 
 passed out of the room, locking the door 
 after him. On his way to the street door lie 
 nodded to several acquaintances, who were 
 louncing about, and on reaching it, handed 
 the Itey to a hall-man and went out. A 
 pissing stage carried him doMm to Tenth 
 
ST. JUDES ASSISTANT. 
 
 Id 
 
 Street again, oiul he walked briskly through 
 it tu , ixth Avenue. He raised bis eyes 
 oarelesdly as he passed the open entrance of 
 ' Studio Buildines.' All was quiet there, 
 lieaching Sixth Avem i he crossed over to 
 Jefferson Market, whence a line of oars run 
 to the North River Ferries. He took one of 
 thefue cars, and at the Frrry House, pur- 
 chased a ticket for ' Malcolm and return.' 
 
 As the ferry l>oiit left the dock, Paul 
 walked to its rear and stood leaning upon the 
 rail, still hohling his brown paper parcel. A 
 lady in black.and an old woman with a dirty 
 l)aby were the only other persona upon tliat 
 side of the boat, though half a dozen or more 
 men were upon the opposite side, smoking. 
 As they neared the middle of the stream, 
 f'aul, wlio had rested the parcel upon the 
 rail, gave a short quick laugh. The old 
 svoman nvised her eyes in time to see the 
 •parcel falling from the rail and disappearing 
 in the water. 
 
 "By Jove," said Paul, and he laughed 
 again. A slight circumstance on a ferry 
 boat attracts attention ; and some of the 
 iiien on the other side crossed over. They 
 were labourers, smoking pipes, and would 
 Ji -dly have accosted so elegant dressed a 
 gentleman as Paul. But his apparent mis- 
 r.dtnne attracted them ; and besides, 
 I'aul seemed to be particularly good-na- 
 1 '.:'ed. 
 
 ' Was it valuables, sir ?' said one of the 
 men. 
 
 ' Only oranges,' replied Paul. 'Wait a 
 little while, and you will see them ;' and, 
 b'.ire enough, bright yellow oranges began to 
 . ppear dotting the surface of the water 
 \vhere the parcel had dropped. The pistrtl 
 was now at the bottom of the river ; and 
 with all his coolness, Paul could not repress 
 a long breath of satisfaction. He sauntered 
 slowly into the cabin, and sat down. As 
 yet his only sentiment was one of satisfac- 
 tion. As yet, no sense of the awful crime 
 he had committed had stolen over him. He 
 s it in the cabin, a passenger, like the res^ 
 1 i 4less, thinking of nothing, tapping i « 
 tloor with his boot. At Malcolm, thiu 
 evening, he was affectionate, abstracted, 
 listless, as he had been for months : and 
 -Mrs. Ogden kissed him fondly as ever, when 
 «he retired. 
 
 ' Poor Paul ! He will never get over 
 t> at unfortunate love affair,' the good 
 .•'ontan said to herself, as she left him. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 THK KKW TOBK HKRALD. 
 
 I> tlie morning, Paul, as usual, was late 
 X) bnakf ast, bat managed to go into town 
 
 upon til'. Hame train with his uncle, never- 
 theless. They had l)otli provided them- 
 selvee with newspapers, and sat together, 
 Paul nearest the window, upon the same 
 seat. 
 
 ' What's this 1 another murder V saitl Mr. 
 Ogden. 
 
 ' Where ?' said Paul 
 
 Tliey both had the Herald. Mr. Ogden 
 4irected Paul's attention to the page which 
 was wliolly taken up with the account, 
 and soon both became absorbed in the peru- 
 sal. 
 
 All the city papers contained the hor- 
 rible details a*^ length. But, since the 
 Hfi-aUl, although in its somewhat too tmii- 
 cal am' gemrous style, gave tlie fullest ac-- 
 oounts. as usiuil, we will insert an extract 
 form its columns here : 
 
 * * * * ' All that is known at present 
 is as follows: Last evening, at about lalf 
 after eight o'clock, Mr. Charles Fiear 
 a young artist about twenty-three 
 years old, was sitting in his studio, wiiich is 
 known No 36 in the ' Studio Buildings,' No 
 f)!, A Vest Tenth Street, when he heard a 
 woman's scream, which seemed to come from 
 the adjoining room. He rushed out into the 
 corridor, and the door of Studio No 37 (which 
 immediately adjoins No 3G) being ajar, he 
 entered. The sight which met his eye batHes 
 all description. Facing the door, in a kneel- 
 ing posture, with his chin resting upon his 
 breast, was the body of a man. The floor 
 was covered with the red life fluid that once 
 had coursed in the veins of a livingman, and 
 which seemed to have poured from two dis» 
 tinct wounds in the man's body, one in li s 
 face, which could not be seen without rag 
 i:ig the body, and the other behind his lelt 
 car. The scream had evidently come from a 
 chamb rmaid, who lay insensible on the floor. 
 The poor girl had entered the studio, in- 
 tending to pass through it into the adjoining 
 bed-room, to make the bed contained in it, 
 as usual ; and upon meeting the gliastly sight, 
 had fainted quite away. Mr. Frear, without 
 going to her assistance, stepped over the body 
 to the bell, which he rang violently for some 
 seconds, thereby arousing the whole estab- 
 lishment ; and then, stepping out into the 
 corridor, shouted, ' Help ! help !' a great 
 many times at the top of his voice. It seemed 
 scarcely a moment before everybody then in 
 the building had flocked to the spot. A 
 posse of policemen, accompanied by Police 
 Surgeon Dr. Fanington, airived from Jeffer- 
 son Market Station at about eight, and took 
 charge of the body. In the course of the 
 evening our reporter succeeded in ascertain- 
 ing the following particulars in reference to 
 the bloody tragedy. The murdered man is a 
 
 I'M 
 
 J 
 
 Hi!:' ., 
 
 1 
 
 
w 
 
 ST. JUDE'S ASSISTANT. 
 
 ^ 
 
 J'ouiig Kpiscopal clergyman, an assistant 
 {uutor uf St. Jude's rrotestiuit Episcopal 
 Parish, whose church is well known to b« 
 the coBtliest as well as tiio most nrherche on 
 Filtli Avenue, and was, at the time of Iuh 
 niiirtlur, curate in charge of the elegant Cha- 
 pel of that Parish on Street, sonic- 
 times known as, 'little St. Jude's. ' The 
 Rev. (ioorgc Brand, for that was his uanic, 
 M a.i popular both in the pariHli of which hu 
 MivH as .irttiint rector, and in tlie Chapel over 
 wiiich lio particulariy presided. R8i)ecially 
 HO was ho among the young lady pariahion- 
 crs, wlio, your reporter is informed, alwolute- 
 ly idoli/cd him ; no being of tall and well 
 l)roporti«aed figure, and remarkably hand- 
 some. His large piercing eyes are parti- 
 cularly alluded to. Mr. Brand was a mag- 
 nificent reailer, and celebrated far and wide 
 on that account. He had lately become en- 
 gaged to Olive, daughter of the well-known 
 and eminent banker, Horace (!ray, Esq. 
 
 'Up to the first day of August List, the 
 lleveiend Mr. Brand had occupied two rooms 
 at Mrs. Leslie's elegant boarding establish- 
 ment, No. — Fifth Avenue ; besides his room 
 at the Chapel on — th street. But, on 
 that day, lie had given them r.p, 
 and gone into the country, to take 
 his vacation, much of which he I>ad 
 passed at Saratoga, in company with his 
 Juinrne and her family. His vacation, how- 
 ever, came to an end on the tenth daj' of 
 September last. On returning to the city, 
 he had been about to take otiier quarters 
 t'.iau iiis old ones at Mrs. Leslie's, m view 
 of ilia approaching marriage, not wishing to 
 enter into any permanent arranj^eiiiciits for 
 the winter. At this time a young artist, 
 Mr. Harrison Turner, who had a lease of 
 SUidio No. 37 — now to be forever memorable 
 on account of this horrible affair — and m Iio 
 was an intimate friend and colli:ge clium oi 
 Mr. Brand's, • was about departing for 
 Europe; and learning of Mr. Brand's 
 hesitation as to rooms, liad suggested that 
 he occupy his studio and adjoining sleeping 
 room until his (Turner's) return, which he 
 expected would be in December. To this 
 ariangemeut Mr. Brand consented, and 
 entered the fatal studio, in which he was to 
 die at the hands of a foid assassin, and 
 VV hence his soul wiis to wing its flight to 
 God who gave it. At this writing, no clue 
 to the assassin can be, or at least, has been 
 obtained. When the body was examined 
 by Dr. Farrington (namely, at eight o'clock, 
 P.M.), the Dr. pronounced that tlie heart 
 must have stopped about four hours. It 
 appeared probable that death had ensued 
 from the effect of a pistol ball driven into 
 the brain from directly betweeli the victim's 
 
 The pistol must have been held very 
 the spot where the ball entered. 
 
 as 
 
 eyea. 
 near 
 
 the skin was blackened by the iwwder. A 
 second ball hadgoncratedthe brain, however, 
 having entered immediately l)ehind the left 
 ear — which would have also alone caused 
 death. The assassin uuist therefore (in Dr. 
 Farrington '• opinion), have fired the first 
 shot standing m front of his victim and hold- 
 ing the weapon close to his head ; and, upon 
 tlie murdered man falling forward upon his 
 knees, he must have — to make doubly sure 
 of lus fiendish work— hc»d the pistolascc nd 
 time to the back of the dying man's head, 
 near the ear, and fired again. No pistol or 
 weapon of any kind was found on the jire- 
 mises, except two old revolutionary flint- 
 locks, which, however, Were crosMed on the 
 wall over a picture of a dead war horse, or 
 what M'aa evidently intended by its artist 
 for a field of battle. This disposes — even if 
 it were not dispelled by the position of the 
 wounds, and the murdered man's life and 
 prospects — of any theory of suicide. There 
 were no marks of a strnggle in the room. The 
 disorder apparent in the arrangement of tlie 
 room was one evidently of long standing, since 
 <hist was observed to have settled upon the 
 V iiious objects, which must have shown 
 signs of disturbance, had they been moved. 
 'I'lie two balls, or slugs of lead, causing 
 death, were extracted from the dead man's 
 brain last evening by Drs. Farringtoi , 
 Leash, and Phillips. They are conical in 
 s'lape, about four-twelfths of an inch in 
 length, and about tliree-twelfths of an incii 
 in diameter at their base. As no report 
 of fire-arms was heard durinu the after- 
 noon by inmates of the Studio Buildings, 
 several of whom occupying studios upon the 
 same floor as No. 37, happened to be in 
 them all the afternoon of Tuesday — these 
 shots must have been fired from what is 
 known as a " silent " or " Non- Detonating " 
 revolver, such as are foi sale by the Ameri- 
 can Noll- Detonating Fire-arms Company, 
 No. — Broadway, whose advertisement ap- 
 pears in another column. 
 
 ' As we go to press the excitement is in- 
 tense — but as yet no theory of the murder 
 can be found. The deceased seems to be a 
 man who had no enemies, and no motive can 
 be assigned for tlnj hideous deed, which has 
 sent a human being all unprepared to liis 
 dread account. The whole affair is simply 
 inexplicable. A young minister of the goi?- 
 pel, ittached to the wealthiest parish of the 
 city, universally beloved, not known to have 
 an ent my in the w^rld, engaged to a young 
 lady of vast expectations, is shot down in 
 broad daylight, and nobody can point out 
 the cowaidly assassin. Neither can it ba 
 
ST. JUDK'fl ASSISTANT. 
 
 21 
 
 ■/' 
 
 J; 
 .1' 
 
 ,0 
 
 |)U8Hil>lu that uno whuse motive was pliimlur 
 shuuM iiiive goue in (^ucHt uf a clergyman. 
 It is a, very suspicious, or ut least a pccaliar, 
 circuniutuitce, however, that no money coulil 
 be found iu the murdered man's pocket, an*l 
 that thougli he wore a watch chain, no 
 watch could be found upon his pcrHon. 
 Peter Downey, the doorman of the Studio 
 Buildings, wiio occupies a small lodge at the 
 street entrance, whence, through a small 
 hole in the wall provided for this purpose, it 
 is his duty to take notice of everybody tiiat 
 
 Soes in or out, is positive that, although 
 ozens of people went in and out during 
 election day afternoon, nobody passed hiu 
 lodge unobserved, or without, on entering, 
 stating his or her errand, or whom thoy 
 wished to see. Peter is quite positive that 
 3)0 visitor called for No. 37 that day, or Went 
 up to that number (;i7). It ia ever so. In 
 ;the midst of Life we are in Death. — Herald, 
 Xori'iaher, — . 
 
 All this, and columns besides, Paul and 
 Jiis Ancle were reading side by side, as tlie 
 train rushed onward toward the river. As 
 it drew up, his uncle said, his hand upon 
 Paul's shoulder, 'What do you thiak of it, 
 I'aul ? ' 
 
 'Jjy Jove, sir, I don't know what to 
 tl.ink. It's coming rather near homo to mu, 
 too. Of course you saw tliat she was en — ' 
 
 ' Yes, yes, ' said the uncle, hastily. By 
 long schooling at his wife's hands, he had 
 come to understand that all allusion to Paul'-s 
 unhappy engagement to Olive Gray was to 
 be scninulously avoided. As they landed 
 ou the New York side, Paul said, ' Are you 
 toing directly to your offide, uncle ? ' 
 
 'Yes.' ^ 
 
 ' If you don't mind, I guess I'll go along 
 
 ■with you, and finish refiding about this 
 
 ' affair. After that I'll stroUup to the Club. ' 
 
 , • Ci;>me,- and welconie, By-the-by, Paul, 
 
 I wish you could find Something to do. ' 
 
 " 'Well, but I can't.' ., 
 
 ' Why don't you begin practice'?' Certain- 
 ly you ought to now, if you ever intend 1 • 
 I don't expect you ever to be the lawyer you 
 might have been, if your father had left all 
 his mousy to the Tract Society or a lying-in 
 •establishment, instead of giving every cent of 
 it to you — but anything is better than doing 
 nothing. My office is open to you. lean 
 put you into the way of getting plenty of liard 
 worlv, at any rate. Think it over, my boy, 
 .and come to ine. ' 
 
 And so they proceeded to Mr. Ogden's 
 ofiRce.whero I'aul lighted a cigar, finished bis 
 
 {taper, and then, calling a cab, rode up to 
 lis Club. 
 .Al! this time, while the deed ho had done, 
 
 was, of course, present in his mind, he was 
 acting rationally, and he knew it. That is 
 to say, he was tno sjiniothat ho hofl been be- 
 fore, and noboily could diHoover any treniour 
 in hia voice, or any blanching of his ciieuk. 
 It ia to be dou!)ted, indeed, whether his 
 brain was normal and healthy. It nniHt be 
 remembered that for eight or ten months iio 
 liad hardly slept .1 night, brooding night and 
 (lay over his loss, his wrongs and liis revenge. 
 Tnie, the guilt of blood was upon him; the 
 moat terri))le guilt known to humanity, and 
 one that blood itself cannot wash away. 
 True, the horrible secret, which, it is tlio 
 universal testimony of mankind, cannot be 
 kept in a guilty broast, but must sooner or 
 later burst it open, wm locked in his breast. 
 Ifut, up to this time, it had not quickened 
 or stirred. He had only felt the calm and 
 respite from care which comes from end and 
 aim accomplished. It seemed to iiim tiiat ut 
 last a great duty had been done. His tanu 
 — the task he had set iiimself so hnig ago 
 and whieli alone had tilled liis thoughts fcr 
 months, was completed, aiul iiu horror of ti u 
 deadly sin, so far, had touohe«l his oonsei 
 e.ice. The man whom he had chosen to conti- 
 deras hisdespoilerwaslow and coldiu death. 
 The victim he had selected for sacrifice had 
 been offered up to still his vengeance — ami 
 now his vengeance was stilled, and his heart 
 seemed to beat evenly in his breast once 
 more. 
 
 When he had carefully measured the time 
 that was left to him on election day ; when 
 he had purchased the passage ticket to 
 Liverpool (which he never intended to use), 
 thereby accounting for the presence of a 
 stranger in New York on the fatal afternooa 
 ---when he had gone up and down, covering 
 Ids own tracks — in a public Conveyance; even 
 when he had passed the very doorway of 
 the place where his victim lay in a pool of 
 blood, he had felt nothing but tlio cool can- 
 tion of a player, playing a vital, and, posui- 
 l)ly, a desperate (fame. The fea* 'Of mortal 
 L'liilt had never seemed tocome'dVer him. 
 When, however, he had so drop- 
 ped his parcel as to attract attention, 
 .ind, above all, when he had seen tlio 
 oranges floating in the river, thereby prov- 
 ing that he had ruptured the paper, and the 
 deadly weapon he had secreted for so many 
 months had dropped to its hiding-place in 
 the mire at the bottom of the stream, where 
 it would daily work deeper and deeper from 
 the possibility of human discovery, he felt 
 that the last move had been mode, and that 
 the game was his. After that, he certainly 
 si o lid make no effort to ckI innocence, whero 
 nobody suspected him. He knew who had 
 murdered (ieorge Brand. It hardly seemed 
 
 
 
 11 
 
 nil 
 
 
22 
 
 f " 
 ST. 
 
 TUDK'S AHSISTAFT. 
 
 ' 
 
 to him tliat he hiniHclf vnm tlie luurilerer, so 
 uallouM liHtl he bouoine. Hut he know wlio 
 hail nnirilured hini, and, until he wm asked, 
 he certainly ihould not telL 
 
 CHAPTKR IX. 
 
 'YI8, HHK IS HAl-PV NOW.' 
 
 On Thursday and Friday, tlie Herald 
 duvoted an entire page to the Brand, or, as, 
 in delicauy to the oloth, it ouine to be styled, 
 'the 8t. Jude's Murder.' On Saturday, 
 however, tlie details only Klled four ooluinus ; 
 ( n Sunday, two colamns. On Monday it 
 published the sermon of the venerable Kev. 
 l)r. (Sterling, Rector of St. Jude's I'arish, 
 iMssides much vivid and glowing description 
 of ' tlie surging mass of people who swayeil 
 to and fro in the vast auditorium as the 
 Kolcnin and magniticent language of the 
 speaker surged and swayed in tlieir hearts,' 
 which swelled the matter out to u page 
 again. But three days is a long time for a 
 sensati* " in New York, and as this had run 
 for five, itirely annihilating the election re- 
 turns, it ,'radually sunk to a half-column on 
 the injitU of the Un'ald, while that 
 piiblic-f pirited sheet lent all its ener- 
 gies to the imminent danger of the 
 citizens from the presence of the poison in 
 the Croton, wliich eminent savans in its pay 
 had discovered. Of coure tlie large headings 
 to this matti-r were in its usual alliterative 
 and sympathetic style. Indeed thg H(rald 
 iiiivy be said to have exceeded itself — it never 
 had done better in its palmiest days. But 
 we are running in otlvance of our story. 
 
 When Paul reached hia Club, there was a 
 knot of young feliows, discussing the murder 
 in the long smoking-rccm, and he joined 
 them. Some two or three of these young 
 men had known the murdered man, for 
 Brand bad been one of the modern school of 
 clergyme«v who mingle in tlie genteel dissi- 
 patioiiA of society. In hia life-time he had 
 tlanced, played billiards, and known wine 
 that was fit to drink from wine that wasn't, 
 when he tasted it, and a good cigar, a pretty 
 girl, or a fast horse, when he saw them. 
 Men, not assistant ministers in New York, 
 take the infliction very good-naturedly, as a 
 rule — see them bag all the matrimonial 
 prizes, and get into clover generally, without 
 .'inything more tha|i a passing remark about 
 their luck ; perhaps, considering that, in 
 this world of compensations, a man who is a 
 minister of the gospel ought to have some- 
 thing to compensate him for his office. ,But, 
 however it was, the great murder was dis- 
 cussed at the Club that morning very prac- 
 tically. It was not known that Brand had 
 
 left any family to mourn him. Hisenj/age- 
 ment witli Olive Gray, however, hadm'on 
 long known. A man nad indeed loudly ex- 
 pressed the opinion that * this thing wai* 
 going to give Ogdtsn another show for Olive, ' 
 when I'aul himself walked into the room. 
 
 Paul rang for a cigar, lighted it, and 
 stretched hmiself on hi? favourite divan in 
 the broad bay window in the corner. Thin 
 was better than a felon's cell, he thought. 
 Why shoidd he tell who murdered the man 
 who had dune him a wrong 7 
 
 •You've read the paj)er», of course,' said 
 Harry Larremore. 
 
 ' Yes, about that uiunler, you mean,' said 
 Paul. 
 
 'Yes.' 
 
 Paul wont on reading his paper. 
 
 ' You knew him ?' 
 
 ' Well — now he's (load, I suppose I may 
 say I knew him. If lie were living, I should 
 say I knew who ho was.' 
 
 ' Devilish queer thing, isn't it.' ■ 
 
 ' Devilish, said Pauf ^ 
 
 Larremore hod stood there a little while, 
 looking over Paul's couchant form, out upon 
 the avenue, when a man named Curtis 
 touched him on the arm. Curtis was a 
 friend of Paul. His first name was Pol- 
 lard, but he was generally known as Polly, 
 in the Club. As Larremore looked around, 
 Curtis took his arm, and they walked off to- 
 gether. 
 
 ' Don't suppose Ogden wants to say much 
 al>out the affair,' said Curtis, as soon as they 
 were out of Paul's hearing. ' You know- 
 Brand was engaged to the girl that jilted 
 him, and cut lupi up, pretty rough, too." 
 
 ' 1 had heard something of it, Polly' said 
 Larremore^ ' I suppose she'll get him on 
 again, now.' 
 
 ' If she can— perhaps,' said Polly. 
 
 That evening Paul dined and slept at lii» 
 I'.otel, for the first time in some months. On 
 Saturday afternoon, the Herald contained 
 the following : ,7 iiT. ■" 
 
 ON THB KIliHT TRACK AT LAST. 
 
 The authorities have been advised that 
 on Tuesday last, about two hours before the 
 murder, a stranger called at the ofBce of the 
 British and North American Packet Company, 
 and purchased a passage to Liverpool, by tlie 
 Scytliia, which sailed on Wednesday last at 
 noon. He gave his name as John A. Grant, 
 of Carondelet, (Mississippi,) stating to tha 
 prentlemanly clerk in that Company°s office, 
 that he had come into town the night before, 
 and was stopping at the Fifth Avenue Hotel. 
 After purchaeing the ticket, the man went 
 up to Broadway, on foot. On calling at th« 
 
8T. JUDE-S ASSISTANT. 
 
 hotel offioe, our reporter waa iiifurnied tliat 
 no penwn of tbut name had arrived nt the 
 Fiftii Avenue Hotel ou the night nientiuiicd ;, 
 and upon telegraphing to Carondelet, Midsis- 
 vippi, ( which tliu Herald did at once by ita 
 private lines, without waiting for the author- 
 ities to move in the matter,) we are now in- 
 furmed that there is not, and never has been, 
 any suoh person as John A. Grant living in 
 that town, 
 
 The cable will be immediately put into 
 requisition and orders sent to buth Queens- 
 tuwn and Liverpool to intercept any male 
 posaeuger upon tlie Scythia who cannot give 
 uu account of himself. 
 
 I'aul laughed at this. Rver.'tiiing, it 
 seemed to him. had worked well. iTany 
 attempt should he made to connect him with 
 tlie stranger who had purchased the passage 
 to Liverpool — and he admitted :,o hiiuself, 
 that the description given by the clerk to 
 the Herald reporter (which we have not 
 quoted,) was a tolerably good likeness of 
 itiinself, — he knew he could pro<luce friends 
 who had seen him in a stage jKoing down 
 Broadway, about that time on Tuesday, or 
 failing in that, others who had seen him in a 
 train on the Elevated Railway, ^ing up 
 town, would be sure to be fortliconnng. 
 
 The most ordinary incident or featuio upon 
 which one's eyes light, is sure to be re-called 
 in cases of great public interest, if that in- 
 cident or feature can in any way be connect- 
 ed with that interest. So far, Paul was sure 
 that everything waa going well. 
 
 ' But those fellows are very sharp, ' he 
 reflected, ' That Dr. Farrington found out 
 iu five minutes, Just what I shot the fellow 
 with, just how 1 shot him, and just how he 
 Hrst f^l. Perhaps it would be just aa well, 
 if I were out of sight. I might say or do 
 Homething to attract attention. People just 
 now are so wide awake.' And Paul was 
 right. In times of great public excitement, 
 everybody is in one sense, watched, and 
 everybody, in one sense must give an 
 aujount of himself. Every circumstance of 
 human life and of social history is, how- 
 ever trivial, the result of combine-1 causes, 
 just as each of these causes waa in its turn 
 the result of previous causes. The world 
 wags in a most bewildering snarl at times, 
 but iu cases where public suspicion is un- 
 duly active, it is just as well for a guilty 
 man to be out of ita sight and out of its 
 reach. Already there were hundreds of act- 
 ivu brains, stinmlated by huge prospective 
 rewards, and hundreds of acute i-easoners 
 tliat needed no such stimulant, were search- 
 in :j; for the motive that had induced the 
 Assassin's shot. As Paul had said, the mat- 
 ter was very near to him — perhaps too 
 
 do;]er had 
 
 iuipression 
 
 a merel y 
 
 best thing 
 
 near to attract suspicion- -but, aoonLr or 
 Uter, his name must lie mentioned. All 
 the world loves an aooupted lover — but, 
 all the same — all thn world Uugha at u 
 rejected lover. He might feel sure that 
 no teuderuesH would prevent the making ot'« 
 enquiries to his very face. And he was nut 
 unaware, that, sincA tlie estranjjjenient be- 
 tween himself and Oiive Gray, his morbid 
 hfe must have Iwen noticed. Indeed, Polly 
 Curtis, at the Club, had already, mi the 
 goodness of his heart, cautioned k dozen 
 men against takling about the matter to 
 his friend, and everyone of those 
 probably furtilier circulated the 
 that the affair ht\d other than 
 curious interest for Paul. The 
 that Paul could do wua, undoubtuilly aftei- 
 a little, to get out of the way of people. 
 True, m) fa , he had done the best thing he 
 could jrassibly have done. ' He had been 
 in the vicinity of the murder a few minuter 
 after he had per))etrated it. So far from 
 shunning the (letaila, he had eagerly read 
 them iu the newspaper. So far so good. 
 But he thought, perlmp-s it would be well, 
 after a time, liefure public scrutiny had ex- 
 hausted itself upon those nearest to the 
 scene of the muruer, and spread over wider 
 hilds, to ((uietly get out of the country. 
 The Scythia, now on her way across thr 
 ocean, was not a particularly swift boat. She 
 could ! <irdlv be overhauled at Queenstown 
 l>efore ten days from her sailing day ha d 
 elapsed. Until that time, the pohce would 
 be justified in waiting to learn something 
 about a stranger who had bought a ticket 
 in an assumed name. And, after that date, 
 they would undoubtedly very carefully 
 search for the man w'- j had paid for his 
 passage to Liverpool, uj Mr. Grant of Car- 
 ondelet, (Mississippi,) and had never taken 
 it. The ten days would elapse on Saturday. 
 On that day a White Star steamer would 
 nail. Could he manage, before that time, to 
 tind a reason to go abroad, he would sail 
 with it, and all his friends would bid him 
 good-bye and God speed. Perhaps he might 
 even have prayers for his safety on the 
 
 Seat deep, offered iu St. Jude's itself, 
 eanwhile he would be natural. And, as 
 we have seen, he could lie, and was. 
 
 Paul was undoubtedly right in his pre- 
 mises. The records of crime prove nothing, 
 if they do not prove that the conscience of 
 a guilty man is, after all, the only 
 infallible detective. The auutest human 
 reason will err, and the 
 at the outset will 
 tracks of investigation 
 wider apart, until, between them, a 
 guilty man can live in absolute lecurity. 
 
 minutest error 
 diverge the 
 wider and 
 between 
 absolute 
 
 ?■' 
 
 "^(\ 
 
 Xk 
 
 ::{.)_ 
 
24 
 
 ST. JUrE'S ASSISTANT. 
 
 But, sooner or later, his conscience or his 
 secret impels to some tleed or act or motion, 
 that, without it, would be unaccountable ; 
 and the attempt to account for the un- 
 accountable is morally curtain to result in 
 «kruth. 
 
 In the case of the murder of Captain 
 White, of Salem, Massachusetts, in 1830, 
 the suspicion which led to the murderer's 
 capture was actually created, in the first in- 
 stance, by his, the murderer's, own attempt 
 to mannfacture counter suspicions. Had he 
 suffered puV>lic suspicioji to take its course, 
 it would almost inevitably, have, by ex- 
 hausting all probable chauueU of casuistry 
 fust, been long dehvyed froiK the truth ; and 
 such is the lesson of all tliosc marvellous- ro- 
 mances of jurisprudence contained in law- 
 yer's librarie8,in those dingy books where ro- 
 mances are least of all tiUijpccted of hiding, 
 and whose absolute trutli cannot save them 
 from their most glai'ijig improbability. 
 Something of this sort ran m Paul's mind, 
 and he resolveil, if plausible, to sail in the 
 White Star steamer of Saturday week. 
 
 Meanwhile events had succeeded themselves 
 very rapidly in St. Jude's Parish. The con- 
 sternation of the wardens and vestrymen at 
 tlie murder, had led to their offering a re- 
 ward of twenty thousand dollars for the ap- 
 prehension of the murderci', and before Sun- 
 day this had been increased to thirty tiiou- 
 sand dollars. A lesolution of that honour- 
 able body to the effect tliat, the mostemineut 
 legal talent in the city should be employed, 
 bad led to the retaining of Mr. Percival 
 Ogden, to attend for the parish at the cor- 
 (jner's inquest. In every way, St. Jude's 
 was not lukewarm in its eagerness to avenge 
 the taking off of its favourite assistant. 
 
 As for Olive, she had parted from her 
 lover last on Monday evening, he agreeing to 
 present himself at her father's table, at din- 
 ner, on Tuesday. As he had not come, nor 
 sent any word of excuse, she had begun, on 
 that evening, to be anxious, and had de- 
 spatched a note by a servant, to "Studio 
 Buildings.' The man had arrived with this 
 note at eight o'clock, just as the excitement 
 was at its height. Upon learning of the 
 murder he had returned home, but, avoiding 
 Olive, had first sought her father. Assur- 
 ing himself, fii-st, that his servant's news was 
 con-ect, Mr. Gray instructed him to si.mply 
 return the note to Olive, telling her that he 
 * had not been able to see Mr. Brand. ' To 
 this message, he bad l)een, indeed, obliged, 
 nnon her anxious interrogation, to add, that 
 ' Mr. Brand was not in hia. room, but had 
 gone out and left no message.' But Olive 
 Bad noft heard the news,- and Mr. Gray had, 
 at least, time to cau':id£r how it should ba 
 
 said 
 
 •Rtti 
 
 .Jiuii lii ., 
 
 broken to her. It was cruelly broken to 
 her the next morning, and in this wi^p. ; Bjj 
 a sort of tender regard, which ^ven ihe 
 luost heartless of society feels for sudden 
 alilicfion, no calls were paid at Gray's 
 mansion that evening. The next morn- 
 ing, at about eleven o'clock, Olive was 
 sitting in the breakfast-room. Her sis- 
 ters had left the t«>ble, and were conversing 
 in the hall, the door of which the^ acci- 
 dentally left partially opep. While Olive 
 drank her coffee, therefore, she could not 
 help hearing her sister's convers^ation. As 
 they stood there, Edward, one of the 
 brothers, who was in business, happened to 
 come down the staircase. He hsvcl oeen out 
 of town during election day, which had 
 Ijeen kept as a general holiday, visiting a 
 young lady, some distance up the Hudson, to 
 whom he was paying his adcfresses. He had 
 arrived home at about midnight, and was 
 supposed, by his sister, not to have heard the 
 news. 
 
 ' Have you heard the newB, Ned ? 
 Ruth. 
 
 ' No, what news ?' said Ned, 
 
 ' George Brand is dead.' 
 
 ' Dead ?' 
 
 'Murdered.' 
 
 At that moment a crash of china 
 Leard in the breakfast-room, and then 
 heavy thud. They rushed in. Olive 
 lying upon her face on the floor, lifeless. 
 Dr. Forsyth was sent for at once. It was a 
 summons he had expected ever since the 
 tragic news pervaded the cjty. For he 
 knew that wlien that news readied the 
 tender heart that throbbed in the frail, sAvcet 
 form of Olive Gray, he would be needed. 
 The doctor canie, prepared, indeed, for the 
 old nervous paroxysm, and the following 
 clairvoyant symptoms. But he was miH- 
 taken. When Olive came out of her 
 swoon, her eyes opened full on her 
 brother Ned. She stretched out ^ier hand. 
 ' Ah, George,' she said, * I knew you would 
 come to me. I knew you wouh' nf)t leave 
 me alone so long — O, so long, j,gain ! I was 
 very lonely, George. Are you not sorry ? 
 0. am so happy now !' , . j^ j;,^^ ^^ ^J^ '■ 
 
 1 es, she was 'happy nowT 
 
 ' She is beyond all sorrow as long she 
 lives, poor child,' said Dr. Forsytlu 
 
 TT • J 1 111 • »il Jl 1 
 
 Her mind was wholly gone. 
 
 ■ . \.,r CHAPTER X. >j. .^^,^ 
 
 , ,K;ifin«' 
 
 . ,,,..,, THK CORONEES INQUBS^,^ -iV-r.^' i 
 
 And indepd the tragedy filled tlie heart's and 
 Lhougiits of a whole city, penetrating even to 
 Gr.y Street, and to the ears of Miss Isabell* 
 
 was 
 I 
 was 
 
Budclen 
 Gray's 
 morn- 
 
 BT. JUDE'S ASSISTANT, 
 
 hina was 
 rl then ;i 
 Dlive was 
 
 lifeless. 
 It was a 
 siiice the 
 
 For he 
 hei.T the 
 ail, SAvoet 
 
 needed. 
 
 for the 
 following 
 was mia- 
 
 of her 
 on her 
 ier hand, 
 ou would 
 not leave 
 
 ! I was 
 ot sorry ? 
 
 long she 
 
 .1 Ji i 
 
 K \. • 
 -' « i ii. > I 
 
 Singleton. To Isabella, indeed, who wanted 
 to die in verses at five dollaftv a set, from 
 month to month, it would have brought a 
 realization of that sombre visitant, had she 
 been of a Iciad who ranch indulged in sucli 
 sort of sentiment. But sentiment was busi- 
 ness with iier — it was brdad and butter. 
 An(f, to do hor justice, she could not think 
 of business and bread and butter when so 
 horrible a thing as the tidings of a relative's 
 iiuuder rang in her ears. ' 
 
 It had appeared that the murdered tnan 
 ha>l absolutely no relatives. • His father and 
 mother had died long since, and he liad been 
 4in only child. His friends were those he had 
 made in bis college, his seiainary, and his 
 cure. So Isabella, who had never, while he 
 w as the fashion and the rage, introduced her 
 pale tiiin face and her faded gowns and 
 shawls upon his notice, came forward now, 
 nnd clad in a decent suit of mourning, watch- 
 tid the pale sharp features that, a week ago, 
 had teen so 8i)leudid that even men had ad- 
 mired, and hardly left her post at the dead 
 man's side, i^ iter the Coroner's inqueat,the 
 body lay in the large parish school room, 
 V. hiuh communicated with little St. Jude's 
 1 . y a long low range of cloisters, until 
 tlie Sunday following the fatal Tuesday, when 
 it was moved into great St. Jude's for the 
 obsequies. 
 
 At least two crises of our lives, our births 
 and our funerals, are incomplete without 
 women's hands and women's tears, however 
 independent of the tender sex our masculine 
 careers may be. To do her justice, her lonely 
 withered life had not much warped Isabella's 
 inner womanly graces Slic had a soft foot- 
 .step and a gentle voice in this death chamber ; 
 and, in the unselfish vigils of tl»ose days and 
 nights, she unconsciously made many friends 
 among ttiose who bad been the dead man's 
 friends. 
 
 Mr. Ogdcn attended at the Coroner's 
 inquest, cross-examining with the wonderful 
 minuteness and exactness for which he was 
 o'jlebratcd, the few persons whose evidence 
 wjvs taken. We have mostly seen, in' t'.ie 
 course oi our narrative, what that evidence 
 must have been. The lawyer had been 
 especially exact with Downey, the old 
 Scotchman who acted asportieror doorkeep- 
 er of the ' Studio Buildings. ' Downey had 
 stated, ii\ effect, tliat upon being informed 
 that the murdtroil man was to occujiy the 
 artist's room, be had doubted the propriety 
 of the thing, tod insisted that the directors 
 of the institution should first consent to such 
 an arrangement. Upon the arrangement 
 being consummated, liowever, he had either 
 aupposed that such consent had been obtain- 
 ed, or allowed other matters to crowd it 
 
 from his mind, and had nmde no inquiries. 
 In fact lie did not know whether such an oc- 
 cupancy was against any rules of the Direct- 
 ory, or not. He had intended to inquire, 
 btrt had not. Brand had, at any rate, occu- 
 pied the rooms, night and day ; had passed 
 his (Downey's) window many times, gcJingin 
 and out like other tenants. Did not know 
 where Brand took his meals. Had very 
 few calls. Had no calls on the day of the 
 murder. 
 
 From the Herald report of this examina- 
 tion, we make the following extract : 
 
 By Mr. Ogden — Did you Keep any record 
 of callers at the 'Studio Buildings, 'on Tues- 
 day ? . ,• ^,4 ,^ .,', iyii. ;«„// . • 
 
 A. I did not. •••*-''" ■ '■' '" ' -hf-F', ' 
 
 Q. Are you not required to keep some auch 
 record by the directors ? 
 
 A. I am not. 
 
 Q, Is your memory mote or less accurate 
 as to persons passing in and out ? 
 
 A, I never charge my mind with these 
 things. If I .o°e a face three or four times, I 
 get to know it. Or, if there is anything 
 striking or peculiar about it, I remember it 
 the second time I see it. 
 
 Q. r T you remember anybody who called 
 at the 'Studio Buildings' ou the afternoon of 
 election day? iw 
 
 A. Not particularly. 
 
 Q. Do you remember that any person call- 
 ed twice, or more than once that day? 
 
 A. I do not. t . 
 
 Q. Doyou rememberany particular tenants 
 in the 'Studio Buildings', who had callers that 
 afternoon ? 
 
 A. I remember that a Mr. Ware, and a 
 Mr. Hunt, and a Mr. Frear had callets tliat 
 afternoon. 
 
 Q. At what time did these callers come ? 
 
 A. At ditferent times. 
 
 Q. At what time did Mr. Ware's caller 
 come? -J ,) .li :.i n ; 
 
 A. During the afternoon, k ---, ■■■ ,i rl .fjj 
 
 Q. At about what time? •!'>T{i( !'>• ' Ut 
 
 A. During the afternoon. 
 
 Q. Can't you §x the time within an hour? 
 
 A. 1 cannot. a . ;.• j;, 
 
 Q. Witliin two iiours ? --.f..| .,(- 
 
 A. I cannot. :, 
 
 Q. Within three hours ? 
 
 A. It was between two and five o'clock, 
 
 Q. At what time did Nr, Hunt's caller 
 arrive? 
 
 A. During the afternoon. 
 
 Q. Can you fix the time within an hour ? 
 
 A. I cannot. 
 
 Q. Or within two hours ? 
 
 A. I cannot— nor within three orfour hours. 
 T can simply remember that it was sometime 
 during the afternoon. 
 
 I 
 
 iP'l 
 
 LI 
 
 hi 
 
 ''' i iff 
 
 
 )\ 
 
 ■:i 
 
'^ 
 
 28 
 
 ST. JUDE'S ASSISTANT. 
 
 I 
 
 
 Q. At what time did Mr. IVear'a caller 
 airive ? 
 
 A. At about four o'clock, perhaps a little 
 alter. 
 
 Q. How does it happen that you remem- 
 ber about this caller so much better than the 
 others ? 
 
 A. Because some words passed between us. 
 
 A. What did he say to you ? 
 
 A. He was very impudent. 
 
 Q. What did he say ? 
 
 A. Well, sir, shall I tell you all I know 
 about him ? 
 
 Q. Let me reach it in my own way. 
 
 A. Go on, sir. 
 
 Q. What did he say to you ? 
 
 A. He asked if Mr. Frear was within. 
 
 Q. Are those his very words ? 
 
 A. No, sir. He asked me in some words 
 or other to that effect. 
 
 Q. But he asked you if Mr. Frear was in 
 his studio ? 
 
 A. He did. 
 
 Q. And what did you say f 
 
 A. I told him that the Index was before 
 him and he could see for himself that it said 
 'In.' 
 
 Q. You used those words ? 
 
 A. No, sir. Not at all. Opposite to my 
 window there is what we call an Index. It 
 is a board or contrivance painted black, and 
 has the number of every studio or room in 
 the building upon it in gilt letters, in one 
 column at the left. Opposite each number 
 is painted, in gilt letters, tlie name of the 
 occupant of that rooni. Sometimes, when 
 'there is a change in the occupants, a piece 
 of white paper or card board, written or 
 printed with the name of the new occupant, 
 is stuck into this Index temporarily, but the 
 orders are that every occupant's name shall 
 be painted, at his expense, upen the Index 
 at the door, opposite to the number of his 
 room. In a third column, at the right of 
 the Index, is a small moving valve or piece 
 of wood, upon one side of Avliich is painted, 
 * In, 'and upon the other, 'Out.' When an 
 occupiint yoes out he is requested to turn a 
 little button on the outside right-hand 
 edge of the Index board, so that tliis pieca 
 of wood will read ' Out ' When he returns, 
 on his way up to hin room, he is to tuni it 
 back again, so that it will reail, 'In.' 
 
 Q. That is very competent as to the In- 
 dex ; now tell us something, if you please, in 
 reference to Mr. Frear's caller, who came at 
 about four o'clock on the afternoon of Elec- 
 tion day, and wiio was impudent to you ? 
 
 A. Well sir. I was gome to say that Mr. 
 I'Year's Index said * In, and when the young 
 min asked me if Mr. Frear wa? up-stairs 
 
 Q. You mean when Mr. Frear's caller — 
 
 you haven't said he was a young man — 
 when Mr. Frear's caller asked if mi: Frear 
 was • At home,* or ' In ?' 
 
 A. If you interrupt me sir, I can't go on. 
 
 Q. I must interrupt you and you must, 
 go on. 
 
 A. It is unimportant whether — 
 
 Q. Everything is important. However* 
 you may go on inyour own way. Proceed. 
 
 A. WeD, sir. When he asked me whether 
 Mr. Frear was in his studio 
 
 Q. That is, if he was ' At home ' or * In ?' 
 
 A. I don't see that it makes any difl'et- 
 enoe. 
 
 Q. If it depended upon what you an say- 
 ing now whether a man was to be hung by 
 the neck until he was dead, wouldn't you 
 consider that it made ' any difference ? ' 
 
 A. I think I should. 
 
 Q. This is precisely that case. Now be 
 as accurate as possible in what yon say, and 
 proceed. 
 
 A. Well air. When he asked if Mr. 
 Frear was in, I looked over to the Index, 
 and seeing that it said ' In, ' I told him that 
 there was the Index and that he might see 
 for himself that he was in. 
 
 Q. Arc those your very words ? 
 
 A. I suppose not. But as near as I can 
 rememljer, that is what I said. 
 
 Q. Well, go on about the impadence. 
 
 A. He said tliat I had better ' keep a oivil 
 tongue in my head, ' and that I was ' paid 
 for it.' 
 
 Q. Were those his very words.? 
 
 A. That was the substance of what he 
 said, and I considered that it was a piece of 
 impudence. 
 
 Q. Did the caller proceed up-stairs? 
 
 A. He went in that direction. 
 
 Q. Did you ever see him again ? 
 
 A. Yes, sir. He can'.e bade in a few 
 moments. 
 
 Q. In about how long ? 
 
 A. I can't judge — in about ten minutes 
 or so. 
 
 Q. Do you call ten minutes a few mo- 
 ments ? 
 
 A. What I mean to say is that it misht 
 have been ten minuted. It takes some time 
 to go 
 
 Q. I am not ready for that yet. You say 
 he came back ? 
 
 A. Yes, sir. 
 
 Q. Very well. I am only examining you 
 as to what you said and what you heard. 
 Did he speak to you as he went out ? 
 
 A. Yes, sir. 
 
 Q. What did he say ? 
 
 A. Some more of his impudence. 
 
 Q. Tliis is not responaive. Tell me whai^ 
 
 he said ? •'■• 'rjj}vj.i: i-jaK{u |jl»f/viii(J 1'' .,r 
 
 
ST. JUDE'S A.SSISTANT. 
 
 27 
 
 "t 
 
 a few 
 
 iM : 
 
 A. I didn't pay much attention to what 
 he said, when I saw who it was. He said 
 Bomething about ' that being a vahiable 
 Index,' and that Mr. Frear wasn't in. 
 
 Q. Anything more ? 
 
 A. Nothing, sir, except that he passed 
 out. 
 
 Q. Wliat was the fact. Was Mr. Frear 
 in or out ? 
 
 A. I didn't know that Mr. Frear wan out 
 atthe time, but I suppose he must have been, 
 for I saw him return at about seven o'clock, 
 and he was in his room when — 
 
 Q. Yes, yes, we know all about that, etc, 
 etc. 
 
 When Paul read this examination by his 
 imcle, he was more conxnnced than ever that 
 it might be as well for him to get out of the 
 country. It was hardly two days since the 
 murder, and already the fact of the conver- 
 sation he had held with the old Scotchmar, 
 the weapon with which he did the deed, even 
 the very hour and method of its accomplish- 
 ment, were most accurately established. At 
 this rate, everything would be reduced to a 
 moral certainty in a fortnight. His uncle's 
 shrewdness, however, was m his own favour, 
 Paul reflected, since the more the lawyer 
 discovered, the farther he would evidently 
 j,'ot upon some suppositious man's tracks ; 
 while Paul, the man he was after, would be 
 sitting at his elbow. Paul could not repres- 
 a smile to think how mucli he could 
 lighten his uncle's labours, if he only had 
 the mind. 
 
 Upon continuing his peru the exa- 
 
 mination, parts of which wt nave copied 
 from the Herald, Paul found that a pass- 
 able description of his height, features, the 
 colour of his clothes and gloves, etc., had 
 been extracted from old Do^vney, who, be- 
 ginning with a positive assertion that he 
 knew nothing of these details, had, under 
 Mr.Ogden's persevering scrutiny, found that 
 lie remembered a good deal, as is «pt to be 
 the ease, for memory is a storehouse of littl© 
 things as well as great things. Nor O.o we 
 s ispect its contents until we have ransacked 
 cs very nooks and corners."^ Mr. Ogden h*l 
 further spread upon the record, that number 
 37, the fatal ro^m, was on the fourth floor of 
 the building, accessible only by three stair- 
 ways of three short flights each, as well as 
 cue or two long galleries, and that the time 
 between the first and second appearance of 
 Mr. Freav's caller at Downey's ward, waa 
 about the time he should suppose would be 
 necessary for a visitor, who was not in a 
 hurry, to aacend leisurely to No. 37 and 
 return. 
 
 Mr. Frear, who had been attracted by the 
 
 shrieks of the chambermaid into tlie fatal 
 room, and had first raised the alarm of nun-' 
 der, was called, and examined at much 
 length before the Coroner ; but he Was ut- 
 terly unable to identify his visitor. Neither 
 had the visitor left any card. Frear liad 
 gone out of town to spend election day 
 with relatives in New Jersey, at a station,, 
 the name o^ which he gave, which happened 
 to be upon the same railway as Maloolm. 
 (Mr. Ogden did not, of course, think it 
 necessaiy to show this fact in evidence. > 
 Upon leaving 'Studio Buildings, 'he had omit- 
 ted, in his haste to catch tlie train, he 
 testified, or perh&ps through mere inadvert- 
 ence — he could not remember which — to 
 turn his Index, and, upon his return at 
 about seven on the evening following his 
 departure, he had noticed that it stood at 
 '111." He did not recall mentioning the fact 
 of having left the Index so standing to 
 anybody. (Though we have seen that in 
 fact, Paul had o\erheard him mention it on 
 the ferry boat. ) 
 
 Mr. Ogden made a speech to the Coroner 
 at the conclusion of the testimony, the close 
 of which we are tempted to copy — again, 
 from our invaluable reference — the Herald. 
 
 * And now, sir, ' said Mr. Ogden, ' I notice 
 in this room several reporters of the press. I 
 trust they will listen attentively to what I 
 now say, and allow no inaccuracy to creep ia 
 upon and mar the record which they bear 
 heiioe to the public. I want them particu- 
 larly to report my very words, when I say to 
 you, sir, that here, in this city, we have no 
 longer any courts of justice, any judges, any 
 juries, any prosecuting officers, any police- 
 men, any detectives, or any punisliment for 
 crime. We have nothing but Nowspapem. 
 When we sit in our homes, in the fanciful 
 security of law and justice, let us think o£ 
 this. When as, in the present instance, a. 
 human life has been taken and a shudder of 
 horror has passed through tliis vast commu- 
 nity ; when every ear is alert, every eye 
 strained, and every hand stretclied out to 
 apprehend the murderer, let up *''Mk of this. 
 Of what use is the alert ear strained 
 
 eye, the stretched out baud — lat use ii* 
 the prosecuting officer, ready witu his indict- 
 ment drawn for the grand juiy to rind ; of 
 what use is the court organized to try, the 
 jury of the vicinage ready to be summoned, 
 and the posm comitatvs ready to execute the 
 vengeance of the law upon the shedder of 
 blood ? Why sir, he — tlie shedtler of blocd 
 himself, he sits at our elbows, over his wine, 
 or, with his cigar, reading the newspapers ! 
 the same newspapers that you or I read, and 
 he knows as well as you and 1, every method 
 
 liJ 
 
 1 
 
 .•1. 
 
23 
 
 ST. JUDE'S ASSISTANT. 
 
 ' , 
 
 that human ingenuity has devise»l for hia ap- 
 prehension. I)o we clumsily and cautiously 
 »teal upon the track of a man who has taken 
 passage to Europe ? The newspaper inter- 
 cepts the steamer itself with a dispatch, and 
 publishes the full particulars of the scent, 
 and its own forethought and enterprise to 
 the world next day. 
 
 ' The man who has »lone this deed, Mr. 
 Coroner, need not fly to Europe. He need 
 not shun the very scene of his ghastly crime. 
 He has only to sit down at your elbow and 
 mine, and read every morning in the news- 
 paper what clues his pursuers have obtained, 
 what information is in their possession, and 
 what traps they have set to catch him. Then, 
 if it is his pleasure, he can set aside those 
 clues, turn thut information to his own ac- 
 count, and keep out of those traps. -The 
 man who is cool enough, in broad dayliglit, 
 in a crowded public building, in a teemiujj 
 neiglibourhood, to murder a man, is cool 
 enough and wise enough to do all this, and 
 more. And, sir, if a prisoner is ^ rouglit to 
 the bar of his country, to be tried for tliis 
 crime, this same newspaper will find his iii- 
 ♦lictment before the grand jury has been as- 
 sembled, will have established his guilt before 
 the evidence is taken, havechar<'edthejury be- 
 fore the judge has heard counsel, have argued 
 the question or the degree of his guilt and 
 disposed of his case before his twelve peers 
 in the jury box have had the case given to 
 tliem. I need not remind you, sir, how, 
 wlien in a recent city, a little child was ab- 
 <lucted from his home, every newspaper in 
 the land so published the means taken by tlie 
 authorities for his recovery, that his abduct- 
 ors Mere able to inform themselves of and 
 to avoid each successive net that was spread 
 for their feet, with no elFort of shrewdness 
 or peril of discovery. I need not remind 
 you, sir, of the number of unavenged mur- 
 ders upon the record books of this city. But 
 i orhaps I am devulging a secrelb w;jiich I 
 should not divulge, when I say that ^ws 
 paper enterprise — newspaper enterprise — 
 newspaper enterprise — that glorious institu- 
 tion which puts before us, at our breakfast- 
 tables, the proceedings of a planet for the 
 last twenty-four hours — that newspaper en- 
 terprise, which told the perpetrators of those 
 murders the names, tlie personal appearance, 
 and the family history of the detectives who 
 were placed upon their track, what preoinots 
 vWere watched, and what about to be watched 
 ,by the police — is to be thanked, and thanked 
 •lone, tor the plethora of that record. I 
 pray and trust that, in the quest before us, 
 the omnipotent press will be prevailed upon 
 to espouse our cause, instead of the cause of 
 the crimiuaL'. .„...;-^v 
 
 ,,, |CH AFTER XI ^,.„. 
 
 COELUM NCN AXIMFlVf. 
 
 ,itU>< -I 
 
 TtK4 9W 1>" 
 
 So far we have narrated, without mueli 
 regard to their legitimate order, the events 
 transpiring between Tuesday, the day of the 
 murder, and SuncLvy, when the solemn 
 funeral obsecjiiies of the dead curata were 
 sung in great St. Jude's. The interior cif 
 the mighty pile wa? hung with heavy crape. 
 The great organ shook and throbbed to ex 
 press the sombre woe its pjoplc could i; t 
 utter. The vast audience was hushed as ;•, 
 child in slumber. The Penitential Psaln:- 
 were chanted by two hundred men, sliroudcii 
 in unbroken blacl^. 
 
 ' While we are not allowed to sorrow i.s 
 those without hope for one dead brother, ' 
 said the rector, in low .and broken voice, as 
 the organ l>layed on in sad sighing tone, 'yet 
 we feel that for our sins this murderous liiiiid 
 has fallen on us — that for our sins, brethren, 
 for your sins and mine — we are bowing be- 
 fore an awful Providence to-day ! Woe unto 
 us — woe unto us — woe unto us !' 
 
 Then, in deep tones, was read the a^ tiil 
 Condonation of the English Liturgy ; ' It is 
 a fearful thing to fall into the hands of tlic 
 living God: He shall pour down rain upon 
 the smners, snares, fire and brimstone, storm 
 and tempest — this shall be their portion to 
 driidi. For lo, the Lord is come out of His 
 place to visit the wickedness of such as due 11 
 upon the earth. The day of the Lord conitth 
 as a thief in the night : and when men shall 
 say Peace, and all things are safe, then shall 
 sudden destiuctioncome upon them as sornnv 
 cometh upon a women travailing^ with child, 
 and they shall not escape. Then shall appear 
 the wrath of God in the day of vengeance. 
 Then shall it be too late to knock wlien the 
 door shall be shut — and too late to cry for 
 mercy when it is the time<3f justice. Q terrible 
 voice qf most jusJi, judgment, which shall Ik- 
 pronounped upon them ! Go, ye curaed, 
 into the fire everlasting, which is p^-e^areil 
 for the devil and his angels. Cursed is he 
 that smiteth his neighbour secretly. Amen. 
 Cursed is he tlMit taketh reward to slay the 
 innocent. Amen. ' 
 
 And the surging congregation Wept, and 
 — praying, let us hope — that the curse might 
 dissolve in tears, and be blotted out forev( v 
 by righteous drops from a thousand subdued 
 eyes — passed out in long and slow defile be- 
 hind the form of the dead man who was at 
 rest forever. ' Earth to eartli, ashes to 
 ashes, dust to dust. ' 
 
 Ah, well ! who has apt stood beside a fill- 
 ing grave ! Who has not beard the dull 
 thud of earth upon the coffin lid — ^the cufiia 
 
ST. JUDE'S ASSISTANT. 
 
 29 
 
 lout mncli 
 le eventi 
 day of tlic 
 le solemn 
 irato were 
 iuterior of 
 avy crape, 
 2(1 to ex 
 could u' t 
 slie<l ay ;; 
 ial Psalii:- 
 i, shroutleil 
 
 sorrow r.s 
 brother, ' 
 , voice, as 
 ; tone, ' y tt 
 eroiis liaiul 
 1, bruthrcu, 
 bowing be- 
 Woe unto 
 
 , the awl 111 
 
 ry; 'Itl. 
 
 ands of tlio 
 
 1 rain upon 
 
 tone, storm 
 
 ■ portion t^) 
 
 out of His 
 
 [ch as dwell 
 
 )rd comet!) 
 
 men shall 
 
 then shall 
 
 as sorriAv 
 
 with child, 
 
 all appe;n- 
 
 vengeanee. 
 
 when the 
 
 to cry for 
 
 Q teiiible 
 
 ich shall h'' 
 
 fQ ourswl, 
 
 pre^aieil 
 
 ur«od is he 
 
 Amen. 
 
 to slay the 
 
 wept, and 
 nirse might 
 out forevu 
 id subdued 
 w defile be- 
 who was at 
 ashes to 
 
 )6side a fill- 
 d the dull 
 ■the cuilin 
 
 lid, below which there iB only stillnees and 
 peace. Who has not heard it, and hearing 
 it, gone back to fretting and fitful life again, 
 saddened and solitary ? ' I heard a voice 
 from Heaven, saying unto me, Write, From 
 henceforth, blessed are the dead who die in 
 the Lord. Even so, saith the Spirit, for they 
 rest from their labours. ' 
 
 On Saturday evening, as Mr. Ogden reach- 
 • l liis door, his wife met him with a troubled 
 lok. 
 
 ' Percy, ' said she, ' come here. I want you 
 to look at Paul ;' and she led the way 
 to her own room. Upon the bed lay Paul, 
 tossing, beating the air with liis anns, and 
 uttering incoherent souuds. 
 
 ' What has hapjMined?' said her husband. 
 
 ' All I know is, that about an hour ago I 
 was lying on my l.>ed when Paul came in. 
 He seemed to have just arrived from the 
 train, for he had his hat on his head, his unj- 
 brella in one hand, and a newspaper crumpled, 
 in the othe He was as white as a ghost ; 
 and, witli' ; a word, began walking up and 
 down the room. "What is the matter, Paul, " 
 said I. " Oh, Annt Fannie," said he, " she 
 has gone mad, and I am going mad too. " 
 " What do you mean ? " said I. " I mean 
 that she has gone mad ! " " Who ?" I asked. 
 " Olive — OHve — the girl I loved — the girl I 
 loved !" And he went on repeating, " the 
 girl I loved ! the girl Iloved,the girl I loved!" 
 for a good five minutes — when he burst 
 out crying hysteiically. I didn't know what 
 to do to comfort him, so I only said, "Cry, 
 Paul, it will do you good. " He sat down on 
 the ottoman, and did cry, and I was almost 
 getting accustomed to his sobbing, when, of 
 a sudden I heard a fall, and he was lifeless 
 upon the floor. I tore open his collar, drew 
 olF liis boots and stockings, and rubbed the 
 soles of his feet as hard as I could. Then I 
 sprinkled water in his face. Then I rang 
 the bell and sent for the doctor, but he was 
 out, and so he hasn't seen Paul yet. We got 
 him on the bed, however, and since then 
 lie has been just in the state you see hin I 
 eau't make out a word he says ; and 1 — oh 
 ilear. I wish tlie doctor would come, for I 
 am afraid he will die on my hands ; ' and the 
 :;ii(ja liuiy lierself burst into a flood of te;ws 
 u liieh showed the tension to which her own 
 nerves had been drawn. 
 
 When, at last, the Malcolm practitioner 
 did arrive, he announced that Paul's symp- 
 toms were those of a certain poison which he 
 named. 'Undoubtedly an overdose,' said 
 the doctor. ' At any rate, no positive 
 harm has been done yet. Keep him quiet, 
 and he'll be all right again in a week. To- 
 morrow lie will complam of a seven; head- 
 ache, and for a day or two he will be quite 
 
 content to lie in bed. Give him what he 
 wants to eat, and let him smoke if he care» 
 to. ' And so the doctor went away. 
 
 It was long into the morning Wfore Paul 
 slept. He lay moaning and uttering the 
 same incoherent sounds, however, until sleep 
 did come. All day Sunday — the Sunday of 
 the obsequies at St. Jude's — he complained, 
 as the doctor had prophesied, of a ferocious 
 headache. On Tuesday and Wednesday he 
 lay in bed, rational enough when any on© 
 was with him, but when alone muttering to 
 himself in a sort of broken soliloi^uy. Wlien 
 Mrs. Ogden would open his door quietly.slie 
 would catch of this soliloquy the word 
 ' Olive, ' or may be, ' my djvrling ' — and then 
 a sob. And, with tears in her own kindly 
 eyes she wuulil steal as softly out again. 
 Poor Mrs. 0''den — a suffering she was- 
 powerless to relieve wasa bitter sight to lier. 
 She knew Paul's was a madness that must 
 work itself out, and that — except, mayhap, 
 in the lajwe of the all-covering "Time — there 
 was no medicine for him. We are apt enough 
 to draw time as a chattering skeleton, with a 
 hour glass and a scythe. And perhajis we 
 should so come to regard it. But it seems 
 to us that time is also like unto the soft and 
 verdant moss, that, over every rent that 
 sorrow or care leaves in our disappointed 
 hearts and lives, no less than over ruin and 
 crevice — over gnarled tree roots and over 
 slanting grave stones — spreads out its gentle 
 covering. 
 
 On Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday, Paul 
 lay in bed more quietly, but on Thursday he 
 dressed, and lounged about the house in 
 precisely his old aimless, unhappy way. No 
 allusion was made by the household to lii.i 
 sickness, nor was any word said upon tho 
 subject by Paul ; but the impression gaineii 
 c,Tound, that upon hearing that Olive Gr.iv 
 had lost her reason, Paul had swallowed 
 poison. 
 
 ' Poor, poor, Paul, ' said Mrs. Ogden. ' I 
 believe he will never get over that disappoint- 
 ment. I won't say anytiung about her now, 
 poor girl. If she has done anything wrong, 
 she has her punishment. But I do wish she 
 hadn't jilted Paul.' 
 
 ' Paul's mind needs something to occupy 
 it,' said Mr. Ogden. 
 
 ' So I have always said. If we could only 
 interest him in something to do. I wish !n> 
 would either settle down to some business, or 
 else travel' — 
 
 ' Travel ! He's done nothing but travel 
 sinse he was of age. ' 
 
 ' Nevertheless, there is always something 
 ne\v about other countries than one's own, 
 for n man to look at ; or, if he would go to 
 work' — 
 
 !ii 
 
 m 
 
 \ 
 
 : i 
 
 i t . 
 
 11' 
 
 i { . 
 
so 
 
 ST. JUDE'S ASSISTANT. 
 
 ' Hell never go to work, until he's spent 
 ;all his money. Then he'll settle down- 
 marry for love — and work to support his fa- 
 mily, like his father before him. Don't 
 worry, my dear ; these tluiigo settle them- 
 uulves. One would think you made the 
 world — ^you fret so much because things 
 <lon't go right in it. Let 'em take their 
 course. If we could s*e how things were 
 going to turn out we'd only make ourselves 
 additionally miserable. Let things take their 
 course, my dear — that's the wt^y 1 do. As 
 for this girl, I think Paul was a big fool to 
 i'all in love with her— <ind a bigger one to 
 tivke poison for her — but that's done, and 
 cLiu"t be helped. I was afraid, all along, that 
 this sad affair of the murder would set Paul 
 thinking about her agara. And now the 
 ^'irl's gone daft, and of course he feels that.' 
 
 ' It's my opinion we'd better get him out 
 of the country, where he can't read the news- 
 papers, ' said Mrs. Ogden. 
 
 'Well, well, suggest it then,' said his 
 wife. And after much more consultsitiou 
 upon Paul's case, these two decided that 
 Paul ought to be got out of the country. 
 Accordingly, alter dinner on I'hursday, as 
 Paul, who was now up and stroLing listless- 
 ly about, as he always did, lightt^d his cigar 
 111! the verandah, his aunt put her hand on 
 his arm, and said : ' Paul, you've been a 
 -very sick boy, again. ' 
 
 • Yes, Aunt Fannie.' 
 
 ' Paul, I do so want to say something to 
 you.' 
 
 ' Go on. Aunt Fannie.' 
 
 ' It's about something I've never mentioned 
 before ; but you'll forgive me, I hope, if I do 
 put it into words once ?' 
 
 ' Of course, I'll forgive you 1' 
 
 ' Paul, I want to say to you that you 
 shouldn't think so much of your past engage- 
 ment. Engagements are made and broken 
 every day. Why, Paul 1* 
 
 Paul was very pale. ' Go on, auntie, ' said 
 he, ' I want to say one last word about it 
 myself — go on — I am all right now. ' 
 
 But he sat down in one of the verandah 
 ihairs, nevfcrtheless. 
 
 ' Well, then, Paul, what I want to say 
 is that you mustn't take this thing to heart 
 so.' ' 
 
 ' But I do take it to heart. I can't help 
 it,' burst out Paul. ' Auntie, j loved that 
 girl — I love her still. When I heard that 
 the man she had preferred to me was dead, 
 I began to have hope again— and ftow — now 
 — now — she is^O my God — auntie, I shall 
 go mad 1 I shall go mad, too 1 — I loved her 
 — I loved her ! She never leaves me an in- 
 stant. I don't believe there has been a mo- 
 ment since I left her at the door, that she 
 
 \v 
 
 has not been beforei my eyea. Every day 
 since I have seen her. I have seemed to 
 meet her in the streets, at my club, upon 
 railway trains, on steamboats — wherever I 
 went. Every night she has stood by my 
 bedside and looked at nie witli her eyes wide 
 open, sadly, as if I had done her some 
 wrong. I can't forget her — and when I laid 
 on your bed there, my head aching as if it 
 would burst into a thousand pieces, she put 
 her hand upon it, and called me " Paul — 
 and it seemed to stop. Auntie, something 
 tells me that if I M'ent to her now — her mind 
 would come back. ' 
 
 ' Paul, I want you to do me a favour. ' 
 
 'Yes, auntie.' 
 
 ' I want you to go to Europe, and stay a 
 while.' ,.„„„ . , 
 
 •What? Now!' -. ■ - -' 
 
 ' Yes, Paul, I want you to go ! I do m 
 want you to go.' This was a downriglit, 
 wilful falsehood — tlie first one the dear little 
 woman had ever told in her life, possibly, 
 but she blurted it out, nevertheless. 
 
 ' You don't mean that you want me to go 
 off — away from— from her — by myself? ' 
 
 ' Paul, I think it will do you good. You 
 see you are doing nothing here, and your 
 mind gets upon these subjects, and then — 
 and then, forgive me, Paul, if I say I don't 
 think it will do you any good to see poor 
 Olive — and — and ' — In short, she kissed 
 him many times. Next to her own brave 
 boys, who had lain close up to her woman's 
 heart before they were bom, she tenderly 
 loved and pitied tlie fatherless, motherless, 
 sisterlees and brotherless boy, her husband's 
 nephew. 
 
 ' Some day I may die, and iny boys may 
 want a mother's love, and God may put it 
 into the heart of some kind mother to carry 
 comfort to them as I am trying to carry it to 
 our poor Paul, ' she thought. Ah, there is a 
 selfishness that is divine 1 The hope of hea- 
 ven is a longing of our own personal selfisli 
 happiness. A mother's love is selfish — thank 
 God for them both ! 
 
 Mr. Ogden al^o spoke to Paul of the re- 
 sult of his and his wife's plan for him, and 
 seriously counselled him to take an early 
 steamer for Europe. ' Tliere you will forget 
 these troubles, 'he said ; and 'You'll wonder at 
 my saying such a thing, Paul, ' he had laugh- 
 ed: 'but, my boy, if you'd just marry 
 somebody offhand — there's lots of girls tol)o 
 had for the asking by a fairish looking fellow 
 like you —and go to raising a family, I be- 
 lieve you'll be better off. Remember, when 
 you've got through with all your money, 
 you'rs to come to me, and I'll set you at 
 work Bless you, my boy, it's an Ogden 
 trait — we all do it. Your father had a for- 
 
 ^^ 
 
ST. JUDE'S ASSISTANT. 
 
 8t 
 
 revy day 
 seined to 
 lb, upon 
 jrever I 
 I by my 
 yes wide 
 ler some 
 en I laid 
 as if it 
 , she put 
 Paul ^'— 
 amething 
 her iniud 
 
 i 
 our.' 
 
 nd stay a 
 
 3 I do 90 
 uwurii^ht, 
 dear little 
 
 possibly, 
 i. 
 
 , me to go 
 self?' 
 )od. You 
 
 and your 
 id then — 
 ly I don't 
 o see poor 
 she kissed 
 bwn brave 
 woman's 
 tenderly 
 
 otherless, 
 usband's 
 
 Iwys may 
 ay put it 
 
 to cany 
 uarry it to 
 there is a 
 
 of hea- 
 nal selfisli 
 ill — thank 
 
 ji the re- 
 him, and 
 an early 
 will forgot 
 wonder at 
 lad laugh - 
 st marry 
 girls to bo 
 Ling fellow 
 ily, I be- 
 ber, when 
 r money, 
 it you at 
 i,n Ogden 
 lad a for- 
 
 tune — so had I. We both ran through what 
 we had, and, when we had nothing to eat. we 
 went to worif. He made money fasttsr than 
 I, because be was a merchant and was 
 obliged to keep books ; in the law we always 
 make all we spend, but^ as a rule, speiKl all 
 we make. Your fortune is larger than ours 
 was ; but I don't doubt you'll run it out on 
 much the same things ; and — when it's all 
 gone — as I said before — come and go to work 
 with me.' 
 
 Paul, who, as we have seen, was not quite 
 certain but that the ' best thing he could do, 
 after all, was to get out of tlie country, ' fin- 
 ally acquiesced, and the thing w;i8 settled. 
 -Mr. Ogden himself went down to the book- 
 ing office of the great 'White Star,' that 
 runs hotels across the ocean, and selected 
 Paul's state-room. It was noised abroad 
 among Paul's friends that he was going out 
 of the country ; and when the time came, a 
 good many or them took him by the hand 
 and wished him bon voyage. Before leaving, 
 Paul placed in Mr. Ogden 's hand his will, 
 not to be opened, of course, unless death 
 sliould overtake him, and a power of attorney 
 for all present purposes. 
 
 On the evening of Fridjiy, after dinner, 
 something happened, however, which made 
 Paul regret his acquiescence in the projected 
 tour. We have seen that a strange sympathy 
 had sprung up, a month or so before, be- 
 tween Paul and the wild, hoydenish little 
 lieauty, whom he had seized at his uncle's 
 grapery — a sympathy, strange and unnatural 
 on his part, perhaps, but everything he had 
 done or felt for a year was strange and un- 
 natural. Possibly the poor, crazed boy, feel- 
 ing himself shut out from the love of the 
 woman he loved, like his poor prototype of 
 * Locksley Hall, ' had resolved to seek where 
 
 ' the passions craniiied no longer, shall have 
 
 scope ani breathinjf space ; 
 I \v-ill take some savage woman, she shall rear 
 my duaky race !' 
 
 At any rate, he had felt, for the once, as if 
 some kind fairy had sent him the^irl — to be 
 kind to, to watch, to care for, ancWo educate; 
 and, who knows, had she remained, but 
 that his awful history might never have been 
 written. 
 
 Paul was strolling in a grove in the rear 
 of his uncle's house, smoking a cigar, when, 
 oi a sudden, he felt a light touch upon his 
 arm. He looked down — and, at his side, 
 was the dark -eyed girl of his adventure. She 
 was again bareliejided. As before, her long, 
 lilack hair hung dishevelled over her bare 
 .'shoulders. Her scant, torn dress betrayed 
 the exquisite model of her bust, and, 
 bolow barely covered the limbs of a young 
 
 I only 
 
 Vehus. She was, as we have said, sixteen, 
 but she was as fully developed as a woman 
 of twenty. Paul went, as he had done 
 iKsfore, and kissed her. She shyly hung her 
 head, but clung closer to his arm. 
 
 ' Well, my dear, I was afraid we would 
 never have seen you again,' said Paul, 
 tenderly. ' Why did you leave us — we 
 would have taken good care of yon. ' 
 
 T!ie girl hung her head for a moment, and 
 then said : 
 
 ' Do you live in the house, sir ?' 
 
 ' No, not I, but my uncle does, 
 come out and see him sometimes. ' 
 
 ■ I — I was afraid you didn't, sir ; and that 
 was why I ran away. ' 
 
 ' That was not right. If you had wanted 
 to see me, you would have stayed. Will 
 you go back now ?' 
 
 ' Y — yes, sir. I will go if you will go 
 too.' 
 
 ' Well, then, come. ' 
 
 And Paul^aking her hand, led her back 
 to his uncle's house, gra-sping her hand 
 tightly tliat she might not a second tinae 
 elude him. He walked straight into the sum- 
 mer room — not yet abandoned^ — and stood 
 before his aunt. 
 
 'Auntie,' said he, 'I am going otV, as you 
 asked me. Now, I have one favour to ask of 
 you. Auntie, for my sake, I want you to 
 take this little girl, and let her live witli 
 you. Her name is Mara — and out of my 
 bitterness she shall be made happy. ' He 
 choked a moment, and his eyes filled. Then 
 in a cheery tone, he said to the girl, 
 "Now, Mara, I am going away a bit. ^^'hen 
 I come back, I want to find you a beautiful 
 young lady, with your books and your em- 
 broidery and your music, and all that ; and 
 y6u and I will be brother and sister, and we 
 will be better friends tlian ever brother and 
 sister were before. ' 
 
 Mrs. Ogden could not but be dazzled, as 
 had been her husband before her, by the 
 strange beautj' of the little gypsey. She 
 doubted much whether it were expedient to 
 receive that type of waif into her quiet, do- 
 mestic home. So much beauty in that rank 
 of life seldom led to good, she thought. She 
 was a rosy blonde herself, and believed in 
 all good works. But she had her miscivings. 
 Still, she could do no more than promise. 
 
 ' I don't want to stay, sir, if yon don't,' 
 said the girl. 
 
 And in truth she did not. Paul's argu- 
 ments and entreaties alone could have 
 hardly accomplished the result, had not 
 Mrs. Ogden herself stooped down and 
 kissed the wild little girl, and said in that 
 sweet vmce which men and women find so 
 irresistible, and that seemed the very echo 
 
 ; 'i.% 
 
 
 i s ■ 
 
33 
 
 ST, JUDE'S ASSISTANT. 
 
 of this sweet woman's soul : ' But you can 
 stay with us, dear, and then you will surely 
 see him. He will be very good to you. I 
 haven't any little daughter, you know.' 
 
 And in good sooth, tliu little woman,having 
 horue three stout boys to their happy 
 father, did feel herself to have earned at 
 loast one daughter. It's an old saying that 
 girl babies don't amount to much — but we 
 must have them for all that ; and if we 
 don't happen to get thorn, we muat have 
 
 I 
 
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 1 ?>'. ?,'»' "■'''I '^iSn^'.' •'■)•? »■«'■ i..*^ :;j>.H •' -'i*- 
 
 them all the more. And «o it was settled ; 
 aud Mara, olotlied and combed, and looking 
 like any Christian child, in a pretty stuff 
 dress, l)ecame MiVa Ogdeu. Poor Mara 
 cried hard enough in her little dormer 
 windowed room, to find that Paul was going, 
 away in the morning ; but long before she 
 opened her eyes, bis brave ship ht^ parted 
 the waves of the bay, and passmg the Hook, 
 was tossing among tiie billows gl the tipsy 
 Atlantic. 
 
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 . f 
 
 ST. JUDE'S ASSISTANT. 
 
 f.a.:bi.t ii-the stoobii^c. 
 
 .11* . 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 ^ J', ' ' 
 
 MHH. HTKASIirUUKK. 
 
 Mention has been made of a Mr. Frear, 
 tlie artist who occupied Studio No. 36, of 
 'Studio BuiUlings, 'adjoining the fatal No.37. 
 
 Tom, not Charles, Frear, was a young 
 man of twenty-five, who, at this period, 
 worked very hard to coin bread out of a 
 talent at first cultivated for pleasure, in 
 days gone by, wht u his father had been a 
 King of tlie nam v street running from 
 Trinity to the river. As the greatest oper- 
 ator tliat Wall street liad ever known, seal- 
 ing the fate of giant corporations, or scatter- 
 ing the private millions of individuals at 
 the nod of his head, King Frear, most 
 i)ninipotent of the long suci^ession of its. 
 potinitates, althougli dead as Ciesar no\v, will 
 lung he remembered inthose precincts wliose 
 centre is the Stock Exchange. 
 
 The historic crash of November, 1873, 
 liftwever, had found him loaded with Margin 
 (a sort of substitute for currency which men 
 of Mr. Frear's trade had lately invented) 
 and he went down. 
 
 A wliimsical sort of thing is this Margin. 
 I louses, lands, bonds, mortgages, horses, dry 
 gijoils, and groceries are all very well in 
 t.ioir way. An income of certain thousaiuls 
 a year fioni auy such properties as these is 
 very comfortable indeed. Vou can receive 
 aad dine your fvionds on Murray Hill, am! 
 your drags and wagonettes can be known on 
 the Board Drive, whether you pay for them 
 by your profits out of the law, or guano, or 
 shoe-pegs. But there is one kind of pro- 
 l)erty, the especial invention of New York. 
 This property is technically known as 
 Margin. The beauty of Margin is, that it is 
 witliin the readi of the poorest, and its 
 piulits are incapable of calculation. A man 
 may put $100 into Margin of a morning, and 
 
 he may go to hia couch that night worth 
 .$10,1)00 — in Margin, — and he may realize by 
 the following evening — supposing he puta 
 that Margin mto Margin— a whole million of 
 Margin. 
 
 One can readily become a Rothschild. It is 
 a simple rule; it is ' Affluence without a 
 master." A single week at this rate will 
 make you a richer man than all the nabobs 
 in the world, — than all tlie old fogy 
 millionaires wlio own lands, ami parks, aiid 
 railroads, and steaHd)oats. — rolled into a 
 lump. A billion of money, or a trillion 
 even, is not an innws8il)le rigure to your 
 ambition. Duodeeillions are not without 
 your grasp. It is etvsier tlnin lyine. 
 
 What wonder, then, that Margin become 
 the specialty of New York ; tliat millions put 
 their fortunes into Margin, dowered tlieir 
 daughters, erect banking institutions, sav- 
 ings, institutions, trust companies, and 
 venture upon all sorts of extravagance — in 
 Margin. 
 
 There is only one drawback to the beauty 
 of Margin. That drawback is Slirinkage. 
 And should any old-fasliioned, pig-headed, 
 idiotic people, — people who are an inculnis 
 on any enlightened connnunity, and wlio do 
 not deserve to live in a country of Progress 
 and Enterprise like ours, — people who liave 
 Iieaped up their fortunes penny by penny 
 and shilling by sliilling — sliould such people, 
 we say, discover that banks are in a rotten 
 and ricketty state, that railroads are shaky, 
 and trust companies bankrupt, and (clinging 
 to the absurd and exploded fiction tlxat a 
 man may do what he will with his own) be 
 so niggardly as to draw out their money and 
 this phrase, again, is technical) hoard it, 
 this terrible fiend of Shrinkage may swallow 
 up all your Margin in a singfe morning, and 
 your grocer may sell you ont. 
 
 If, when Shrinkage came, it did nothing 
 more thandissipate Margin, it would amount to 
 
 U; 
 
 m-^ 
 
 
 m 
 
84 
 
 ST. JUDK'S ASSISTANT. 
 
 Botiiiiig ; in luiotlicr wuuk ouu iiiiglit l)C'a liil 
 lioiuiire again. But, unfortunutely, ultliougli 
 you paid nothinjj; for your Margin ; when 
 you nave lost it you liavc loHt^just as niucli 
 again in liartl, Holid cii.sli. For inatiinue : 
 By the iuveatment of ijjl, 000 in paper, you 
 may realize ."J7o,000 in paper ; but, if you 
 lost this paper $'rt,000, you are indebted to 
 A, B, and C, with whom you may not even 
 liave a nodding ac(iuaint;ince, in the exact 
 figure of $75,000, an(l they aro Imiho euougli 
 to demand tbat sum in greetiliacks. The 
 broker has lost notliing by carrying you ; 
 the Central or Lake Sliore bonds are safe in 
 the vaults they have never left ; but you 
 «we just $75,000, and, until you have paid 
 it, every cent, you can do no more businesss. 
 
 Precisely this was the downfall of King 
 Frear. When the panic to which we lia\ e 
 alluded, came like a thunderbolt from a clear 
 sky, it happened to overtake that gentle- 
 man, and two other mighty men of tiie 
 street, with tlieir heads together in a 
 * comer. ' This particular corner happened 
 to be a little triangular game played upon 
 the basis of some .':^4,500,000 of * South 
 Shore, ' supposed at that time to be reposing 
 in the wooden vaults of a great Trust Com- 
 pany, ( ' the Antaitic ') upon Broadway — for 
 no matter how conservative or ' old fogy ' 
 the owners of tlie property in New York may 
 be, or how unwilling to sell 'short' or 'long' 
 in it, they cannot prevent operators from 
 speculating upon the fact that such property 
 exists, or from winning or losing vast sums 
 upon its fluctuations. So, altogether neither 
 of tiiese three great men had ever seen the 
 ^,500,000 of 'South Shore,' much less 
 owned or contracted the smallest fraction of 
 it, (by a plan of its own by which Wall 
 Street wins and loses fortunes upon the 
 mere knowledge that somebody owns some- 
 thing) they were, just then, heavily in each 
 other's power, about these South Shore 
 shares. 
 
 There was a gfeat crowd before the closed 
 doors of tiie ' Antartic Trust's ' great 
 counting-bouses, one fine morning. Nobody 
 eeernedl to know much about what was going 
 on. But, wiien the dust cleared away, the 
 two mighty men were bankrupt, and Mr. 
 Frear was borrowing money to pay his 
 butcher. They had been playing against 
 
 S -eater odds than three zeros at Baden- 
 aden, and nobody had won. As a rule, 
 M'hen men fail and lose all in New York, 
 they live better than ever. More dinners, 
 more horses, more dresses on wives and 
 daughters than ever ; but, unfortunately, 
 Mr. Frear died almost simultaneously with 
 the collapse of his coruci-, and his estate, 
 ivliicli had been variously ci>tiinatc«l at front 
 
 fi* Citj.' 
 
 Mf>il-\'ri' 
 
 nineteen to tiiirty millions or ao, was found 
 to consist priiutipally of bills payable (the 
 shape wliieh .Margin, in the long nin, invari- 
 ably assumes). His family lii^l luntrived to 
 borrow the few thousands churj,'cd i>y tlia 
 florist and funeral furnishei-s for burying iiim 
 as became themillionaire he had been, an<ITom 
 Frear became an artist to support liis mother 
 and sisters. The very typical artist of ro- 
 mance, indeed he was, just now. Young, 
 goo<l-iooking, n( riuhalant, aiwl a.s |)oor as ro- 
 mance could poBsilily have wishfil. 
 
 Mr. Tom trcar was sitting, one afternoon, 
 in Stiulio No. 86, working ui)on a picture 
 on the easel iK'fore liiin. It was an original 
 subject, intended for the National Academy 
 Kxliihition, and was to l>e entitled ' The 
 Rainljow. ' 
 
 A fair young girl, grieved by an unkini 
 word from her lover, burst into tears ; and 
 he, annoyed by her grief, has started to leave 
 her. As he reached the door, however, an 
 impulse seizes him, he tunis, opens his arms, 
 ana says, 'Forgive me.' The girl, as in- 
 stinctvely, rushes into his arms, and a 
 smile beams out of her eyes through her yet 
 undried tears. The girl was a decided 
 brunette, while her lover, who stood in the 
 foreground of the picture, his profile only in 
 view, was a ruddy English-looking man, 
 with light eyes, beard and hair. Frear had 
 laboured many months upon this picture, 
 which he, with youthful int][iatience, had 
 resolved should be his ' masterpiece. ' 
 
 Such is the eternal folly of youth. Who 
 of us at twenty -five had not resolved upon 
 creating his ' masterpiece ?' Most men's 
 masterpieces come with gray hairs, and yet, 
 indeed, there have been exceptions. They 
 say that venerable poet, Mr. Bryant, illy 
 conceals his annoyance that the matured 
 labours of eighty years — bound in great 
 tomes — should be scarcely referred to, while 
 a single poem, the scrawl of nineteen, is the 
 criterion by which he is known all over the 
 world ? But so it is — long afar may his 
 Thanatopsis be ! Still, the good, gray poet, 
 this side of that, will never supersede, with 
 pen of his, the utterance of his earliest in- 
 spiration. So, perhaps, Mr. Tom Frear was 
 painting his masterpiece at twenty-flve. At 
 Tom was knitting his brows over this same 
 ' masterpiece, ' there was a knock at his door. 
 Upon his cheery ' come in, ' it o^ .ed, and 
 he arose to meet his visitors, who were none 
 other than Mr. Ogdcn, the lawyer, and 
 stranger, a man Frear had never seen be- 
 fore. 
 
 ' if r. Frear, ' said the lawyer, shaking 
 liands, • we regret interrupting you, but 
 the country desires your services this after* 
 noon. ' 
 
 •.n,"i 'i;/ 
 
 /'». 
 
ST. JUDE'8 ASSISTANT. 
 
 Who 
 
 upon 
 
 men's 
 
 md yet, 
 
 They 
 
 ,nt, illy 
 
 matured 
 
 great 
 
 while 
 
 is the 
 
 ver the 
 
 may his 
 
 ay poet, 
 
 e, with 
 
 iest iu- 
 
 •ear was 
 
 ive. Am 
 
 same 
 
 in door. 
 
 dd, and 
 
 re none 
 
 ^er, and 
 
 een be- 
 
 shaking 
 ou, bnt 
 lis after- 
 
 ' An 1 what uan I do for the country, sir f 
 
 Mllitl Toiu. 
 
 • Miiirli I Til in Ih Mr. StraKbnrger, the de- 
 tcitnc, whom we have selectcl to work up 
 till' Kivvinl nnmlor. ' 
 
 Mr. Sti'iv.slxnvi'r, who ha<l suivted liiiiiself 
 ill a ln;,'li-l>acko(l iind uwfiil Muck wood cliair 
 
 oiuu- tin-one of tiic Huhool-mistresa who 
 t:vii;„'iit I>iviiicl Wel)stor to Bpell— and pur- 
 iliiiMtMl liy Tom, fur a shilling, at a rather 
 iatfsr (Into -noildoil rather stitlly, hut vouch- 
 safed no fnrtluir sign. Mr. Strawburger waa 
 a small, spare man, ratlicr IhjIow the medium 
 iiiiuiciilinc lioi^lit : his face and hands 
 <\f'rt' very white, and his hands and 
 fiet wore very small. His hair Wiis sti'aight, 
 ;i;i(l of the deepest anil glos.sit-st black. He 
 \\,;s clean shaven, except tliat ho wore a 
 iiiiiustache that was as glossy and black as 
 his hair. His nose M-as hooked, and, together 
 \v ith iiis lips, which were red and inclined to 
 lie thick, betrayed unmistiikably his Jewish 
 ilcKcent. He was dressed from heivd to foot 
 in black broadcloth. He had a white neck- 
 tie, and a small diamond glitteietl from a 
 1 ing upon the little Hnger of his left hand. 
 lint M\: Strashurger's eyes constituted the 
 feature wliicii most of all attracted attentlou. 
 ^'el•y small, and set unusually far apart they 
 M ere, and although blackest of black, they 
 s" 'med to glitter like coals of fire. There 
 was a repnlsiveness in their glitter, l)utit 
 was a repnlsiveness thai, did you look at 
 them twice, became fascination. It was said 
 that he would hold a man as a snake would 
 hold a bird, until unquestioned and in spite 
 «if himself, t!ie wretch would speak the very 
 .secrets of his heart aloud. 
 
 Although a regular member of the New 
 York detective police, Mr. Straburger was 
 only engaged in special cases, and had been 
 up to this time, invariably successful. His 
 last a :hieveinent had been the capture with- 
 in forty-eight hours, of the perpetrator of a 
 murder, wrought by a burglar one (piiet 
 Sunday morning iu a deserted house, and to 
 which no clue was furnished him. Bnt this 
 w as exceptional. He was anything but a 
 rapid worker ; the majority of his successes 
 having l)eeu the triumphs of long, patient and 
 minute labour over obstacles pronounced in- 
 smniountable. Mr. Strasburger was a bom 
 ilotective. His father had been a French 
 •h'w, and his mother a New England woman 
 ot the lowest ' Yankee ' type. In himself he 
 unittul with the chanujteristics of the despised 
 race — namely, patience, suspicion, unscrupu- 
 lou-snesa and economy — the acute love of the 
 iiiysterious, and nice apprehension of appear- 
 ances which distinguishes the French, and 
 besides — as his mother's legacy — the shrewd, 
 
 practical common sense, and ' eye to the main 
 chance ' of the * Yankee. ' 
 
 Economi(!al, he waa eccfnomical of detaiU 
 and no matter how trifling the circumstanor 
 or the thing— it might be the inclhiation of t 
 man's hat on his nead, or the stump of i 
 cigar in the glitter— he laid it carefully up \u 
 his store-house to be used when wanted, • 
 His brain an<l his desk were crowded full ol 
 od<l links ; but when he was ready to con- 
 s^^ruct his chain he knew just where to gel 
 'lis links. Upon one occasion he had boon 
 ~ "ft alone with the dead body of a woman 
 1^ ng with her face in the asiit.? of a largo 
 tire-place ; and when suinmoned bv 
 the coroner, later in the d.ay, liail 
 said : * This woman was shot in t!ie bac-k of 
 the head by a young iiiaii abfiut twenty-two 
 years old, with whitju silk hat, lavender kid 
 gloves and patent leather boots, maile by San- 
 .som and C;(mip,any,on Astor Placo. Hecarried 
 a small umhrella with a silk cover, and waa 
 smoking a Henry Clay ci<'ar when he enter- 
 ed the house. He drank five small glasses 
 of cognac with the woman' before he shot 
 her. She, however, drank only cliamiiagne." 
 And the result of the inur.icriT's 
 trial, which took place years after, justi- 
 tieil this statement in eveiy particular. 
 
 Unscrupulous, he hesitated at nothing. 
 A disciple of the law, he knew no law, of 
 (Jod or man — of pity, of charity, or of place. 
 All men were men to him. No repiUition 
 stood in Ids way. Were the sacred vessels 
 stolen from the altar, lie would not have 
 hesitated to arrest the Archbislioj) liinisulf 
 for the theft. 
 
 Loving the marvellous, he had allowed no 
 earthly objector aim, or no personal eon- 
 venieuce of his own to int:ufeie. Wiien on 
 the track of a fugitive, he had been arrest- 
 ed as a common thief, and tiirown into 
 dingy and dirty duiigewis, had his head and 
 moustache shaved, and lived on the vile.st 
 prison soup for months, deceiving even the 
 very authorities he was serving, all to gain 
 his end. Nothing in the course of his quest 
 could shake his determination. He hail one 
 peculiarity, however. He invariably insisted 
 on beholding with his own eyes the execu- 
 tion of each victim h ; hounded to his re- 
 compense. This, men said, was not from 
 vindictiveness, but only from tlie intense 
 practicality of his nature, that believed in 
 only what it saw, or felt, or lieard. He 
 kept a regular debit and credit account 
 with the cmprit on whose track he was 
 placed. Each success, each defeat, each 
 mistake he entered in a small note-book, 
 that never left his person. And, men saiil, 
 thit when the wrong doer leapt into the 
 air as the rope tightened, he would quietly 
 
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 36 
 
 ST. JUI-'KS ASSISTANT. 
 
 ■ 
 
 enter the word ' Hung,' •nd the d»te, in 
 tli<> hon'ihlo luili^iu', thua oiuHin({ that nian'H 
 uix; >uat forevur. Hu waa Honietiuieit (^alleil 
 ' thu l>o<>k-keu|>cr' from thiH peculiaiity. 
 Tlie last (itttry wat> usually 'Hung,' fur lie 
 v-iis only put upon capital vAwn. That hti 
 was, on tno whole, aucueBoful, tliis iittlo 
 .hook waH evidunce enough. Before IiIh 
 iiitonHo peraeveriincM, which no defeat could 
 daunt, or no nuiceas roliix, even f.-vctH nud 
 verities Heeiuetl to yield. The wretch who 
 felt .lolin Stra.sburger on his track knew 
 lliiit Ills arrest waa tliciciiftm' a simple quea- 
 tion of time. 
 
 ' Wluit Mr. Strii.>4hur).;«T wantn of you, 
 Mr. Frear, 'said Mr. O^ideu, ' i«« tlie privil- 
 ege of in.speutiiig — uu(U r your conduet -tlie 
 room where you found poor iiraad'a body. 
 I hope you will give him your time, answer 
 all liiH queMtiona, and ttii1>mit to hia croHa- 
 exftiiiiiiations aa cheurfidly aa you can, out 
 of the intereat we all have in the diacovery 
 of iiriuura murdirer. After tiiat, I want 
 you to tell him what you told me, as we 
 walked away together from the Coroner's 
 
 ilKlULst. ' 
 
 For, upon the day of the in([ueat, Tom 
 had ovurtiiken the counsel for St. .lude'a 
 and said to him, ' You didn't examine me, 
 Mr. Ogdeii, a« to any other matters than 
 my discovery of poor Brand ; hut I 
 woidd like to say that — the evening before 
 — as I went out of my Studio, 
 at about four o'clock, a young man with 
 brow 11 hair and eyes, and 1 think side whis- 
 kers, came out No. 37- He followed me a« 
 I walked down the corridor, and on my way 
 out ; and, aa he seemed very nervous, ami 
 more in a hurry than I was, although J was 
 late for my train, I Htoj)ped and alh wed him 
 to pass nie. I was particularly struck with 
 his nervous, hesitivtiiig manner. I looked 
 round once or twice l>efore 1 stopped, and lie 
 alAays stopped too, an«l it .seemed to me, 
 shrunk back from me. The last I saw of 
 him was, when he passed me and started 
 down the stairs on a run. \Vhen I reached 
 the street, he wa.s nowhere in sight. ' 
 
 .Since that interview, learning that Tom 
 wa.s a son of the late Street King, whose 
 thousands had not unfrequently retained 
 Mr. Ogden's services, a s(n*t of friendship 
 had sprung np, and the artist had dined once 
 or twice at Mr. (Jgden's table. 
 
 After some further conversation, in which 
 Mr. Strasburger had not joined, but had kept 
 his restless, twinkling eyes travelling over 
 the room, and his oblique nose drawn down 
 over his moustache, as if he was quite equal 
 te suspecting Tom Frear, or the lawyer him- 
 self, of the deed — Mr. Ogden, who had pro- 
 c\ired a key, led the way to Studio No. .'{7. 
 
 Since the muri4er it had l>een entirely unoc- 
 cupied, ita leasee not having, as yet, return- 
 ed from hia atudieain Itidy. They atuml>led 
 over disarranged fiirititure, ami pullrd o|m>u 
 the heavy iron inside shutfAU-a. A th>od uf 
 light revealed the Studio, much aa the ac- 
 curate rei>orter of the Ihralil once deacrili- 
 ed it. Befinc one of the windows waa the 
 table at which Brand had U-en writing. wlu-ii 
 hia murderer had entcicd, and neat tlie <li»or 
 Rtood the tall chair, leaning against wliicii 
 the body waa found. 
 
 'Look here, ' said Tom, explaining it al'. 
 ' When I came in he was onhia knees, facing 
 the door, and kept in that poaition by thi> 
 <;hair. Ilia head waa l)Ci»t over, and lilon.l 
 waa By .love, they've never washed it up I 
 Have I been li\ ing thesi- two weeka.ao uear a 
 hardeneil po<d of human Idod ? I should 
 ne\'er have slept if I had known it.' 
 
 .\nd ao Tom went on, gi\ ing fact+i and re- 
 miniaeeme.x uf the fatal day ut wliicli he h.ul 
 been ao near a part, to all of whiih Mr. 
 Straaburger iisti'ni'd with attentive war one 
 might almost have siiid. with his very cye.s, 
 as bright ami devilish as the eyes of .\Tep- 
 histo, that Faust once fouml glaring at him 
 in the darkness of hia cell. Tom Frear liiin- 
 self began to )>e uneasy under that deadly 
 glance, and to atuinblh in hia narrative. 
 After leaving tin; room (not la-fore .Stiasbfi!' 
 ger, however, lunl possessed himself of a alict 
 of paper, upon which the mtwdered man had 
 scribhdl some worda— poasilily of a sermon 
 lie was c(miposing — as a apecimen of tin- 
 ile.iil man's handwriting which might 
 be valuable), the three adjourned 
 to Tom's more comfortable loom. 
 itftd that unhappy young man'a cross-ex- 
 amin..';ion by the detective began. 
 
 Tom reiterated his story about the man — 
 on the .Monday evening before the nmrder — 
 who c.'tiiie out of No. .37, and in his anxiety 
 to reacli the street, had almost knocked Tom 
 over — of his own passing out of the door — 
 to Sixth Avenue —to .letferson Market — of 
 his mounting upon a Christopher Street car 
 — riding to the ferry — of his meeting a 
 friend upon the boat — of what he said to 
 him — what csir he sat in — where he went to 
 — how long he stayed-— etc., etc., until he felt 
 as if trying to prove his own alibi before a 
 hostile court, and tying his own halter b\ 
 proving it bjidly. He would look at Mr. 
 Ogden for help ; but the stony-hearted 
 lawyer was looking at the pictures, or killiiii; 
 time by pulling over the odds and ends, 
 antiques and rubbish, with which the studio 
 was crammed. It was with % sense of 
 escape, aa from the scaffold itself, that he 
 juBt tiuched the detectives chilly hand, and 
 winced under a parting leer from tlie de- 
 
ST. JUDK'S ASSISTANT. 
 
 87 
 
 teutivt^'H eye. In parting, to Mr. O^ilen'ti 
 ° liopi) \^v hIiuII Hue vuu tu diiiiier on ThiUH- 
 «lav, Fieur, ' Tuiii had nwivoiiitly replimi, 
 ' No, kir, 1 never ilid ;' and tite lawyer liad 
 HiiiiltNl at his inooUerenuy. But tluH remark 
 had evideutly been eiituretl in Mr. StrnH- 
 l)uruur'ii mental uute-buuk ; for on liiii wa\ 
 < 'Utile hiul bevMed from his uonipaniun all 
 puHHible infurinatiun as to Mr. Froar's pre- 
 vious life. As for Tom, be was a long tinif 
 in recovering front the detective'H malign iu- 
 thiciiue. He felt suMpected of at luast ono 
 niiirder and several jithouh ; and just tlieii, 
 and for many days after, he folt a tap on his 
 Khoulder, he would have held up his wiistH 
 for the handcutt's, and asked perniioHion to 
 aend for his eounHol. 
 
 CHAITKR II. !,/.«. !■.> 
 
 I ! 'Il ! !• 
 
 ♦ f*r' 
 
 .> Bt<M il,t«l' rOTAUK AU ()HA.S. wiiwi.. i.(ii> 
 
 Mrs. Otfden ha<l «cnt out twenty-tlaeo 
 cards for dinner on a Thursday, at hcvcii. 
 That good lady had tinally conquereil her 
 prejudices, and consented to preside over a 
 city establishment. Many consideratioiiH 
 lia<l induced Mrs. Ogden to this normal 
 ciiiiiige. There were her dear boys, she had 
 iiaid, who wanted a city polish. But tlie 
 real reason had been her husband. Mr. 
 (Jgden's practice had become simply enor- 
 mous ; and it seemed hard to the little woman 
 that her Percy should waste, upon steam- 
 cars and ferries— or even upon her — the 
 hours for which his clients were clamorous to 
 pay HO liberally. 
 
 Nor was tiiis the only change in the Ogden 
 household. Not to assume tlie care of city 
 housekeeping without competent assistance, 
 Mrs. Og(ien nad cast about for a factotum ; 
 as it had chanced, our old friend, Isabella, 
 had been selected for that responsible 
 
 Sositiou. 8he had been first encountered by 
 Ir. Ogden in the memorable days, when sit- 
 ting by the nmrdered body of poor (ieorge 
 Brand. Upon learning of her lonely con- 
 dition, the lawyer hatl mentioned it to his 
 "wife ; and a consultation had led to an offer 
 from Mrs. Ogden — gladly accepted by Isa- 
 bella — to become one of the great city 
 establisiiment now resolve<l upon. Mr. 
 Prideaux and the l^cahoard had thereupon 
 been notified of her absolute divorce from 
 Poetry— and tlie dismals— and in her delight 
 at escaping from their thrall, Isabella liad 
 become as jolly and good-humoured as it is 
 possible for an old maid to be, and liad suc- 
 ceeded in making herself very useful and 
 very much esteemed indeed, in lier new 
 ephere. She never was heard to mention 
 Literature, or Poetry, or the Seabuard. if by 
 
 chance a copy of that magazine found its May 
 into the Ogden mansion, she put it giiigciiy 
 aside. In sliort, Mr. Ogden would have as 
 soon HU8|i«ctttd iiis fat, little wife herself of 
 wanting to die at once, or of writing rhyines 
 to that ed'uct, aa Isalxlla. 
 
 'I'liu dinner party, to ^^ hiuh wc havu iiuw 
 arrived, h»d been a matter of long antici|>:i- 
 tiou, and its list was tlie result of hmg sug- 
 gestion, cogitation, and aiiiendment. It kid 
 Deen cancelled in whole or in part, reutoitil 
 and revised, a do/.eii times at least. Oiki 
 cannot always invito just those one wants, 
 and must often invite just those one doesii t 
 want, in New York. As finally passed in 
 Committee uf the Wlioie, the list stood : 
 
 1. Lord Hardwig^e. An ICnglisii life peer, 
 al>out seventy years olil, at this time travell- 
 ing extensively in America, the guest of the 
 evening, to walk down witli .Mrs. Ogden. 
 
 2. iiisiiop Cotter. Tall, erect, ele.in 
 shaven, wnite-haiied. Presiding over tlie 
 grejit diocese of New York — to walk down 
 witli. 
 
 3. Mrs. Leastlow. Wife of the Secretary 
 of State, liubicund, fat and fifty. Mrs. 
 Leastlow was, without tlie suspicion of a 
 rival, the Madame de Stael of her day. Slie 
 was easily the most brilliant woman in 
 America, had lived in every ciipital of tiie 
 world, was known everywhere, knew every- 
 body — and if, in the course of her career, she 
 had lost woman's chiefest charm of womanli- 
 ness, she had never, at least, ceased to be a 
 lady. Mr. I^eastlow, wlio was Mrs. Least- 
 low's husband, was not prese-^t-as Mrs. 
 Leastlow expressed it — was ' off on politics 
 
 I somewhere.' 
 
 4. Mr.s. Uoremus. A widow of vast 
 wealth, and a prominent member of Judc's 
 Church, to walk down with Mr. Ogden. 
 
 5. Judge de Laigh — of the court of 
 Common Plcjis — to walk down with 
 
 6. Mrs. Morrow. A matron of fifty and 
 of the Fifth Avenue ; invited to pay off old 
 scores. 
 
 7. Mr. George Henry Burlliurt In figure 
 tall and elegant, with white liair and 
 nioustiiche, add clear laughing gray eyes, he 
 would have attractcil attention in any 
 society. It goes without saying that an 
 Ameriejin gentleman knows the world by 
 heart ; it would be scarcely necessary to say 
 of an American, ' he has travelled over other 
 lands than his own I ' Mr. Hurlliurt not only 
 knew the world by heart, Ijut it might 
 almost be said that the world knew him by 
 heart. A private gentleman, with no haiidlo 
 except plain 'Mr.' to his name, and no 
 letters following it, he had hobnobbed with 
 emperors, kings- and jirinces, and witli 
 statesmen who make emperors, kings and 
 
 !j 
 
rrr 
 
 33 
 
 ST. JUDE'S ASSISTAFT. 
 
 l!^ 
 
 princes ; diner! enfamilh at their tables, and 
 been petted hy tlieir wives. A gentleman 
 among gentlemen, he never did anythinj^ 
 eminent, and was rarely mentioned except 
 socially, in the newspajwrs. The best read 
 man in America, he never mentioned a book 
 in polite society ; and, although at this 
 time editor-in-chief of the hvperinm, the 
 great scholarly daily of the continent, you 
 might search in vain for his name in any 
 impression of that admirable sheet : to walk 
 down with 
 
 8. Miss Fanny Van Tier. Younf, pretty, 
 stylish, spirituelle — ParJ'nite New \ ork. 
 
 9. Mr. Greatorex. Acknowledged head 
 of the Bar of New York city, especially of 
 its Chancer)' side. Tall, all bone,-! and Urains, 
 no llesh visil)le upon his eminent frame, *o 
 walk down with 
 
 10. Mrs. Palovydn, of Pelhnm. 
 
 Tile other guests were, with their table 
 p.irti;er3 
 
 11. 
 
 Mr. 
 
 Rutherford, 
 
 12. 
 
 Miss Lightown, 
 
 13. 
 
 Mr. 
 
 Steele, 
 
 14. 
 
 Miss Frear, 
 
 15. 
 
 Mr. 
 
 L'jaycrown, 
 
 16. 
 
 Miss De Vere, 
 
 IT. 
 
 Mr. 
 
 I'ouald, 
 
 18. 
 
 Miss Leavci-own, 
 
 20. 
 
 Mr. 
 
 liryce. 
 
 20. 
 
 Miss Learj', 
 
 21, 
 
 Mr. 
 
 Swasey, 
 
 22. 
 
 Miss Hayes, 
 
 2;i. 
 
 Mr. 
 
 Tom Frear, 
 
 24 
 
 Miss Mara Ogden. 
 
 Nos. 2.3 and 24, at least, are old acquain- 
 tances. Th ! wild little beauty of two years 
 ago, has, tlianks to a kind and luxurious 
 home, to wealth, taste, dressmaker;?, and 
 loving friends, become a marvellously bril- 
 'iaut young lady ; brilliant, graceful, above 
 .•ill, with the boti repo-^i' so ne^'ef;ary asanac- 
 V )mpaninjcnt of culture. In short, as 
 »• ;,irming a young feminine person as New 
 Vork, where the loveliest and purest of v/o- 
 nien in the world dai-e to wear the costliest 
 and most rakish of dresses, and command 
 the admiration of men without loss of wo- 
 manly modesty, held. The lustre of '-rr 
 hrown complexion, the magnificent darkness 
 of her deep eyes, and petite accent, which 
 added a charm to her speech, marked her as 
 of another race. But, although understood 
 to be an adopted daughter, society was pro- 
 voked to find itself utterly ignorant. Mara 
 was a favourite with everj'body, especially 
 with men, although their attention she made 
 no etfort to secure. She had what is, per- 
 haps, rare in brunettes — the sweetest temper 
 imaginable. Mara had, in fact, surprised 
 everybody in the unconscious all with which 
 she had twined herself around their hearts. 
 Mr. Ogden himself was dubious of the re- 
 sult, and still maintained, but at ever rarer 
 intervals, that, somewhere in that Southern 
 nature there lurked a great depth of passioo 
 which some day must break into paroxyms ; 
 
 but, so far, she had l>een a simple, 8weet„ 
 affectionate girl, loving and being loved. 
 
 Just here, we may say briel y of Mar.v 
 that she had never forgotten Paul Ogden, 
 nor the manly gentleness, the kindly words, 
 and'the handsome face oiP her first friend. 
 She had heard from him by letter, and in bin 
 roaminga upon the continent he had often 
 read the letters, ard noted the speech and 
 style of a woman in the pretty chirography 
 of the tattered little g>psey who had stolen 
 his uncle's grapes. 
 
 ' The first kind word I ever heard in all 
 my life, came from Paul's lips, ' she was of ten 
 wont to say ; and, while she might love in 
 time, she felt that hia was the first claim to 
 anything of hers. 
 
 In Southern women gratituile is only an- 
 other name for love. In t!je Northen sister, 
 the two sentiments are as far apart as the 
 antipodes. The first loves the man she is 
 indeoted to, the latter usually hates her 
 benefactor and lo\'es the man who triP.es 
 with her. Women have the hearts of curs. 
 With us, they love where they are beaten, 
 and hate where they are worshipped. (Still, 
 at eighteen, women's hearts are fornuMl 
 anew, and Mara was not unconscious of the 
 admiration, nor unappreciative of tiie fas- 
 cinations of a certain young artist, with 
 whom, to-day, she walks down tn dinner. 
 So long as there was no Paul Ogden, there 
 might undoubtedly be a Tom Frear. 
 
 The dinner party was all tiiat could Ije 
 desired from the society of distinguished 
 guests, intermingled judiciou.sly with diners 
 (;ut. Lord Hardwigge, a little dried, gray- 
 iiaired man, was, as the evenings guest, de- 
 ferred to ; and, as he did little but eat. the 
 conversation — waiting for him — never be- 
 came general. After tlie ladies had betaken 
 theuiH'li^ es from the board, however, by the 
 grace o good tobacco upon a full dinner— 
 iiot ho :£.y clarets and dry champagnes— 
 to.'iUe^ 'j-' '; .,e unloosed, and justified the 
 j ; ,rii" 't ." ',] xt much deliberated list. 
 
 Under Lionl Hardwigge, the conversation 
 naturally turned to dinner tilings said by 
 Sydney Smith. Englishmen have not yet. 
 recovered from Sydney. As a nation, they 
 are not given to being funny ; that sort of 
 thing they leave to their dreary * Punch. ' 
 and to Sydney. An Englislunan is always 
 ready to laugh himself red when Sydney's 
 name is mentioned, quite indifferent to the 
 remark. We venture to say that a sen- 
 tence out of the Koran, or Hervey's Medi- 
 tation Among the Tombs, if repeated at a 
 dinner table, pi-efixed by, ' You know, Syd- 
 ney Smith said, ' would convulse a table full 
 of Englishmen. We suppose there have 
 been very few dinners in New York where 
 
ST. JUDE'S ASSISTANT. 
 
 39 
 
 things as good as Sydney's best have not 
 been said. But Sydney was the only man 
 in England who did such things, and diners 
 out denring attention find his name invalu- 
 able. 
 
 'I'm sure,' said Judge DeLaigh, aprof)os 
 of nothing, but desirous, perhaps, of waking 
 up the solemn little lord, 'that your lord- 
 ship is aware of that remarkable verse of 
 Sydney Smith's written upon Lord Broug- 
 ham.' 
 
 ^Whenbesaw him riding on a jackass, 
 my dear judge ? ' said Lord Hardwigge. 
 
 'The same,' said bis honour, who forth- 
 with repeated it. 
 
 * Witty as Horatius Flaccus— as — as ' — 
 ' As great a democrat as Gracchus. ' 
 
 'As great a demagogue, mv lord,' said 
 Mr. Greatorer. 
 
 ' Thanks. As great a wine-bibber — stop, 
 no — that's not it. 
 
 " As big a aot was old Bacchus- 
 Riding on a little jackass," ' 
 
 said my lord. ^ '"^^ :'^'^' /^; ^ . -"^^ »" ' 
 
 ' That last line*s rlglit, at any rate. ' said 
 Mr. Burlhurt to Mr. Ogden* sotto voce. 
 
 ' And, he might have added, as big a 
 thief as Shakespeare, ' said Mr. Greatorex. 
 
 'Was Biou^'liiim all that ? ' said Mr. Og- 
 den. 
 
 'It was Brougham, or Palmerston, or 
 Disraeli, or somebody,' said my lord. 
 
 * At any rate, Shakespeare was a tliief, ' 
 said Mr. Greatorex. ' He stole all he ever 
 wrote from Bacon, didn't he ?' 
 
 Mi'. (Jreatorex, who, like most lawyws, 
 was a Baconian, followed up his question by 
 the assertion that ' the wliole thing' was in 
 the usual ' nutshell ;' that a man couldn't 
 well write about history or contemporary 
 circumstances from mere genius, however he 
 might, by clairvoyance or lucky guessing, 
 deal in prophecies for the future, that hap- 
 pen to come to pass. ' Children never learn 
 their alphabet by intuition. ' 
 
 'But, Mr. Greatorex,' said Mr. Ogden, 
 • Pascal learned geometry by intuition. * 
 
 ' Bah !' laid Mr. (Greatorex. ' You and I 
 never saw Shakespeare ; we have only testi- 
 liiony that there was such a man, and the evi- 
 dence which is to satisfy you and I that such 
 a man ever existed, is evidence that should, 
 at the same time, satisfy us, if we are sen- 
 sible, tiiat he never wrote that book. ' 
 
 ' Who did write it tiien ?' said Mr. Swasey, 
 to wliom the discussion had all the charm of 
 a first acquaintance. 
 
 ' All. my dear Mr. Swasey,' broke in Mr. 
 Burlhurt, ' that's a secret, Byrne and I 
 
 against 
 I would 
 a well- 
 
 knew the fellow, hut were under oath to him 
 never to divulge his name. ' 
 
 'Well,' said Mr. Ogden, 'at least, Great- 
 orex, you will admit that he was a clever 
 fellow to fix up anything that Bacon wrote, 
 so that people would look at it on a stage. ' 
 
 ' Bah ! he was doubtless a shrewd stage 
 manager, who dressed up Bacon's dialogues 
 over night, and put in the clowns, perhaps. 
 I fancy he was much such a man as Bouoi- 
 cault. Why, I went to see one of that man's 
 plays, and, upon my word, he had sand- 
 wiched in Bacon, Byron, Otway, and a dozen 
 more, for what, I must admit, was a veiy 
 entertaining play, written by Boucicault. ' 
 
 ' My dear Greatorex,' said Mr. Ogden, 'if 
 you should bring that question before a jury, 
 action for piracy against Shakespeare, you 
 for Bacon, I would only ask two questions. 
 First, wad there such a man as Shakespeare, 
 who wrote plays ? And second, was tliero a 
 Mr. Bacon who claimed them ? And upon 
 the first being answered yes, and the secund, 
 no, the jurj- would nonsuit you without leav- 
 ing their seats. ' 
 
 ' Yes,' said Mr. Greatorex ' and if your 
 client Shakespeare brought a suit 
 .Jones for violation of his copyright, 
 undertake, for Jouea, to throw sucli 
 established doubt upon the question whether 
 Shakespeare w as entitled to his copyright at 
 all, that your jury would disagree. How- 
 ever, there's one thing the angels don't know ; 
 and that's how. twelve men in a box will de- 
 cide anything. ' 
 
 ' Mi'rder will out,' said Mr. Donald, from 
 a corner of his mouth, opposite the one hold- 
 ing his cigar. 
 
 ' So the Biole says, ' said Mr. Swasey. 
 
 ' Byine and I don't have any confidence 
 in that woi'k either. We know the fellows 
 who wrote tliat, too,' said Mr. Burlhurt. 
 
 At this, Bishop Cotter, who did not smoke, 
 and had for some time sought a suitable 
 moment for joining the ladies, rose and 
 stiffly asked his host's permission to witli- 
 draw. 
 
 . ' Hope you'll come on to our Centennial, 
 Lord Hardwigge, ' said a diner out. 
 
 ' Upon my word, sir, I don't know why an 
 Englishman shouhl come over here to help 
 you celebrate your emancipation from tiie 
 horrible despotism of England, ' said my lord. 
 "Notour «miancipation but our indepen- 
 dence,' saia Ar. Ogden. 
 
 ' Bivh — all the same thing,' said Lord 
 Hardwigge, ' The American war is the 
 eteniaUdisgrace of our arms ; although I am 
 ailmitting all the more shame to my own 
 countrymen, I must say that you never had 
 anything more than a rabble. Why, you 
 didn't have any powder to bum at us except 
 
 If' 
 
 
 
40 
 
 ST. JUDE'S ASSISTANT. 
 
 what you stole from under our own nosea. 
 You didn't have a gun until you had prigged 
 it ; and ye* we sent the best soldiers that 
 we had ; the soldiers that had made us con- 
 tjuerors of Europe, and you had them at your 
 mercy before breakfast. I can only accoimt 
 for the American Revolution on tne suppo- 
 sition that the Almighty saw you wanted to 
 try an experiment, and determined to let 
 you try it out. Your M'ar was a series of 
 special providences. Every general we had, 
 lihnidered; and, if you will pardon me, Mr. 
 Ogden, the old maxim of "a fool luck," 
 seemed never so well verified. At Bunker 
 Hill, your soldiers deliberately entered a 
 bag, tlie strings of which were in our hands ; 
 and instead of pulling the strings, we went 
 into the bag, got below you — let you fire at 
 us as long as you plea.je, and then run away, 
 while we stayed to pick up our dead men. 
 (General Burgoyne made you a present of his 
 army at Saratoga, and Lord Howe gave you 
 all the time you wanted to surround Corn- 
 wallis at Yorktown. I think he arrived in 
 time to see the sun-ender, as it was, and that 
 was about the way of it all. Well, it is all 
 the same now, I suppose. But you are 
 trying experiments very fast. We were a 
 thousand years ahead of you a hundred 
 years ago, and now you are a thousand years 
 ahead of us. But if we lived a hundred 
 years more— Mr. Ogden — you and I would 
 not see your second Centennial.' 
 
 ' We are not a thousand years ahead of 
 you in one thing, my lord,' said Mr. Burl- 
 hurt. ' You still write our books. ' ' Let 
 me make the nation's ballad's, and I care 
 not " — and so forth, you know. ' 
 
 ' Of course,' said Lord Hapdwigge, 'of 
 course. So long as you deny us interna- 
 tional copyright, we must do that. A man 
 educates himself as he eats, through his 
 pocket. Of course, as long as it's cheaper 
 for your publisher to give you English 
 books to read than your own, you'll get 
 em. 
 
 ' We haven't had an American novel yet 
 at all events ' — 
 
 ' Bah ! ' said my lord. ' How can you* 
 have an American novel ? Who can write a 
 novel about a country where one man is as 
 good as another? Wnere is yi>ur faithful 
 retainer — your half-pay officer — your duke 
 and your duchess — your younger son. Of 
 course you can write about Indians, and I 
 suppose Cooper did write American novels. ' 
 And Lord Hardwigge — apropox of a name — 
 told another story aomit Brougham. 
 
 We Americans relish a story because it is 
 
 good,' that is, because it is witty, absurd, 
 
 preposterous, suggestive, or pointed. The 
 
 Englishman relishes only such as he can 
 
 locate — and to which he can attach some 
 famous name — no matter how old, it might 
 be about George Selwyn or Horace Walpme, 
 or even Canute, or Harold — if it hiave rnie 
 smack of a name about it, your* TSnglishman 
 will surely applaud. ' 
 
 Lord Hardwigge, despite the difficulty he 
 experienced in keeping ma teeth in poftition, 
 essayed several other slaty reminiscences, 
 and acquitted himself well, on the whole. 
 At a pailse — in the absence of applause — 
 which followed some peculiarly, antique 
 anecdote of his lordship's Mr. Ogden began : 
 
 ' Gentlemen, if you will pardon a lawyer 
 for talking shop, I want to tell Mr. Greator- 
 ex about a case of mine which will interest 
 him. I'm afraid it will bore the rest of you, 
 so I won't ask you to listen. But you'll 
 
 Sardon me. ' And, with a fresh cigar, Mr. 
 igden began. 
 
 CHAPTER m. ^ t,if)/ ■? 
 
 THE ROMANCE OF A TFt'LE. 
 
 'In the year 1750,' said Mr. Ogden, 
 ' there died a man in Boston, Massachusetts, 
 named Brand. He owned a little piece of 
 land in what is now the heart of that city, 
 which, in liis will, he devised to "my brother 
 Harry, and, if he should die without issue, 
 then I give the same to my brother William." 
 Under this will, tlien, tlie estate went to 
 Harry, who died in 1775, leaving one daugh- 
 ter, Mary, who was at that time, or sub- 
 sequently, a Mrs. John Somerby. In Mrs. 
 Somerby the title vested until 1790, when 
 she died — leaving two sons and one daugli- 
 ter, and granting her estate — the land in 
 question — to her daughter. Her daugliter, 
 in turn, in 1880, sold it to one Tliunias 
 Singleton. ' 
 
 Mr. Greatorex began mapping out a sort 
 of abstract of the chain of title on the table 
 before him — a banana for old Brand, a grape 
 for Harry, an orange for Mrs. Somerby, and 
 so on. 
 
 ' Thomas Singleton died in 1830. But, 
 about ten years before, when this real es- 
 tivte we have followed, was worth about 
 fifty thousand dollars, and wheni he believ- 
 ed himself in possession of a personal estate 
 amounting to say between two and three 
 hundred thousand dollars, he made a will, 
 in which he left the land to his wife for 
 life, and afterwards to his only son, George 
 Singleton. Besides this, he directed his 
 executors to pay a legacy of twenty-five 
 thousand dollars apiece to two nieces, who 
 lived in his house, and had been educated 
 by him as if tliey had been his own 
 daughters ; giving them the bulk of his 
 
ST. .7UI>fiS ASSISTANT. 
 
 41 
 
 eorge 
 ;d his 
 y-five 
 who 
 ucated 
 OAvn 
 of his 
 
 poi'Honalty to this said son George. These 
 A\ere nieces were named respectively Laura 
 And Blanche Brown. When this will came 
 to be adniinisteretl, liovyevei-, Singleton's 
 jMirsonal ostate was found to be »U — through 
 a failure of several corporatious.and through 
 <^ertain I>ad speculations of the old niaii. 
 His widow, however, continueil to enjoy 
 the real estate, and, dying, in 184o. lier son 
 < ieorge entered its possession. In 1850, 
 liowever, (George's cousin, Laura Brown, 
 married a lawyer named Markham, and her 
 sister Blanche came to live with tliem. 
 Mrs. Markham often joked with her hus- 
 Ji.ind about the legacy from her uncle 
 Thomas, and accused lier husband of marry- 
 ing her for money. — Greatorex, are you go- 
 ing asleep ?' 
 
 ' No, no, ' said Mr. Greatorex, hastily 
 aiTanging his Hgs and oranges. Go on. ' 
 
 ' This Markham was a young la^vyer, 
 .not overburdened with practice. He had 
 married for love, and lie had his wife's 
 sister to provide for. The legacy, about 
 which she joked, would have b=;een quite 
 convenient to him, could he have educed it. 
 One day— in 1860 this was — he happened to 
 be sitting in his office with the 7th of Gush- 
 ing in his hand^but he was not reading — 
 he was reflecting over his family matters, of 
 }u8 wife, his babies, his wife's sister, and his 
 difficulty of making botli ends meet — wlien 
 his eye happened to light upon a passage to 
 this effect : " The personal estate of the 
 testator was sufficient to pay debts and 
 legacies. It was held that the devise to the 
 lieirs-at-law of C, was not a specific devise, 
 but that the land so devised was liable to 
 be sold for payment of debts and le .cies 
 -under the Revised Statutes,— C. 71, § 80." 
 These words were a portion of the syllabus 
 to the case of Ellis v. Page, 7 Gushing, 
 161. 
 
 '"Ly Jove," thought Markham, "if 
 that's law, perhaps Laura's legacy isn't in 
 Spain, after all I" In sliort, he went into 
 his library and dug away with a will He 
 found that the Massachusetts' Statute of 
 Limitations was constructed, in Brooks n, 
 Lynde, in the 7th of Allen, at page 66, not 
 to limit the time for br^ging an action to 
 recover a legacy ; and, on applying tliese 
 two cases to the circurastMiices, he thought 
 he found that his wife and her sister were 
 clearly entitled to their legacies, in spite of 
 the failure of their uncle's personal estate 
 in 1830, and their cousin's po.ssession or liis 
 real property. For, he argued, if Thonuis 
 Singleton's will gave to George 
 Singleton his real estate after his (George'.;) 
 mother's death, clearly there was no devise 
 to George AtiiLL .For where a man takes, 
 
 under a will, precisely what he would take 
 by operation of law, the law will hold the 
 devise void, and consider that he takes the 
 estate by operation of hiw alone. Now this 
 was precisely the case iu hand. ^Vlla,t 
 George Singleton had considered aa a si>eci- 
 iic ilevise to him, was therefore no devise at 
 all. The real estate which he lield was un- 
 doubtedly a part of the undevised residue of 
 his father's estate, and, therefore, assets 
 which his executor should have applied to 
 tlie payment of the le^cies. This was ex- 
 actly the case in 7 Cusl^mg, Ellis v. Page. 
 
 'Markham, therefore, instituted the suit, 
 and ultimately olitiuned for his wife and' 
 sister-in-law a judgment, in 1862, for ^143,- 
 000, being the aimoimt of the legacies and 
 interest for thirty-two years. G«orge Sin- 
 gleton, not bting a married man, had been 
 unable to put the real estate he received from 
 his father into his wife's name, and was cou)- 
 pelled to see it sold to satisfy bis cousin's 
 judgment. 
 
 'Mr. Mai'kham, bought the property in 
 at the sale, and began to manage it for his 
 wife and sister-in-law. 
 
 ' Now, when Mrs. .lohn Somerby died, in. 
 1790, leaving, as 1 said, two sons and one 
 daughter ' 
 
 Mr. ilreatorex showed signs of flagging, 
 but he pulled away at hie cigar, and drauk 
 anotlier glass of claret 
 
 ' -one of these two sons was a natural 
 
 — a sort of idiot — at any rate, what the law 
 regarded as ' noii roinpos. ' He never mar- 
 rieil, but died wiien lie was seventy-five 
 years old, in 18ot. His name was Peter 
 Somerby. The other son was named 
 Charles. Now, by Hay ward r. Howe, in 
 the l'2th of GiJiy, 40, a devise of land with a 
 subseijueiit piovisinn, that in case one of 
 tlieni should die without lawful issue, it shall 
 go to the testator's heirs iu fee, creates au 
 est;ite tail, under the Massachusetts' statuves. 
 You will remember that Brand gave his lainl 
 by will " to my brother Harry, and if he 
 siiall die without issue — then I give the same 
 to my brother William. " His brother Wil- 
 liam being his (the testivtor's) heir, then the 
 will of old Brand created an estate tail, and 
 nothing else. Now, by virtue of the ruling 
 in Curbin v. Healey, in the "JOth of Picker- 
 ing, pages 514 ami 'A6, a present estate tail 
 passes, in Massachusetts, to the eldest son, 
 according to the eommou law, and nut to 
 the children equally, or to daughters at all, 
 except in default oi heirs male ; and, by the 
 ruling in Hall v. Priest, reported in the 6tli 
 of Gray, an estate tail may not be devised, 
 or in any way affected by the will of a ten- 
 ant in tail. Conse<juently, when Mrs. Som- 
 erby devised the laud we are following to 
 
 n 
 
 if 
 
 Vrl 
 
 'Ml 
 ■ '■ jvl 
 
 4 
 
 I 
 
42 
 
 ST. JUDB'S ASSISTANT. 
 
 lU 
 
 her daughter, she devised what she had no 
 right to devise, and what by law vested, at 
 her death, in the non cornpoa Peter Somerby, 
 who died in 1854 without issue. This Peter 
 had indeed been disseized in 1800, if 
 not previously, by the acts of his 
 sister in possessing herself of the 
 estate, and in devising it to her daughter ; 
 but Peter, having a non compos, the statute 
 of limitations could not run against him ; 
 and his heir in tail, who was his brother 
 Charles, of course, was entitled, under the 
 Massachusetts' statute (chapter 154, section 
 5, I think it is) to ten years after his brother 
 I'eter's death, wherein to bring an action of 
 ejectment. Mrs. Markham ahd her sister 
 became entitled to the estate, you will re- 
 member, during the year 1862, consequently, 
 the ten years since Peter's death, in 1854, 
 not having elapsed, Charles Somerby still 
 had his action. He brought it, and Mrs. 
 Markham and her siatei had scarcely more 
 than realized their good fortune when they 
 were dispossessed, by order of the court, in 
 f.ivour of Charles Somerby. 
 
 ' But even here this chapter of marvels is 
 incomplete. It see.us that old Brand, who 
 owned the parcel of land in 1750, had him- 
 self purchased the land in 1730 of one Noel, 
 who, in turn, had become its owner by con- 
 veyance from one Cosgrove. But this oon- 
 veyance from Cosgrove to Noel had not con- 
 tained the word "heirs." Now, under the 
 iiile in Shelley's case, as laid down in Buff- 
 man V. Hutchinson, in the Ist of Allen, 
 paye 58, the word " heirs " in Massachusetts 
 is still essential in in a deed of conveyance 
 to create an estate in fee ; and if a man pur- 
 ciiase land to himself forever, or to him and 
 his assigns forever, he takes only an estate 
 for life. Therefore, it follows that Noel 
 only received a life estate from Cosgrove, 
 and Cosgrove therefore became the rever- 
 sioner upon the death of Noel, whose deed 
 to Brand was merely waste paper. When 
 Noel (lied, in 1786, Cosgrove was also dead, 
 and his only heir was his granddaughter, ;i 
 young woman eighteen years old, Maria 
 Appleton, wife of Isaac Appleton, of Bos- 
 ton. Maria Appleton did not die until 
 1861. During all those years, from 1786 
 until 1861, she had been &/emme covert, and 
 tlierefore her heir had, under the Massa- 
 chusetts' statutes, ten years from the date of 
 her death, that is, mitil 1871, to bring an 
 action for the estate, which became hers as 
 heir to Cosgrove, upon the death of Noel 
 (she ha\nng been at that time also, a femmi' 
 covfrt.) Now the only issue of Isaac and 
 Maria Appleton was a daughter named 
 Mary. She married a man named, by a 
 curious coincidence. Singleton — and actually 
 
 a fourth or fifth ooasin of the grantee of 
 Mrs. Somerby's daughter, in 1800. Wonder- 
 ful to relate— and this is the gist of my 
 story — the only daughter of that marriage^ 
 Isabella Singleton is at this moment li' ine 
 under this roof. You remember the Bi and 
 murder of two years ago. Well, it fell into 
 my province, as counsel for St. Jude'a 
 Parish, to search for his relatives. I wa» 
 attracted by the similarity of his name to 
 the name of the old landholder in Boston, 
 and in looking at that I struck his title. A 
 suit has been instituted, within a fort- 
 night, by my direction, and I am 
 morally certain — and will stake my 
 professional reputation — the ten years 
 not having yet elapsed, that Miss Singleton, 
 who is my housekeeper, will, in less than a 
 year, be in possession of an estate worth 
 from two to three hundred thousand dollars. 
 If that isn't the most marvellous history you 
 ever come across, I'd like to hear the one 
 that beats it. What do you think of it ? ' 
 
 Now Mr. Greatorex, who had not heard a 
 word of Mr. ©.^[den's story, but had l)een 
 absorbed in thinking of a demurrer he was to 
 argue the next morning, the success of which 
 would bo probably twenty-five thousand 
 dollars in cash in his pocket, his client 
 being a wealthy cloth house, which had been 
 arraigned, at the suit of government, for 
 alleged frauds upon the revenue, was 
 brought up short by the cessation of the 
 story. 
 
 ' i think, Ogden, ' he said, * that you ha /e 
 a good case, at least I hope so. Let us joia 
 the ladies. ' 
 
 • ■■-■''' , '■ CHAPTER IV. " "'^ 'J*^ - 
 
 •'I. :v h..: 
 ARCANA COELfcSTIA. 
 
 Tom Frear has stolen away while Mr. 
 Ogden still spins his legal yam below. He 
 lingers outside the drawing-room until he 
 can arrive at some idea of the position of the 
 particular lady he would seek, for he does 
 not care to wandesr around too much in the 
 search. But he catehes sight of a portion of 
 pink silk presently, in a bay window, and he 
 strikes Iwldly in and up to it, and sits down 
 alongside of it. 
 
 ' I was growing mad at yon, air. * Mara 
 was first to speak. 
 
 ' 'Pon my soul, Mara — I mean Misg Ogden 
 — I was the first man to leave. ' 
 
 ' The first ! No indeed, you were not, 
 sir ; that dear blessed old Bishop has been up 
 here half an hour. ' 
 
 'I mean, I was the firat layman,' said 
 Tom. 'You wouldn't have a layman pre- 
 cede his bishop, would you ? ' 
 
ST. JUDE'S ASSISTANT. 
 
 49 
 
 ' I wonl'ln't have a layman make ■» 'beast 
 of himself at aAy rate. 1 dotj't see why nlen 
 sit (lown-ataira all ixight drinking *-i 
 
 ' And shiokirig.'' said Tbtti, ' WJetftnok^ 
 part of the tifn'e. ■ . ' 
 
 ' Don't inttnupt Rie, Mr. Pi^Af— T stay I 
 I ;on't see the' seHse of it— and leave ns women 
 up Iiere all alone — ' . 
 
 ' Tliette !* said Tom, • tow ybtt'Vb Wrttion- 
 the sense of ft. If the ladies 'Are allbwed to 
 withdraw tjo'sit-by themselves, and t«ar us 
 to pieces,' why shouldn't we men be allowed 
 t > sit by ourselves, too ? ' 
 
 *Ana get intoxicated and silly,' said Mara. 
 
 ' Am 1 intoxicated and silly ? ' said Tom. 
 
 It was ilark in the bay Mrinaow where they 
 K it, and it was a very narroW bay window. 
 Wlieu Tom aaked heir if he was intoxicated 
 .'.nd silly— he asked it mnch as if he were 
 asking^ her to take him for hotter Or for worse 
 -his voice sank to a very low pitch, and he 
 laid one of Ids big hands over her-s. 
 
 • Yes, I believe you are. Y6u are very, 
 very silly, at any rate, Mr. Prear,' said Mara. 
 
 ' just now you called me Tom,' said he ; 
 for his memory was not accurate. 
 
 ' Indeed I didii't, sir. I wouldn't for ' — 
 
 ' Wouldn't for what?' said Tom. 
 
 'Wouldn't for anything; (uid besides I 
 couldn't, even if I would.' , ' " ' ' 
 
 ' Yes, you could.' , ''"'', ■■'***"^ "*' 
 
 • No, I couliln't. I'm sure I couldn't say ' 
 
 • Say what ?' 
 ♦Say7'6n(,' 
 
 • There you've said it! O Mara, Mara, if 
 you'd only call me Tom that way always ' — 
 And so forth, and so forth. 
 
 It does not look eloquently on paper, nor 
 do we, who report it, find much intellectual 
 stimulant in taking it down. And yet, read- 
 er, these are the burning words we whisper 
 in our mistress' ears in the nineteenth 
 century. 
 
 ' Fair goddess of my life and soul, the 
 I)eauty of the moon that broke anon but 
 through yon rifted cloud, fadeth b'-Sre thy 
 peerless charms.' That is the way Tom 
 would would have said it in the year nine 
 hundred and odd : and that is the way Sir 
 Walter Scott, Baronet, would have made 
 Iiim do it (except that W. S. would have 
 I Iiymed it) if Tom had been anywhere near 
 ihe Lady of the Lake. But you and I, read- 
 tT, know how precious are those conver- 
 sations ; and — silly as it may look on print — 
 liow nice it all is. 
 
 As we said, the bay window was very nar- 
 row, and quite dark. Moreover, it was at 
 t he end of the library which opened out of 
 the drawing-room. And, as the guests were 
 mainly in the drawing-room, there was very 
 little outside of the bay window to attract 
 
 Mr. Tom's and Miss Mara'a attention, so 
 th«y wei-e obliged to talk about themselves. 
 The bay window, about this time, became so 
 small that Mara was obliged to sit with her 
 arms folded behind her, as if she was at a. 
 Kindergarten ; otherwise Tom would have 
 been ohlige<l to take the httle hands attached 
 to those arms right into his. Indeed, the 
 window was so small, as it was, that Tom 
 could only find room for one of his big hands 
 in front of him, and was forced to stow the 
 other away back in the rear somewhere. Very 
 inconvenient and cramped it was, and they 
 were very good-natured, we think, to sit. 
 there so quietly. 
 
 * Mara, ' said Tom, after a while. 
 
 •Yds, Tom.' 
 
 ' Mara, do you remember the first time I 
 ever saw you ? It was just fourteen months 
 ago-^I know, for I've counted every day — 
 and, by Jove'-V- 
 
 ' There, that's twice you've said that. Do 
 you imagine you're down-stairs witli your (;i- 
 gars and your claret, and your honid stories, 
 yet ?' 
 
 ' By upon my word, I mean, I just. 
 
 don't — However, you've spoiled it all now. 
 I can't say what I was going to' — 
 
 ' Undoubtedly — ^it was so nice, and you 
 were saying it so fast, too 1' 
 
 •Mara!' 1 tm!*. : - 
 
 'What?' 
 
 ' Do you want to give me pain ? If you 
 do, go on. ' 
 
 Perhaps Tom's other arm grew uncomfort- 
 able to Mara just then, for the next word* 
 that came from the bay window certainly 
 were hers. 
 
 'O you horrid? Don't ! you're as rough as 
 a bear !' 
 
 There they are in print. And they look 
 sublime ! Sir Walter Scott, above alluded 
 to, would have made the lady say : 
 
 ' My lord, thy arm has wandered far, 
 Thy handmaid bids thee have a care.' 
 
 rhymes to that effect. But Tom didn't 
 mind it. So when, in place of the pretty 
 rhyme, she only said ; 
 
 ' you horrid ! don't ! — you're as rough as- 
 a bear !' it was actually sublime in his e:'.r.s. 
 
 ' Do you know what day it was when I 
 met you first, Mara?' said Tom. ' ^ 
 
 •No! Fourth of July, wasn't it?' 
 
 'No — it was April Fool's Drfy, Mara, and 
 I went home that night all in a sort of d.ize.' 
 
 ' Well, then you were a fool, I should say,' 
 said Mara. 
 
 Mr. lom Frear behaved very badly at this- 
 juncture, and we regret to chronicle tl»at 
 Miss Mara was obliged to repeat her observa- 
 tion about 'horrid' and 'bear.' 
 
 •^ lilt 
 
 U 
 
 hV. 
 
 m 
 
TPf 
 
 44 
 
 ST. JUDE'S ASSISTANT. 
 
 
 'And I thought what if you should be fool- 
 ing me, Mara ; and since then I've seen you 
 
 • everywhere I've been, by day or night, and 
 every picture I've painted ha« had your face 
 in it.' 
 
 ' Oh, I wish I could see them, ' said Mara. 
 
 A cliange must come over every tlreant, 
 even so Hweet a dream as we fear poor Tom 
 was dreaming. The next time his unruly aim 
 pressed heavily around Mara'a waist, or 
 wherever it was, she said nothing about 
 ' liorrid ' and ' don't, ' but she said instead, 
 ' Mr. Frear. ' Poor Tom's arm seemed to lose 
 its tension, but he let it stay where it was. 
 He saiil nothing. 
 
 ' Mr. Frear,' said Mara again. 
 
 'Why am I Mr. Frear?' he said, halt- 
 ingly; for whatever courage we men possess, 
 whether we are bears, or Molves, or lionsv 
 for that matter, a very slight change of tone 
 in the voice of the woman we love, will make 
 ■sheep of us in an instant. 
 
 ' I called you Tom, I know I did. I 
 should not have done so, I know ; but you 
 seemed just at that moment to be such a 
 kind friend — ' 
 
 Tom's arm grew tighter around the ai-m it 
 twined. 
 
 ' so like a dear, kind— l)rother ' 
 
 Tom's arm grew very limp again. 
 
 ' that I couldn't help it. I know I 
 
 did wrong — I know I ought not to have done 
 so ' — and Mara gave a little sob. . • ^ 
 
 ' Mara,' said Tom. " -■ . 
 
 ' Please don't call me Mara — it makes me 
 cry. ' 
 
 •Why?' 
 
 ' Because — because — you have no right to 
 call me Mara, and — I — wish you had.' 
 
 ' Then give me the right.' . •,,, -.. . 
 
 •No, I can't.' • J* -.f; 
 
 ♦Why not?' 
 
 ' That's what I'm coming to — so pleaae 
 listen. I hope you don't love nie, Tom— I 
 mean Mr. Frear.' 
 
 ' Mara, I do love you with all my life, and 
 I'd die for you, indeed I would.' Not only 
 did his arm tigliten, but a soft indescribable 
 noise like a rustle of rose leaves, only rather 
 louder, was heard just after the word 
 ' would ' left Tom's lips, 'ind somehow in- 
 terrupted the rest of the nf xt sentence. 
 
 ' 0, please don't do that, please don't ! 
 ' O, I hope you don't love me — because, be- 
 cause, because ' — 
 
 • ' Because why, Mara ? ' 
 
 ' Because I do like you so much, Tom," and 
 I do want you to be my friend always, and 
 to stand up for me, and fight for me when 
 people abuse me. But I — I can't love you 
 except as a sistei", yon know — I know I — 
 I'm sure I could love you like that.' 
 
 • Ma^ 1 ' — ^Tow's voice was as heavy and 
 hoUow.as if he had been sitting in a barrel, 
 instead of in a, bay window. 
 
 • Mar/i», tell me why yoi^ ean't love me 
 better than that. I don't want you to love 
 
 me like a sister. ' > 
 'You don't!' 
 
 Mara) 
 
 'No,! don't!' 
 
 (Sadly on the part of 
 
 There was, a positive tone 
 to thi« deiclaration that carried conviction. 
 
 'No, Idon't,'»aid Tom a^ain. 'I've got 
 three sisters now, and I don't want any 
 more ; but Mara, — when a man can't live 
 without thinking about you, why can't you 
 love him ? ' 
 
 ' A maji ou^ht always to be thinking 
 4bout his sisters ' — 
 
 ' But he isn't — there's plenty of other 
 fellows to do that. If you were my sister, 
 do you think I would be sitting here with 
 you now ? No ! I wouldn't come near yon. ' 
 
 ' O Tom, I shouldn't— like— that.' 
 
 'Then you do love me, Mara?' and another 
 rustling sound was just discernible. 
 
 'Now,Mr.Freaf !Ishallnevercallyou Tom, 
 and I shallnever like you evenasasister, unless 
 you promise me never to do that again. I 
 am wrong, 1 am wrong to beat alnjut so, and 
 to be so long coming to what I am to say. 
 Mr. Frear — well, then Tom, I love you as a 
 dear sister, and there's my hand on it, if 
 you'll take it I'm afraid I almost began to 
 like you better than a sister, and was — even if 
 I wjis not veiy foolish and very vain to 
 think you would do such a thing — almost- - 
 oh, I don't want to say the word — e«- 
 rouraging you. There, I've said it ; and I'm 
 so ashamed of the word ! All I mean to say 
 is that — even if you ever thought of me 
 that way — which I'm very sillj' and very 
 vain to suppose, for you are a man that any 
 woman might be proud of that — that ' — 
 
 And here poor Mara broke down com- 
 pletely. Then, after a moment, she re- 
 covered herself, and with a little sob went 
 on — 
 
 ' What I am going to say must be said. I 
 can't love you or any man, for I love — some- 
 body else. Yes, ' she said, for she felt Toms 
 arm drawn quickly away — 'Yes, I am strong 
 enough to say it. I love somebody else 
 better than all the world, and you have almost 
 made me disloyal to him. Yes, you Ixave 
 made me very disloyal to him.' 
 
 There was a stifling sort of sound from 
 Tom's direction. There seemed to be plentj' 
 of rpom for them both, in the bay window 
 now. 
 
 ' Tom, dear Tom, don't feel so Ijadly. 0, 
 I am not worth it ! 0, I wish I were dead ! 
 
 '^^^^^ •' -nfyt Mi .(•• ^J(;h 
 
 .1 't.j ■lii'.i^ff- ','y:.^ 
 
 Not a word from Tom. 
 
ST. JUDR'S ASSISTANT. 
 
 ' Tom, dear Ton>, please liatcii to me. I 
 want to tell you a story. I want to tell you 
 what nobody knows in this v^hole city, oul- 
 side of Mr. and Mrs. Ogdjn and the boys — 
 oxcept one. I know I can trust the story to 
 your honour and to your ' — 
 
 — ' to my love,' sobbed Tom. ' Yes, you 
 can trust it to my love.' 
 
 * Well, then. 0, Tom, are you a man, and 
 uannot be brave euougli to hear my story ? 
 Why, I am only a poor weak girl, and I am 
 strong enough to tell it. ' 
 
 Tom seized her hand, and held it so tight 
 she almost shrank from him. 'Ah, yes,' 
 he said, * yes, you are strong enough to 
 tell it. But that one you love, supposing 
 he had just told you in an instant, with 
 out any warning, that he didn't love you the 
 least V>it — would you have strength to tell it 
 then ?' 
 
 ' I am a woman — no, not even a woman — 
 only a poor, weak, little girl. ' And she be- 
 gan to cry. 
 
 If a man strikes a woman he can look 
 upon her t<iars and laugh, perhaps ; but if 
 slie sobs from grief, you will very rarely 
 find Olio .strong enough to endure it. Tom 
 wan on his knees in an instant. 
 
 ' My darling,' he said, * if you cry, I shall 
 go mad ?' Then he stood up and took her in 
 his anus and kissed her many times. 
 ' Whether you love me or not, ' he said, ' I 
 love you, and I shall not live without you. 
 If yni are not mine, I shall not live to see 
 you another man's. ' 
 
 And so he thoudit, no doubt ; and so 
 probably we have all ihoiiglit, at least once. 
 But tliu great master said that thougii men 
 have died ere now, and worms have eaten 
 thein, it was not for love that they died.and 
 we are \\ iser now than to ha\'e any other 
 ideas ; and if there is any shooting to bedone, 
 it certainly would not be ourselves we shouhl 
 shoot. 
 
 It was some time before the two were able 
 to compose themselves. If the scene we 
 have been tlesL-ribiiig had taken place in a 
 closed room, or where the two were free 
 from interruption among rocks or woods, 
 they might l-.a^'e been in this stato for hours, 
 and perhaps both ended by going mad. But, 
 no matter now genuinely crazy a woman is, 
 at the slightest suspicion of interruption, her 
 sense of propriety will overcome all other 
 emotions, and she will straigliten herself out 
 in no time. This time there was a rustle of 
 silk as Miss Van Tier and Mr. Burlliurt ap- 
 proached. 
 
 ' Upon my word I think j'ou two have sat 
 there (jnite long enf)\igh.' shouted Fanny. 
 
 ' 1 ilun't think it's safe to disturb them, 
 Mias Fanny,' said Mr. Burlhurt. 'Upon 
 
 my soul,if I were you I wouldn't be so rash !' 
 
 Mr. Burlhurt was approaching fifty, ami a 
 bachelor still. The charms that should 
 comiuer him were being nourished in a- 
 cradle somewhere, if tiiey had even got so- 
 far as that. 
 
 But Fanny gave him her archest smile:- 
 ' Don't you see they have the only bay win- 
 dow there is ?' she whimpered, 
 
 ' Ah, but there is a precious little conser- 
 vatory just out of the music room. Sha'n't 
 we go and look at it?' And, nothing loath, 
 without having extracted a word from the- 
 culprits in the bay window, they moved, 
 away. 
 
 \Vhen they had gone, • My dear Tom, my 
 dear brother Tom, said Mara, ' we have 
 beep very foolish, but the storm is over, and 
 now I want you to listen to my story. Once 
 upon b. time there was a little girl who, when 
 she first remembers' 
 
 ' Mara, Mara ! I want you to play the 
 Traumerei to Lord Hanlwigge. Come 
 here this instant,' cried Mrs. Ogden. 
 The summons from his lordship was too 
 imperious to be slighted, so Mara went and 
 sat down to her paiiio ; but, for the first 
 time in her life, Mrs. Ogden thought she saw 
 signs of a storm in Mara. Her brown cheek 
 was quite red, and she looked as if she 
 were biting her lips to suppress a ' scene. ' 
 Instead oi the Traumerei, she stuck up 
 Tam 0' Slianter, and pounded and plashed 
 away until Lord Hanlwigge really looked as 
 frightened as if all the devils from AUoway 
 Kirk were grinning at liim. 
 
 
 CHAPTKU V. 
 
 MR. STRASBDRtiEU's CLUB. 
 
 When, aft^r two years of impotent en- 
 deavour on the part of the Metropolitan 
 Police to track the murderer of Geon^e 
 Brand, Mr. Strasburgei- had been resortcil 
 to, that gentleman, with the distrust of liis 
 brethren's sagacity natural, to his profession 
 blocked out his own line of investigation 
 upon a track apparently neglected by them. 
 The newspapers, by this time, had ceased 
 to lash themselves into a fury over this 
 last and most memorable proof of Police 
 inefficiency, and now only alluded to the sub- 
 ject in a mildly humorous or social tone. 
 The /?n/>';/'n)i would inquire gently if any 
 of the detectives had been sent to Auburii 
 — (tlie State Insane Asylum) from hopeless 
 insanity brought about by their endeavours 
 to track the " Brand murderer ;' and sug- 
 gested that a strong guard should be sta- 
 tioned to wa'tch nightly the towers of the 
 Brooklyn Bridge, since, should they l)e 
 
 I !< I 
 
 IS 
 
46 
 
 ST. JUNE'S ASSISTANT. 
 
 Mr 
 
 stolen, tlio 
 never be 
 ami the 
 expcndetl in 
 rovocably lost u^ 
 t\n: force took " 
 
 I' 
 
 "i 
 
 lU Police would 
 to trace them 
 or ten ntillions 
 onBtruction would be ir- 
 the tax-ptiyers — or, when 
 annual p.uade, hinted at 
 tlie (lunger of a conilagration of tlie HuiIbou 
 froiii the intense brilliancy of tliat depart- 
 ment. The Wefkly Bunyboili/ &Ui\ flluntraft'd 
 ^iv'.ipnper published a cartoon representing 
 a desperado who had just murdered a man, 
 kneeling at his victim's side, and calmly 
 plundering his peison. The revolver witli 
 which he had done the deed, lies smoking at 
 his side, while the mnnloier is ojvlmly ile- 
 taching his victim's wateli from its eliain. A 
 body of Metropolitim police in a hollow 
 8(juare march by, Witliin the scpiare is a 
 po:r, ra'^gjd old women, and the body is 
 headed i>y a very fat and clumsy oflieer, 
 Tlie murderer pauses in his work, and accosts 
 the officer : ' I say, ( Jeorge, what liave you 
 ^(■t now? ' to wliicli tlie response is, ' ^Ve've 
 i^ht a woman here that says that wo arn't the 
 finest hody of police in the world ; and by 
 Jove, sir, she'll liang for it, too ! ' 
 
 Occasionally, too, a long list of unavenged 
 nnu'ders M'.is published by the I/erald, in- 
 cluding ' the St. Jude's murder, ' as the 
 Hcndit persisted in styling it, and asserting 
 t'lat had tlie Hei-ald ••* plan of pursuit been 
 adopted, that particular mystery would long 
 since ha^e been opened to the day. 
 
 ' The Ili-rulil is not a Private Detective 
 OHice,' it would inform its readers, ' but we 
 cannot refrain from remarking, that had the 
 Herald's suggestions l)een acted upon, the 
 soul of the St. Jude's murderer would have 
 long since rested in the limbo of devils await- 
 im,' tht'ir doom, and the shade of George 
 Brand been appeased. It will be remembered 
 that the llcrnl'l, witiiin twelve hours after 
 the murder, hacl discovered the presence in 
 the city on the day of the murder, of a 
 strange man calling himself John A. Grant, 
 of Carondelet, Mississippi, who paid for a 
 jiassage to Europe on the Scythia, of the 
 Cunard Line ; thirt such name and residence 
 were wholly fictitious ; and at the earliest 
 moment, when the Scythia could be reached 
 and seareheil (namely : — upon her arrival at 
 < >ueenstown), the Hurald was able to con- 
 firm its suspicions, by laying before its read- 
 ers evidence that no such passenger, or no 
 l>a88enger answering to his personal descrip- 
 tion, was on board of the Scythia. In fact 
 tliat this particular state-room, secured and 
 l-aid for by the mysterious stranger, was not 
 occupied during the trip, nor was it ever in- 
 tended to be, since no luggage had been 
 placed in it, and no place at the table se- 
 cured. 
 
 ' Now, it is not our business to go further, 
 but if the detectives had followed up this 
 man as they should have done, this ease at 
 least, would not have been added to tlte long 
 and disgiaceful list of their incompetencies.' 
 
 And, to a greater or less extent, the prcaa 
 of the country — especially those suburban 
 sheets who spread nefore their readers, a 
 " Metropolitan Correspondence, "(upon which 
 New Yorkers rely for \ww and startling in- 
 foimation about themselves) — backed the 
 opinion of the /A-raW. But Mr. Strasburger 
 had a clue aud a theory of his own, and pro- 
 ceeded to work it. It w ill be rcmendtered 
 that no money whatever had been found in 
 the murdered man's pockets, aud that a 
 iieavy gold watch chain — witli no watch 
 attached — had been about the only valuable 
 upon his jMirson. 
 
 Mr. Strasburger had, however, concluded, 
 by an inspection of the murdered man's vest, 
 that he, in life, had habitually carried a 
 watcli. The left hand pocket of the vest 
 showttd unmistakable traces of a watch, and 
 from it the detective was able to ascertain, 
 not only its Actual size aud shape, but to 
 dr».v pretty tolerable conclusions as to its 
 appearance. The pocket of this vest, indeed 
 (which he had carefully cut out and still re- 
 tained in his possession, ) might be fairly 
 denominated Mr. Strasbuiger's clue. 
 
 Certain detectives— .as he took occasion to 
 inform himself — had started oflf to trace the 
 artist in Italy, who was intimate with 
 Brand, and in whose studio Brand hail been 
 murdered. Another had carefully in\ estig- 
 ated Brand's early history, in searcli of 
 family quarrels, love affairs, rivr ' inherit- 
 ances, or money difficulties which should 
 reveal some motive for the mysterious 
 deed. 
 
 One of the strangest features of the whole 
 case, was, that the particular pistol, from 
 which thd two slugs had been projected into 
 the dead man's brain, oould not be trace<l. 
 True, the Non-Detonating Arms Company 
 had manufactured some forty thousand of 
 that particuUr ' series, ' all, or nearly all, of 
 whicli had been disposed of, and were be- 
 yond the company's possession. But, with- 
 in a year of the muraer, the company had 
 introduced a peculiarity into their numufac- 
 ture. This new style of pistol liad required 
 slugs of a form slightly different from those 
 in the possession of the detectives, 
 and the company were positive that the 
 particular pistol in question — one of the sort 
 — must have been purchased — it purchased 
 within a year of the murder — at their Broatl- 
 way headquarters, since only there had any 
 of the former pattern been procurable — their 
 agents throughout thj country taking only 
 
ST. JUDK'S ASSISTANT. 
 
 47 
 
 
 uniall HU})pliu8, and l>i;ing at that date only 
 in pi'SHeH8iuu of the impiovenient. All these 
 detailb had >)een carefully aacertained. The 
 oartiidgtn to which the Blugs belonged, were 
 of a Hort manufactured bj' a firm in Bridge- 
 port, Connucticut, and their Halea had reach- 
 ed millions. Still Mr. Strasburger could not 
 get over the impr;'8sion that it was wonder- 
 ful how barren a clue the clue of the slugs 
 liutl been. 
 
 All pi-evions dateotives seemed to hove 
 adopted the phut of searching, first for a 
 motive for the crime (a method, indeed, 
 liaving the .approbation of most legal minds, 
 as witness a woU-kuowu maxim). But Mr. 
 .Strival)urger's principle was to discard 
 all such things as motives, from his 
 ii;iiid. He cared nothing for them. His 
 was the pure inductive system, of slowly 
 piiK-eeding from fact to fact, incident to in- 
 cident, and circumstance to circumstance. 
 He never speculated, never theorized, never 
 guessed. He simply put this and that to- 
 gotlier. That was the secret ot his F^iccesses. 
 Other detectives there were, who had not 
 scrupled to involve tlio aid of clairvoyance, 
 and to cummon ' nunX readers ' and ' psy- 
 chologists ' without et"' .»• tlieiv ft8«isti;nce 
 in their quest. 
 
 Nor had this case been free from the in- 
 trusion of that wonderful sort of general 
 lialliicination, whioli not infrof|iiently ac- 
 comi)auies the know ledge of capital crimes, 
 ;i\\ akening ;;tcat pui^lic interest. The Her- 
 ald, and other great city dailies, liad from 
 time to time, since the murder, published 
 long revelations from men confined in peni- 
 tentiaries in various parts of the country — 
 some as far away as tlie Pacific ('oast — point- 
 ing directly to tiie murderer, indicating him 
 by name, and even detailing the exact plan 
 followed by him in the fatal work. Dozens 
 <if men, in State prisons, ami out of them, 
 had confessed to be accessories to the deed, 
 and demanded the full penalty of the law to 
 be visited upon themselves. One, cleverer 
 than the rest, a life inmate of a prison in 
 San Francisco, liad procui'cd for himself a 
 variation of the monotony of his incarcera- 
 tion, in the shape of a trip across the con- 
 tinent to New York and return, by contriv- 
 ing to impress the authorities with his abso. 
 lute knowledge of the whole affair — whi( h 
 knowledge he absolutely refused to revtal 
 anywhere, except in tlie city wliere the deed 
 was done. 
 
 But of all this Mr. Strasburger took 
 
 neither note nor heed. The deed had been 
 
 done — by physical means — those physical 
 
 nicaas must somewhere exist. The weapons 
 
 <<>f its aceomplishme^, must— since matter 
 
 is indestructible, in some shape or other, be 
 still visible to the naked eye. 
 
 The company who manufactured the wea- 
 pon which carried the slugs, as well aa the 
 manufacturers of the slugs themselves, em- 
 ployed hundreds of workmen ; each of these 
 bad passed through hundreds of hands, from 
 those who shaped the metal, to those who 
 had packed them, registered them in books, 
 and so on, down to the salesman who had 
 lianded them over the counter to the pur- 
 chaser. Some of these hundreds must be 
 equal to identifying them. 
 
 As to the pistol— after it had done its 
 work, it still remained a pistol, and conse- 
 
 Siiently, must be still in existence. If 
 irown into a furnace, the metal must still 
 lie metal, and might be recognized by the 
 artizan who used it first. If the wood, or 
 bone, or ivory, or rubber of its butt were 
 burned, or hacked or broken, fragments 
 would still remain. If sunk in the sea it 
 could be recovered. If hidden, it could be 
 brought to liuht. The assassin was a man 
 who did not drop from the clouds, or enter 
 upon the scene of his crime through the key- 
 hole. He was a man, and came m by the 
 door in broad daylight. He must, therefore, 
 have been seen to enter by somebody. He 
 went out. There must have been those that 
 saw him go out. He must have eitlier 
 walked to and fr ,>!u the scene of the crime— 
 or have been con\eved in pul)lic or private 
 conveyance— upon the public streets, and in 
 broail daylight ; in cither case, he must 
 have been seen by innumerable people, and, 
 in either case, others must have W.en Con- 
 cerned in liis movements. If he eat any- 
 thing on the dxy of the murder, those that 
 waited upon him, or provided his meal, must 
 have known something of, and about him. 
 In short, there is no detail of a man's daily 
 routine so slight, or so trivial, but that 
 others of his fellow-men have been directly 
 e.nployed in some way or other, in tlu ir 
 proper duties or vocations, in reference to 
 that detail. There is no act of a man's life 
 that can be forever concealed. If it should 
 become necessary to establish in a court of 
 justice that a certain man, on a certain day, 
 in the privacy of his closet, buttoned the 
 fourth button on his vest, that fact could be 
 established beyond the peradventure of a 
 doubt. How much more surely must the 
 murder of a human being, the release of a 
 human soul by violent hands, from its tene- 
 ment, sooner or later come to be known, 
 without any belief in Providence, in chance, 
 or fact, or fate, or destiny, without any 
 faith in Justice or Divinity, the Divine 
 order of things or the purposes of a Creator ? 
 Mr. Strasburger, whowas a plain materia- 
 
 (ill! 
 
 M 
 
 Ih 
 
 1 
 
 e m 
 
*■? 
 
 ST. J CUE'S ASSISTANT. 
 
 ;s 
 
 lint, 1)olieving in uotliiiig ke vuuld not bear, 
 or sue, or touuli — hail tliree niaxiuui, uniler 
 wliioli he avoktid. ami by virtue of which, at 
 luiiht au it Btieuie<l to hiui, lie had never yet 
 failed in a piuHuit, Thi-se luaxiiUB were : 
 first, that 'Murder will out.' Tliat ia to 
 say — for so iiule«d he interpreted the old 
 »aw — tliore i» a tendency in all wrongtloiii 
 to seek tUe knowledge and disapprobation 
 society ; second, that ' matter i» indeHtruc- 
 tible "— namely, aa we liave aeeu that 
 iiotliinj' material can ever BucccssfuUy and 
 et4»rnaUy disappear. Mr. Stiawburgcr's 
 third maxim it iu hard to put tersely. It 
 related to the human memory. PerhupH it 
 might be expreHsed by the proposition tiiat 
 ' the memory of man is practically infallible' 
 Mr. Strasburger held that this wonderful 
 faculty retained, in its storehouses, every 
 sound lioard by the human ear, every picture 
 once printed upon the retina of the liuman 
 eye, erery sensatiou experienced by tlie 
 liuman touch or taste. Whatever the sen- 
 suous experience, however minute or in- 
 stantaneous these senses, that experience is 
 taken u]> by the human memory and stored ; 
 once so stored, that experience, so long aa 
 the storehouse t!.\ists, this side of the grave, 
 can be referred to. He held that while the 
 process of storing experience, was one wholly 
 unconscious and beyond scrutiny, (though 
 not necessarily so — since efforts to remem- 
 lier, might be, and comiiKjiily are successful) 
 — the processes needed to discover and bring 
 out for use the experience ho stored, were 
 often the most delicate and subtile; involving 
 oidy effort on the part of the possessor of the 
 memory, but careful and minute examination 
 and cross-examination on the part of t,hird 
 
 Eersons ; but, nevertheless, it was Mr. Stias- 
 urger's opinion, that if properly worked, it 
 was possible that the storehouse of the hu- 
 man memory should be not only at the service 
 of its possessor, but actually at the service — 
 even against its owner's will — of others : of, 
 let us say, Mr. 8trasburger. 
 
 By a gentle process, the vest pocket of 
 which we have spoken, was, under Mr. Stra - 
 burger's scrutiny, approximated to the form 
 it must have taken when dilated with the 
 watch it once carried ; and, when ao dilated, 
 a mould of particularly delicate and sensitive 
 plaster, which should almost exactly express 
 the form and sizs of the watch, wasobtinned. 
 Diligent, but always cautious, inquiry was 
 not lacking as to the late curate's watch — 
 however, in other directions. When a de- 
 tective works a cluo, be always works it cau- 
 tiously, A clue cannot lie patented ; jnce 
 suggested, it is of course eijually at the ser- 
 vice of any other detective, or another who 
 chooses to pursue and bungle it by clumsy 
 
 pursuit. Kaoh is therefore ohuy of disclos- 
 ing the particular scent upon which he 
 works. Mr. Strasburger was not above the 
 jivi'o isy peculiar to Iws calling. He regarded 
 t'l • past and present record ofthis watch a» 
 till- possession which would undoubtedly 
 lead to the murderer's convicti( n ; but it waa 
 necessary, in order to so lead, that it shouUl 
 be arrived at by himself alone — little by little, 
 shred by shred, morsel by morsel. 
 
 Although Brand, in hia lite-time, had pos- 
 sessed many friends ; strange to say, ao far, 
 Mr. Strasburger had been unable to discover 
 one of them who plainly and clearly remem- 
 bered anything about his, (Brand s) watch. 
 Some in<leed, could remember, that he had, 
 in the course of conversation, taken it from 
 his pocket and consulted it, as a man will. 
 But no one could lie disoovered who could 
 describe it. The detective knew of the ex- 
 istence of Olive (jray, the dead man's l)e- 
 trothod, but she hacl lost her reason, and 
 was, for the present, at least, beyond lii.s 
 reach ; though he regarded her — even in her 
 .present state — as a last resort, should all oth- 
 ers fail. Neither Mr. Oray nor any of hiti 
 family, however, thoni^h solicitous of afford- 
 itig every assistance to Mr. Strasbnrger'a la- 
 bours, could furnish any details as to the 
 watch. Failing utterly in his inquiries, there, 
 he waa obliged to rely upon his own ingenui- 
 ty and resources. About this time he there- 
 fore began to diligently study, or, as we say, 
 to ' cram' upon the subject of watches and 
 watchmaking. He did not, however, read 
 up the subject iu eucyclopa^diaa or treatises. 
 Nothing was further from his instincts than 
 a book. 
 
 It may be doubted, whether he had opened 
 a dozen in the whole courae of his life. But 
 he hunted watchmaker's shops, ingratiated 
 himself with the proprietors of some by 
 plausible stories, and with others, where 
 plausible stories would not avail, by telling 
 the truth. There are some m^\i, whose 
 minds are so attuned by their profesaion qr 
 trade, to absolute exactness, that, althougii 
 notoriously immoral in their convictioua 
 "about what we call religion or ethics, the 
 least moral obliquity is repugnant to their 
 training, and they would— while admitting 
 no responsibility to a Divine power — as soon 
 contemplate a deviation from exact com- 
 mercial honesty and truth, aa they would 
 contemplate making a watch whose rachets 
 would not articulate, or whose parts would 
 not lie snugly together. By his model, M r. 
 Strasburger was able to ascertain that tli» 
 wat«jh was of a now obsolete fashion, such as 
 had ceased to be generally manufactured 
 abjut forty or fifty yea^ before. Its edgea 
 were rounded, and the snape and style of thft 
 
BT. JUDE'S ASSISTANT. 
 
 4d 
 
 whol* a double convex, which might be ex* 
 preaHed by ' fat. ' Now the modem make of 
 watches is undoubtedly of a style rather flat 
 than ' fat ' — and the edges are more or leas 
 Itevelled. From cloM acrutiny of the mould, 
 Mr. Strasburger concluded also tliat the 
 watch had l>een an open face, with a bulging 
 crystaL This also confirmed liis earliest 
 suspicions, as to the age of the watch, since 
 the modern open face watch is apt to have a 
 flat crystal, with edges bevelled, to agree 
 H'lfrli the bevel of the edge of the patch itself. 
 Furthermore, he was enabled, by much 
 stutly, to ascertain that the watch worn by 
 (leorge Brand — proliably an heir-loom of 
 greater or less antiquity — was of gold, of the 
 style known as the 'English lever.' The 
 size indicated by the model he discovered, 
 usually carried a certain number of jewels, 
 necessary to reduce a certain amount of 
 f iution ; >>eing thereupon known to the traile 
 as •full jewelled.' These watches were 
 almost invariably from the establibhmeut of 
 o se maker, a Liverpool house, that at a cer- 
 tii;n periocl — which, compared with George 
 lirand'.s birth, and tlic probable age of his 
 jxirentji, corresponded— had flooded the 
 American markets with its wares. Socon- 
 lident (lid he grow, at last, that he himself 
 drafted the following iwlvertisement, wliich 
 t!ie Hi raid, in its ' Lost andFound' column, 
 ti;)read one day before its millions of readers : 
 
 T OST.— An open faced Kold watch, English 
 3 J lovor, full (19) jewcUea. mannfaoturcd by 
 ]t)bort Roskell, Liverpool. 1833, and numbered 
 2r,84(5. As the same is valuable to the owner, 
 ciiietiy on account of its associations, a liberal 
 rowiird, to at least the market value of the 
 watch, will be paid (and no questions asked) for 
 its reeoverj-. Address Z. Z., Herald olhce. 
 ft. w. o. n. H. ..Jj »i'.f ,.f| itiiuK'xIo.i li. 
 
 The result rewarded his time and research, 
 and proved the accuracy of his calculation. 
 At the end of three days, the following com- 
 munication reached him in due course : 
 
 * OfHce of Jimmerson & Co. 
 Licensed Pawnbrokers, 
 No. — Bowery, New York, 
 
 this 
 
 i , ' Z. Z. is informed that-the watch adver- 
 tised for in the Herald was received in pawn 
 at this office, about two years ago. As the 
 time allowed by law has expired, any person 
 interested can have the same by payijig 
 amount of advance and interest. 
 
 Respectfully, 
 .^.Kfrtiftt}^ -. Jimmerson & Co ^ 
 
 ■Ai .nt oyK. 
 
 The watch in the Messrs. Jimmerson's pos- 
 session, upon being examined, p'oved to be 
 
 4 
 
 the very counterpart of Mr. Strasburger'e 
 advertised description — which he had writ* 
 ten, aa we have seen, with no guide except 
 a plaster mould of the inside of a vest pocket. 
 On being applied to the vest pocket it ex- 
 actly flUed tne bulge indicated oy the worn 
 portion ; but even Mr. Strasburger smiled 
 at his own infallibiUty, when on the inside 
 of the under cover of the watch, he read the 
 inscription, ' George Brand, from t^s Father, 
 March 3rd, 1846.' 
 
 It was the Messrs. Jimmerson's custom, 
 on taking an article in pawn, to make dupli- 
 cate tickets for the same ; and retaining one, 
 to give the other to the pawner. In. the 
 present case the ticket attached to the watch 
 was as follows : 
 
 ^ JiMMKRSOV & Co., No. — BOWE {Y. "] 
 
 187- 
 Nov. 9. 
 
 English Lkvkb. 
 P. 
 
 1 
 
 80 
 
 GTS. 
 
 20,756 
 
 Mr. Brown, 181 Broadway. J 
 
 The form of the duplicate was, therefore, 
 easily ascertainable. And Mr. vStrasburj/er 
 again resorting to the invaluable Herald, in- 
 serted the following : 
 
 INFORMATION is wanted of the whereabouts 
 of the below described pawn ticket : 
 
 Jimmerson & Co., No. — Boweky. 
 
 187— 
 Nov. 9. 
 
 20,756 
 
 English Lever. 
 F. 
 
 9 
 
 CT8. 
 
 Mr. Brown, 
 
 25 per cent per annum, according to law. 
 Not responsible for damage by flre or 
 moth. 
 
 Will be liberally paid for. 
 Herald office. 
 
 Address P. E. K., 
 L f. 2t w. p k N. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 ..,;t , .., : 
 ' AS MAN NEVER LOVED WOM*N BEFORK ! ' 
 
 Tom woke up in the gray of the morninf; 
 after Mr. Ogden's dinner, and lay tossing 
 and thinking. He had held Mara in hii* 
 arms and covered her face with kisses. 
 ' What right had I to do that ? ' he thought. 
 He had never asked her to be his wife. 
 Never, until a moment before, had he told 
 her that he loved her. Much less had she 
 told him, by any look or sign, that slj^ 
 
 , W 
 
 ' (; 
 
 ,la 
 
 n 
 
60 
 
 ST. JUPR'S ASSISTANT. 
 
 loved liitn. In fact she liad iliDtiiietly told 
 liiiii that ahe loved Homelxxly el«e- In tlio 
 face of that punitive Ntateiutvtt he had taken 
 her in hiu arniu and kittHcd her many times. 
 It soemed as if he liad Itrokcn recklcBsly into 
 tile Holy of Holies, and Btyrileyiouslv tasted 
 what angels dared not covet, the lips of a 
 
 1)nre maiden nnkissed of lover man. As he 
 ay tliere he shuddeied at liis temerity. Bnt, 
 after he had risen and had his hath, he felt 
 better about it — nay, would not have 
 scrupled to repeat the trespass had the oc- 
 casion presented itself. That lie was not all 
 luiforgiven, moreover, witness this note, 
 which was borne to his door an hour or 
 two later : 
 
 ' My Dear Mr. Frear— 
 
 ' You did very wrong last night — that is, 
 we were both very naughty indeed — only yon 
 were the worst. We must never do so 
 again. 
 
 ' I was provoked to be interrupted in the 
 long story I had settled myself down to 
 tell you. If you have no l)etter place to 
 lunch, come to luncheon witli us, at 2, ami 
 stay an hour with me afterwards. I know 
 you lazy artists have no business hours, so 
 you have not that excuse. Do come. 
 
 'Sincerely, Mara Ogden.' 
 Friday. ' 
 
 Perhaps few men do not know the rapture 
 of the first note of the girl we love. Tom 
 gazed at the obldng envelope and the square 
 paper, and the inevitable uncharacteristic 
 fashionable English hand which every New 
 York young lady is ttvught to scribble. It 
 was almost precisely the same hand as ap- 
 peared upon bushels of notes scattered 
 around his studio, stuck in his mirror, and 
 bunched in the corners of his bureau 
 .drawers. There was nothing in the note 
 that Mara might not have written to the 
 newspaper ; but it was a letter from the 
 girl, that, just now, Tom was in love with, 
 and he hugj,'ed it rapturously^ to his vest. 
 He (lid not stop to recall the'liundreds of 
 
 i )roci sely similar oiicumstauces under which he 
 lad rcceixed girls' first notes. After all, Martt 
 Wits only the last, the last of a long line of 
 favourites. But there was this perennial 
 freshness about Tom that he could be madly 
 in love a dozen times a day, if necessary. In 
 his relations with women, Tom's very bril- 
 liancy and attractiveness were his curst*. All 
 women liked him at first sight. He oould 
 take a woman's hand the first time he met 
 ]i«r, and hold it as long as he pleased with- 
 out demurrer on her part. He might say 
 ^lie softest and most stereotyped things, and 
 %-omen would take them for gospel. But 
 
 somehow — such is another of the inconsis- 
 tcncifs of women — they liked him so vio- 
 lently at first tliat they exhausted their lik- 
 ing very rapidly. On the whole, if on«' 
 could claim to understand anything about a 
 woman, perhaps it is tolerably safe to sny 
 that the woman who detests is lost. Tiie man 
 who is detestetl but pcrHOvering, is the fnan 
 who wins a woman now-a-days. 
 
 Tom had, for all his flirtations, .seen many 
 girls in his life-time he wotild have cared In 
 marry. But, althougii welconicd and 
 coddled, as nocicty coddles everywlu re,Honi«! 
 opeechless, Hoicnin-visaged man, who ' sat 
 around' while Tom flirted with the girl or 
 squeezed her hand — some man who was 'hoi- 
 rid' where Tom was 'just lovely' — soniu 
 man who came when he wasn't 
 wanted, and stayed until he was si-nt home 
 —was the maji, in the end, who l^agged the 
 prize and marrieil the heiress. 
 
 Women are dogs — so wc said before — but 
 they also are cats. They grow accustomed 
 to inconveniences, and, by and by, to be in 
 love with them. They must like a man liet- 
 ter asi'J. bvllci, not worse and woise, before 
 they marry him. The man who improves 
 upon ac(iuaintance is Wtter than ten men of 
 whom you know just what to expect— how- 
 ever nice that expectation may be — that is, 
 if you are a woman. 
 
 Moreover, Tom was a genius. If he found 
 a girl loved ' society, ' he, too, was in love 
 with 'society.' If she liked books, (i.e., 
 novels, ) Tom had read all the books she had 
 and could tell her of a hundred more she 
 would enjoy. If she preferred classical 
 music, he worshipped Wagner, and spoke of 
 the Flying Dutchman, and the Bridal March 
 in Lohengrin. If, on the other hand, she 
 admired opera bouffe, he would go into 
 genuine ecstacies over that marvellous 
 French invention, in which French women 
 sing, talk, and ku^h all at once, with such 
 marvellous inspiration, and the fascinating 
 melodies of the (irand Duchess and Madame 
 Angot's Child, only he could talk better 
 about it than most men. As to Ciernian and 
 Italian music, he loved it, as who does not ? 
 Of course he liad seen all the pictures in the 
 world, and knew Rafael and Andrea del 
 Sarto by heart. If she adored poetry, he 
 could rei 'at poetry by the square acre, nay, 
 he could .-ite it so, and had upon certain 
 occasions dv xe very creditable impromptus, as 
 may appear. If she was religious, he could 
 talk religion by the hour. 
 
 In all this he was anythinar but a humbug. 
 For he was a genuinely well-read man. He 
 did love * society,' he did love books, he 
 did love poetry. He had a masculine en- 
 joyment of the sentiment, at least in re- 
 
RT. jui>f;s assistant. 
 
 61 
 
 women 
 til such 
 ciiiating 
 Madame 
 better 
 nan and 
 )e8 not? 
 in the 
 ■rea del 
 try, he 
 re, nay, 
 certain 
 ptu8,a8 
 e could 
 
 kumbug. 
 |an. He 
 ooks, he 
 jiline en- 
 It in re- 
 
 li,'iou. He »lid love Otfeiibiich and opera 
 1 oitle— and could tiuliire oven classical 
 iiiusiic at an occaMional iiliilharmonic, withunt 
 'vinkin;,'. Of course lie was a j»uiiiu« in every 
 other a.'Ci'ibu to, namely -he forgot hi« door 
 keys, left liis pumps iiiid umbrella behind 
 him, once in a while, kept his bank account 
 a regularly, nc^lcctiHluppointments, was late 
 to (linnerH, went up-8tairs to smoke a 
 cigarette when it was his duty, instead, to 
 dance with the lady whose name was on his 
 card— but in a young unmarried man, es- 
 pecially in a gciiiiiB, these things are not 
 damning. He had a pew at St. Jude's, which 
 was his diploma of ic«iicctability, and Miss 
 Fanny Van Tier liad an e.xquisite little 
 prayer-book, carried, hidden somewhere in a 
 small mass of fra^'rant Russia and ivory, iij 
 wiiicli Tom's masculine hand had written 
 ':l:ese verses : 
 
 " Wiipri tliou kneelest. betinteons lady, 
 hi yon 'liiiiiol. (llin and st it"I.v, 
 An.l the vesper service faintly 
 
 ('ii'iiited is, and tar: 
 I/jt these links of sainted tcachinR 
 lie a chain of silver, reaching 
 llim who stands \v.tli<iut,hi\si'ecliiag 
 Voun quipricz, l)riv:. I)uur inoi I \ 
 
 When the sunset, red and groldon, 
 Thron^'h tlie pairitcd window olden, 
 Falls upon thy fair hands, folden 
 
 t)n the paKe of prayer, 
 Ijet Konie tliouKht of liini - the giver — 
 Faint and fitful, howsoever, 
 ' In tliy gentle nicniory quiver, 
 
 Vovs qui pries, pries pour titoi I , 
 
 Mid the cloister arches lowly, 
 Suffer him to wander slowly. 
 Marring not thy visions holy, 
 
 in the censored air — 
 Though beneath the cold stones laying. 
 His dead heart would beat, o>'eyin"g 
 K'nh jiotition of thjr praylif-f - 
 Voui qui pricz, priezpour tiioi ! 
 
 There were no cloisters at St. Jude's, open 
 to outsiders, nor had Miss Fanny'any liolier 
 visions than balls and dinners and spring 
 suits in the air (which was not ' censored ') 
 but Miss Fanny thought the lines were 
 * lovely, ' for all that. 
 
 Tom sometimes seriously wondered 
 whether he would ever get further than 
 groomsman or usher at a wedding. But he 
 couldn't imagine it, and, moreover, just 
 now — and — so far as he could see — forever, 
 he couldn't .afford it 
 
 nhe descends. U she conies down shiwly, 
 I V may well be dubious, If she i)anrie« at 
 the door before entering, he is lost. 
 
 * I'm so glad you've come. There's no- 
 body to lunch but tnanmui. ' 
 
 Durin.u' lunch not a word was spoken ex- 
 cept for Mrs. Ogdcn's ear. Nor was Tom's 
 heart cheered to thid that Mara did not h.id 
 the way t'lthelittlccosy window of tlie mem- 
 orable night before. They sat, however, in 
 the library not far from it, and Mara began 
 to ' fill in ' a pattern for a hassock, destined, 
 when completed, to excite suqirise at her 
 marvellous skill in upholstery. Tom, man 
 of the world as l»c was, had nothing to say. 
 
 ' Iin guing to tell you a long story,' said 
 Mara. 
 
 Tom would have liketl to say something 
 sweet, beginning, ' Why tell it to ine,unh'88, " 
 etc. — but his heart was in itis mouth, and he 
 only said 'yes,' instead. 
 
 ' Perhaps you think it's funny that I 
 should want to tell it to you.' 
 
 Here was a> opportunity. But although 
 Turn had held this girl in his arms the night 
 before, he could only say ' yes ' again. 
 
 ' I don't want you to think better of me 
 than I am.' 
 
 ' Impossible I ' said Tom. 
 
 ' Please don't l)e complimentary. I hate 
 compliments, any way, ' said Mara ; ' be- 
 sides, I thought yon were going to be my 
 brother. ' 
 
 Nothing was further from Toms intention 
 at that moment. He was convinced that if 
 ever the Platonic relation did exist, with the 
 bewitching little brunette before him, it wjia 
 impossible. 
 
 ' Well then, I won't ; ' said Tom, finding 
 his tongn , ' you shall see how literal I will 
 be. Plea.--^ go on. ' 
 
 ' You know that Mr. .and Mrs. Ogdeii arc 
 not my papa and nuimma ? ' 
 
 ' Yes, I believe I have heard so.' 
 ' They are nothing more to me than the 
 kindest .and dearest friends. Yea, and the 
 only friends I have in the world, ' said Mara 
 (the last half of the sentence sadlj'). 
 
 ' I thought I was your friend ? ' said Tom. 
 
 ' No father nor mother could be kinder 
 
 than they are. They ilon't even correct me 
 
 j whem I am bad, and I am often very bad 
 
 . _ I indeed.' 
 
 Tom dressed himself very laboriously and^ Tom did not quite like the direction the 
 
 carefully for M-ara's luncheon. She wel- 
 comed his c.inl with delight, an<l tripped 
 down-stairs in a way that set him on his 
 le^s. A man who waits in the parlour with 
 the hall door partly ajar, can tell exactly 
 what his reception will be, from the jiatter of 
 the young laily's feet upon the stairway, as 
 
 interview Avas taking, but, although con- 
 scious that it was his own fault, he did not 
 quite see how to divert it. 
 
 ' I don't even know who my father and 
 mother were. ' 
 
 At this rate, Tom must say something. 
 Tliere were pauses enough in Mara's uarra- 
 
 m 
 
 'r| 
 
 if:';i 
 
 m\ 
 
f!2 
 
 S^ . JUDE'S ASSISTANT. 
 
 i 
 
 tivc for him to improve, certainlj ; but he 
 sat there like a stick instead. 
 
 " I only know that I was not cared for at. 
 nil, and was allowed to run in rags. We 
 lived in a great waggon, with a big clotli 
 top.' 
 
 Tom did begin to get interested. 
 
 'I don't know how, I'm sure. I suppose 
 by stealing.' 
 
 But Tom only sat quietly and said noth- 
 ing. 
 
 ' I know you begin to je all regard for 
 me, Mr. Frear.' 
 
 ' Miss Mara, how can j'ou dream of snch a 
 thing, when you know so well how I ? — ' 
 
 ' Well, we lived that way — in summers 
 going from place to place — in winters we 
 lived in a sort of shanty made out of a piece ■ 
 of a freight car, near some railroad. I never 
 knew what it was, for all my life, until I was 
 sixteen years old, to have a bed to sleep on, 
 or a ilecent dress, or a kind word. Nobody 
 cared for me.' . i -.. - 
 
 ' Mara !' 
 
 ' I suppose I was stolen from somewhere. 
 I could not have belonged to the people who 
 carried me around. Still, bad as it was, I< 
 could not help seeing that I was better cared 
 for than they cared for themselves. Tiiero 
 were two men and a woman, and one or two 
 dirty girls and boys, wlio all huddled to- 
 gether, nights. But I always had a pile of 
 stiaw to sleep on ; and, if they happened to 
 have anything particularly nice to eat, it 
 seemed to be given to me as a sort of matter 
 of course. I imagine now that they must 
 haVe been expecting a reward or something 
 of the sort for being good to me. I don't 
 suppose that I was ever called for, however. 
 Nobody ever came to see me. ' 
 
 ' One night I was lying awake on my straw 
 in the big waggon, when I heard the man 
 and the woman talking. Somehow I fancied 
 they were talking abcnit me, and so I listen- 
 ed. I heard the woman say, "'She's old 
 enough to get her bread at any rate ;" and 
 then I was sure it was me they were talking 
 of. I don't remember all they said, only I 
 drew enough to find out that I was to be set 
 to earn my own living, and that some 
 woman, at some place in a city, had offered 
 to take me. This was a hot antunm night, 
 and the waggon was standing in a sort ' of 
 grove. I did not sleep all night, for I was_ 
 sure some evil was in store for me. As soon 
 as it was daylight, I got up and climbed 
 fjuietly out of the waggon. I ran as far as I 
 could go, and liid myself. All that day I 
 stayed in a little glen bj' a little brook. The 
 glen was so dark and deserted that I felt 
 safe. At nightfall, however, I started out. 
 I had not a morsel of anything to eat that 
 
 whole day, except a few wild blackberrie.t 
 that I found left on so ne bushes, which had 
 evidently been long stripped of their fruit. 
 That night I wandered a longways, and, fin- 
 ally, found myself in a large garden near a 
 great house. Near the house was a trelli.s 
 covered with graj>e vines, and the grapes 
 were nearly ripe. I could not resist the 
 temptation, starving as I was. I eat until I 
 could eat no more, and for two or tluei; 
 nifdits afterwards I visited the trellis reg\il- 
 arly and eat all I could. This was actually 
 all I had to eat in those days. One night, 
 however, as I was eating the grapes, 1 
 felt a man's arms thrown around mv. 
 That man spoke the first kind word to 
 me, Mr. Frear, that I ever heard in m>- 
 life ; and I shall never forget it. If 1 
 could serve him by dying this moment, 1 
 would die for him. 
 
 ' I was taken into the house, and he brouglit 
 me food. He was a young man, perhaps ten 
 years older than I was. He was strong and 
 large — at least to my eyes — Init liis voicf, 
 when he spoke to me was so kiinl and gentli' 
 that I thought he must be an angel. 1 
 tiiouglA if I could only live to be near him 1 
 would work mj' fingers off. There is nothing 
 I would not have submitted to. While I was 
 eating, I overheard of their conversation 
 enough to find out that the house I was in 
 was not his home — that the gentleman was 
 his uncle, and that he — my angel — was goin^^ 
 away the next morning, and my heart sank. 
 I was treated with every kindness the t\vi> 
 men couki think of. I was put, for the fii ^t 
 time in my whole life, into a bedroom with a 
 real bed, but I could not sleep. If he — my 
 angel- -were to be there I could stay ; but 1 
 could not, I felt that I could not live even 
 there if lie were not by. So, in the early 
 niornii g I stole out of the house and went 
 back to my glen.' For a long time — it must 
 have been a great many weeks — I livetl in 
 the glen by the brook, wliile at niglit, I 
 A^•ould find my way to the house 'where thcv 
 had been so kind to me. At this time i 
 lived upon thieving. There were many othtr 
 houses with magnificent groumls near the oiu- 
 I had been taken to, and I took apple -, 
 peaches and pears from the trees ^^llen I 
 could get them, or corn from the garden.- 
 I had not the least idea what to do when it 
 came winter, nor had 1 even given it :i 
 t'lought. But I thought of the man I had 
 seen, and watched every night to see him 
 again. At last one night I did see him. I 
 went ivn to him and touched his arm. I can- 
 not tell you anything more. I was in a 
 dream ; but he brought me to the house of 
 his nnolo — the gentleman whom I had .sc> :i 
 with him before — Mr. Og<lcn's— and then to 
 
ST. JUDE'S ASSISTANT. 
 
 53 
 
 my dear, kind friend, Mrs. Ogden. It is to 
 liiin I owe the home that I have — to him 
 that I owe everything. I would die for him 
 I would die for him ! ' 
 
 Mara had dropped her work and was sit- 
 ting with her small hands clasped upon the 
 table, and her face raised upwards. She was 
 not lookingat Tom,but she repeated intense- 
 ly, as if oblivious of his presence, ' I would 
 die for him — I would die for him.' 
 
 ' Poor girl. ' was all Tom could say. 
 
 Tlie words brought her back again. 
 
 ' I have told you this, Mr. Frear, because 
 I admire you and hke you ; and because I 
 know Mr. and Mrs. Ogden and all like and 
 admire you. I want you to consider me your 
 sister, Sir. Frear — Tom — and— and — to be- 
 lieve that — you will do me a great favour if 
 you will promise me one thing. ' 
 
 ' Wliat is it, Mara ? ' 
 
 ' Promise me that you will 7iever speak to 
 me again as you did last night. I do not de- 
 serve it — as you see fi'oni my story — I am not 
 worthy of it ; but even if I did, and if 
 I were, I love one man so well that all days 
 and nights I think of nobody else. I could 
 not love you or any other man than he ; 
 and — ' She thought she saw a tear in 
 Tom's blue eye, and so she put her hand on 
 his—' I do like you Tom— I do no like you— 
 won't you promise me ?' 
 
 ' I will promise nothing of the sort,' cried 
 Tom, ' but I will promise to die for you, or 
 live for you — to be your slave, and to love 
 you as man never loved woman before, 
 forever ;' and he fell on his knees at her 
 feet. 
 
 ' To love you as man never loved woman 
 before !' Poor foolish boy ! Wlio of us 
 has not thought that he could love as man 
 never loved woman before. But, ah, who 
 can do it ? As well think that we alone, 
 of all men, have lived. For is not ' to love' 
 the perfect of ' to live ' ? And is not 
 ' life the sum of love, and death the loss of 
 it all?' 
 
 CHAPTER Vn. 
 
 MR. BLA0. 
 
 The i)awnbroking establishment of Messrs. 
 Jimmerson & Co. was situated upon the 
 Bowory, and consisted of two large stono 
 buildings, each five stories in height. •It is 
 safe to say that nobody's ' uncle ' had ever 
 before attempted pawnbroking upon so vast 
 a scale. And, in reality, the Messrs. Jim- 
 merson &Co.'s business was nothing less 
 than immense. The first story or ground 
 fltKtr of the largest of these buildings was 
 fitted up as a shop for the sale of Jimmer- 
 
 son & Co'a unredeemed pledges ; and it 
 would have required much cotcitation juid 
 experience to inquire therein for an artiile 
 not producible from the motley assortment 
 it contained. The very air was dark with 
 the chattels, large and small, wliich hung 
 from its ceilinfi ; while the shelves lining the 
 lon^ room, the windows and the floor — 
 saving and excepting the little strip allowed 
 for purchasers — were piled with alnmst 
 every conceivable vanety of what !Mr. 
 Wemmick would have called ' por- 
 table property. ' The upper stories of the 
 two buililings were cranuned — as also were 
 their cellars and sub-cellars, with sucli pled- 
 ges as, having ascended the ' spout,' awaited 
 the expiration of their legal limbo before en- 
 tering the shop below. But upon the groun 1 
 floor of tlie lu rrower building the Messrs. 
 Jimmerson 's stony-hearted business was chief- 
 ly transacted. This ground floor formed a 
 long, narrow room, divided lengthways by a 
 counter, In-eiist high. The customer reached 
 througii a swinging door in a low doorwaj', 
 tlie half ill front of this couiitor, which was 
 divided, by rude board partitions at inter-' 
 vals, into stalls, where customers who wished 
 to hide their faces or their pledges could deal 
 with the man across the counter in privticy. 
 A fraction of the counter nearest the door, 
 however, was open for those fortunate pawii- 
 ors who feared- neither scrutiny nor inter- 
 ruption. Behind the counter was a long 
 low desk, upon wliicli the stock in trade — 
 (. p., the cash which .Jiinnu'ison & Co. were 
 anxious to dispose of for about six times its 
 value in merchandise — in tempting liciaps of 
 gold, silver, greeiiliack, nickel and copper, 
 was displayed to hungry eyes. The wall 
 above it was hung with innumerable placards 
 and posters, headed ' Stolen, ' ' Lost, ' 
 'Reward,' etc., for the guidance of the 
 operators. Above these was a shelf where 
 some dozen varieties of clocks, watched, 
 with white, timeless faces, the remorseless 
 trade of misery and crime. 
 
 The metliods of an ordinary pawn-shop 
 have been often enough described. But Jim- 
 merson & Go's was no ordinary pawn-shop. 
 At least five men, constantly behind the 
 counter, transacted its business in this wise : 
 Supposing a trinket of gold were ofl'ered in 
 pawn. Tlie principal (suspected of being old 
 .riniinerson himself), a harsh, vulgar-looking 
 man, in a cardigan jacket, examined it, and 
 tosseil it to a subordinate, who weighed it. 
 Upon its beinf( tossed back, the principal 
 would demand of the customer, ' How 
 much ?' And upon being told, would men- 
 tion a sum — usually about one-fourth that 
 demanded liy the customer. If this sum 
 were accepted, a third subordinate took 
 
 ^! 1 1 
 
 
 ■ fn 
 
 14 
 
54 
 
 ST. JUDE'S ASSISTANT. 
 
 charge of the pledge, wliile a fourth prepared 
 certain duplicate tickets. These, ujioii com- 
 pletiou, were liauded to a fifth, acting as 
 cashier ; who, tearing them apart, handed 
 one with tiie money to the unfortunatf , and 
 ;;ave the other to the man holding the pledge. 
 The person who had pledged George Brand's 
 watcli- must have passed under at least flie 
 iiispcution of five pairs of eyes ; and rumour, 
 besides, jiasertcd that a sixth pair, from some 
 hidden corner of vantage, scrutinized every 
 ncjihew of my uncle Jimmerson — and all 
 who called were nephews— and that, to this 
 pair of eyes, Mas attached a memory that 
 was as infallible as History. Whatever 
 tnith thei'e might iiave been in this 
 lintter rumoui", and wliethcr or not he was 
 tlw silent partner of this sixth pair of eyes, 
 yiv. Strasburger, once certain that (ieorge 
 B)-.i,nd's watch had been entered through the 
 door, and been passed across the counter, 
 knew that the remainder of his work was 
 uidy a <iuestion of time. 
 
 In all ordinary pawnbroker's cstablisli- 
 mcuts, customer and proprietor deal with 
 e .ch otlior at arm's length. The proprietor 
 on iiis part, well knows tliat he may be part- 
 ing with liis money for articles which are not 
 tiie customer's property, to begin Mitli ; that, 
 sooner or later, most stolen property gravitate 
 to his shop : and, therefore he trains his eye 
 to catch, and his memory to retain, the face 
 of the man he deals with; while tlie custu|n- 
 I'V. for ids part, knows tliat his face might as 
 \.ell ap]5ear in the Rogue's (iallery on Mul- 
 ii 'rry Sti'eet. as in the retentive memory of 
 ' ins uncle.' In dealing with Tinnnerson & 
 C )., however, the chances in favour of the 
 Kctective were nuiltiplied by at least five. 
 A tliough, George Brand's watch, now in his 
 possession, therefore, had lain two years or 
 more in pawn, Mr. Strasburger did liot 
 despair of speedily identifying the person 
 who had pawned it. 
 
 At half past nine o'clock one evening, Mr. 
 Jinunerson, Sr., was sitting over a glass of 
 • Ijrandy and water, in his own parlour. He 
 was amanof sixty,and was reputed to be worth 
 five millons of dollars, made out of his va>t 
 business — (lie probably was worth about a 
 tiiird of tliat sum)— when a note was handed 
 him. He knew the writing well enough. It 
 was very short, and ran thus. " Jinmierson, 
 I want to see you in a hurry, come with 
 bearer. S.' — He knew that S. stood for 
 Strasburger, in this instance. It might have 
 been that, at some period of his life, that he 
 had been intimate outside of his legitimate 
 bnsiness with Mr. Stras))urger ; at any rate, 
 Mr. Jinunersoufelt under obligations to drop 
 liis brandy and water, and to i)ut on his hat. 
 
 Ou reaching' the Headquarters at Mulberry 
 
 Street, he was ushered directly into Mr. 
 Strasburger's private room, and Mr. Stras- 
 burger motioned him to a seat. 
 
 'Jinunerson,' said Strasburger, ' we took 
 this out of your shop to-day,' and he laid 
 Brand's watch upon the taV)le ; ' that watch 
 belonged to the young parson who was mur- 
 dered ou the ninth ilay of November, two 
 years ago, and was left with you that same 
 day. ' 
 
 ' Two years is a long time, ' said Jimmer- 
 son, ' a long time to i-emember a face. ' 
 
 ' Yes, it's a long time. ' 
 
 ' I'll tell you what we'll do. . Give me that 
 watch, and give me three days. By tiiat 
 time I'll examine every boy in the shop, and 
 ten to one, will tell yoii something to help 
 you.' 
 
 ' Take it, ' said Mr. Strasburger and George 
 Brand's watch passed a second time into the 
 possession of Mr. Jimmei-son. 
 
 The rest of the conversation was conduct- 
 ed in so low a tone, that this chro'nicler is 
 unable to report it ; but possibly the above 
 fragments will satisfy the reader. 
 
 Thepublicity which an ai v rtisementinsert- 
 ed even in the remotest corner of the Ilcru/d, 
 receives, is something immense. For not 
 only do many thousands of i'ndividuals, in 
 the city and without it, scrutinize its col- 
 umns daily, but thousajids Ijesides, all over 
 the land, actually transact tlieir l)usines3 
 through them, actually requiring no other 
 capital for their trade than the Henihl, 
 taken crisp and fresh with their coti'ee. 
 Three days after the last advertisement — 
 the die our readers will remember, asking 
 for information as to the pawn ticket — Mr. 
 Straslnirger had another caller. 
 
 This caller was an unmistaliable child of 
 Israel — a tribe that learned, very earlj- in 
 its history, to grow ricli out of the miseries 
 of others. Moses himself, (not the Moses 
 of Chatham street, Init the great original 
 Moses, ) was not unaware of the tendencies 
 of Ids race, and in the ninteenth verse of 
 the twenty-third chapter of I>euteronomy, 
 endeavoured to regulate tiieir ruling pas- 
 sion, by forbidding them to fleece each 
 other. And indeed they seem to have suc- 
 ceeded in satisfying themselves upon tlie 
 Gentiles, until the time of their return from 
 captivity, wiien the sufferings of their own 
 race were too abject not to lie taken advan- 
 tage 9i, and tiiey began, as Nehemiah in the 
 opening verses of his fifth chapter tells us, 
 to take mortgages of each other, not only 
 upon lands, but upon wives and daughters 
 as well. The present child of Israel was a 
 dog, who relished dog equally with other 
 Hesh. His name was Blau ; he was fat ami 
 dirty as any of his tribe are capable of be- 
 
ST. JUDE'S ASSISTANT. 
 
 coming. His dirty hands were tipped with 
 a rim of jet black under his long nasty nails, 
 and covered with diamond rings. His face 
 was a perfect hawk's face, and his stubby 
 hair and unkempt beard added to its repul- 
 siveness. Mr. Blau was a money lender, of 
 course. He was a pawnbroker, without a 
 license, whenever expedient. He was, in 
 short, anything except — what he invariably 
 described hini.self to be — an honest man. 
 His ostensible business was that of a broker 
 in Messrs. Jinimerson & Co. 's pawn tickets. 
 At least every caller upon the establisliment 
 was mutely proffered, upon going ont or 
 coming in, a card setting forth Mr. Blau's 
 willingness to serve in that capacity. He 
 was a small flea, upon the 1)ack of a large 
 flea, and his aim (although we mix the meta- 
 phor) was to suck anotlicr ilrop from the 
 orange which Jimmerson & Co. had alrea<ly 
 squeezed dry. So long as Messrs. Jimmer- 
 son & Co. adhered to tlieir practice of selling 
 money for five times its value in merchan- 
 dise, Mr. Blau — who was pretty sure — sure 
 enough to take any chances — that they 
 would, could safely advance a few pennies 
 for the ticket calling for that merchandise, 
 and find his profit in it. His place of Imsi- 
 ness was in as unholy and squalid and stink- 
 ing a garret as Baxter street possessed ; and 
 he curried his valuable pledges upon his own 
 vile and nasty person. 
 
 Mr. Blau brought a bouquet of villainous 
 stench into Mr. Strasburger's presence : but 
 that gentleman allowed no personal con- 
 siderations to interfere with his calKng. 
 He, Blau, liad been sent — he said through 
 hih nose — by Jimmerson & Co., and his 
 narrative, as translated for tlio assistance of 
 the reader was in this wise. He had seen the 
 £fe/"aW.s advertisement, an recognized the de- 
 scription of the pawn ticket. Althouj^'h an 
 honest man, standing within pale of tlie law, 
 he had been too shrewd to comniuiiieatc his 
 valuable identity to the initials uumI, and 
 had called on Jimmerson instead. Jimmer- 
 son had sent him here. He proceeded to 
 state then that he was a public l)enefactor, 
 in that he enabled unfortunate persons, who 
 called on Jimmerson & Co., to (jljtain frcin 
 five to ten per cent, more for their personal 
 property than they otherwise could. He 
 transacted his business personallj'. Except 
 the boy nientioued, he had no agents or 
 assistants. Of course he shared with 
 Jimmerson & Co. the risk of receiving stolen 
 goods. In the course of his l)usine8S, a 
 person, some time ago- had called upon him 
 and offered the ticket in (luestion. He 
 had stated, however, that he did not wish to 
 ■ell it ; that he had the money necessary to 
 redeem the watch it called for, and plenty 
 
 besides. What he wanted was only tliat 
 Mr. Blau should go through the form of re- 
 deeming the watcn from Jimmerson & Co. 
 in his stead. The stranger was quite willing 
 to pay Mr. Blau for his services, whatever 
 he might ask — iu any event, as nuich as he 
 could possil)ly make by buying the ticket 
 outright. Upon being asked why he did 
 not redeem the watch himself, tlie stranger 
 had said that he was sensitive — that he was 
 afraid of being seen going into a pawn shop, 
 and so forth ; although he ailmittetl to hav- 
 ing himself, in an assumed name, pawned 
 the M'atch in person. Mr. Blau, however, 
 as lie stated, had declined so unusual a pro- 
 position. He understood his own business, 
 had calculated the cliances, and was willing 
 to undertake the vLl^ I. ...v-.i therein. But 
 he thought lie snuffcl mischief, and had, at 
 first, utterly decli'.ied the business ; con- 
 fident, from the man's manner, that there 
 was some trap or trouble involved for the 
 presenter of the ticket. Qe had not calcu- 
 lated the chances of nny other sort of 
 business than his own, and was not prepared 
 to enter any other. Subsequently, however, 
 he had offered to redeem the watch if the 
 stranger would leave his real name and ad- 
 dress, giving Mr. Blau a day to verify it. 
 But this the stranger had declined to do ; 
 and had finally gone away, taking the ticket 
 with him. Upon b. ing asked for a descrip- 
 tion of the man, Mr. Blau had been very 
 positive that he was a short man, say about 
 five feet two or three inches in height, riiddj' 
 face, brown hair and eyes, short brown side 
 whiskers. He had worn a high black hat, 
 and black broadcloth clothes, and had im- 
 pressed him (Blau) as being a little bit 
 'seedy.' His manner, especially, was 
 noticeable as excessively nervous and 
 timid. Mr. Blau seemed disappointed 
 upon finding that he was to receive no ade- 
 quate reward for his information, as he 
 maintained ; but was finally disposed to take 
 fifty dollars down, and he, in case any 
 further sum should be forthcoming, left his 
 address. 
 
 Scarcely a day elapsed before Mr. Stras- 
 burger received the watch l)y the hand of a 
 messenger, to^etlier witli a note or memo- 
 randum, as follows : 
 
 ' The person who pawned a goW open- 
 faced watch with us, November 9tn, 18 , 
 
 was, we think, a young man, about five 
 feet three inches high, red face, with short 
 brown side whiskers, brown hair and eyes, 
 clothes very much worn — seemed nervous 
 and frightened while doing the business — left 
 money upon the counter upon going away, 
 but returned for it. J. & Co. ' 
 
56 
 
 ST. JUDE'S ASSISTAFT. 
 
 Upon reading this memorandum, Mr. Stras- 
 burger allowed himself a second little smile. 
 At this rate the murderer of George Brand 
 would be in the Tombs in twenty-four 
 bours. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 *I PA%VSED THE WATCH.' 
 
 • At this rate the murderer will be in the ; 
 Tomba in twenty-four hours, ' Mr. Stras- 
 burger had said, and he rarely was mistaken 
 in his prophecies. In this case, however, he 
 was at fault. When the twenty-four hours 
 he hail given himself had elapsed, the man 
 who had pawned the watch had been in the 
 Tombs fully sixteen hours. But, as the 
 reader has known all along, he was not the 
 murderer. The note from Jinnnerson & Co. 
 had reached Mrs. Strasburger at ten o'clock 
 of a Monday morning. At eleven, a District 
 Telegraph Loy had brought him a line to this 
 etfect : 
 
 'Come at once, as quick as you can. Bring 
 or send for Frear. Ogden. ' 
 
 Mr. Strasburger touched a bell upon Iiis 
 'table. 'Send Doyle here,' he said to the 
 man who answered it. 
 
 Mr. Doyle was a tall, black-haired Irishman. 
 We generally beware. of black-haired Irish- 
 men, and certainly Doyle was a man to 
 beware of. In the almost innumerable 
 paintings of scenes from Goethe's poem, 
 one observes that artists have contrived to 
 give Mephistopheles his expression of serio- ' 
 comic-devilishness, by a certain drawing | 
 down of the iimer corners of the eyes. | 
 Now the inner corners of Doyle's eyes point- i 
 ed down. His face and grin would have 
 been invaluable in one of those middle age 
 masques, of miracle plays, wherein the 
 Devil was always the clown. It would not 
 have requii'ed much attention to believe 
 that such a malignantly wicked grin — such a 
 thin cut, sharp-pointed nose, such oblique 
 and desperate looking black eyes, such cold, 
 compressed and sinister lips, such a long 
 black moustache, with skyward pointing 
 ends, and such straight coal black hair, 
 «ould only frontispiece a man to whom mur- 
 der, arson, rape, burglary and theft were 
 daily and familiar taskp. And yet, many a 
 time this face had stood next (Outside the 
 felon's dock, as an embodiment of law and 
 
 I'ustice ; while^ within it, a mild angelic 
 ooking man, whose countenance beamed 
 with love and good-will, rested there, on his 
 journey to dungeon or gibbet. 
 
 When the devil appeared to M. Cuvier, 
 
 and said, ' Monsieur, I have come to eat 
 you, ' Cuvier replied, ' Pardon me, Monsieur, 
 but you have horns and hoofs, and therefore 
 you are not carniverous. " But we have 
 allowed m<3n's features to mean one thing, 
 and birds' features and beasts' features, to 
 mean another. A fish in the sea, whose tail 
 is divided into unequal flukes, like a shark's, 
 is always a ravenous fish. A flying thing, 
 whose wings are scolloped outwardly, like a 
 bat's, is always a loathsome and noxious 
 thing. The brute creation never lies ; but 
 who has not seen ugly and sinster-lookius 
 men, the very embodiment of the justice and 
 mercy of the States ? 
 
 Upon one of his own cards Mr. Strasburg- 
 er scribbled a line, and handed it to Doyle. 
 
 ' An artist named Frear, Number 36 
 Studio Buildings. Take him to Mr. Ogden'i 
 office, No. 12 Jauncey Court. Witness. ' 
 
 The accustomed understrapper was to 
 draw from these instructions that Frear waa 
 to be carried, whether he would or no ; but 
 to be led to consider himself as going quite 
 of his own accord. Doyle had executed 
 many such missions in his time. To tell 
 the truth, Mr. Strasburger was not quite 
 sure that Mr. Tom Frear might not be of 
 service at some stage in the St. Jude's In- 
 vestigation. 
 
 When Mr. Strasburger arrived at Mr. 
 Ogden's chambers in Jauncey Court, lie was 
 ushered into the lawyer's private apartment. 
 He was not alone, however. In a corner, by 
 a dim window opening upon the Court 
 itself, sat the man who had pawned George 
 Brand's watch. Mr. Strasburger knew him 
 in a moment. 
 
 ' Good morning, Mr. Strasburger. Where 
 is Frear ?' said Mr. Ogdcn. 
 
 ' Sent for, ' replied the detective, who 
 rarely ever wasted words upon under- 
 stood and trite civilities lietween man and 
 man. 
 
 ' Will you wait until he comes, or will you 
 hear thi§ man's story now ? It is very 
 strange ;' said Mr. Ogden. 
 
 ' I will have it before the witness gets 
 here. So make haste, ' said Mr. Strasburger 
 to the man, ' What is your name ?' 
 
 ' £,ucius Core, sir. ' 
 
 Indeed he was a nervous man, 'Fidgety,' 
 would have expressed it better. His fingeri 
 twitched, his eyes winked, his feet drummed 
 alternately on the floor. 
 
 ' Did you pawn this watch on the 
 ninth day of November, 18 — ?' demanded 
 the detective, producing George Brand's 
 watch. 
 
 ' Yes, sir, and — ' <' * 
 
ST. JUDE'S ASSISTANT, 
 
 fi7 
 
 ' Well, go on with your story. ' 
 
 ' I am a very poor man, sir. I am in the 
 Insurance business ; that is, I go around 
 .umoiig men I know, or whose names I get 
 out of the Directory, and into offices, and 
 iiak if you want your life insured ? If you 
 «ay no, I go out. If you say yes, I go and 
 get you a policy — and the Coinpany pays me 
 H percentage out of the premium. It is a 
 very poor business, sir, very poor, indeed — 
 \ have come as near starving to death as a 
 man can come and live. ' And he wiped his 
 forehead with a large and not over clean 
 liandkerchief. 
 
 ' Go on, ' said Mr. Strasburger who 
 Avas looking out of the window into Wall 
 street. 
 
 ' Yes, sir. I say I'm in the insurance busi- 
 ness, but I do anything in the way of busi- 
 ness to make a living. Sometimes I get a 
 -commission to buy things, or I sell thinas by 
 sample. Oh, sir, I have had a hard life these 
 ten years, ' 
 
 ' Cio on, ' said Mr. Strasburger, again. 
 
 ' Yes, sir. As I was sayuig, sometimes 
 Tiusiness would be so bad that I couldn't get 
 imythina to put into my mouth. Nobody 
 wanted msurance. When people saw me 
 coming on tlie street, they would begin 
 shaking their heads a block, or, may be, 
 "two blocks off. Well, sir, in such times as these, 
 there was only one thing to do. If I wanted 
 to live, I used to beg. Not on the public 
 streets — oh, no, sir, I don't mean that. I 
 had one friend, George Brand, the man 
 who was shot, sir — who was murdered, I 
 . mean — ' 
 
 Mr. Strasburger looked round abruptly. 
 * Who said he was murdered *" he said, 
 in a harsli voice, that add no com- 
 posure to the countenance of Mr. Lucius 
 Core. 
 
 *I think he was murdered, sir.' Then, 
 after a pause, he proceeded. ' Very often 
 I used to go to George and say, 
 ■" George, I haven't eaten anything for 
 twenty-four hours. " He knew how poor I 
 was. God bless him, sir ! and he would 
 always give me something. Often he would 
 go himself to a restaurant with me, and give 
 me a great dinner. He was so good to me, 
 sir, that I would almost rather have starved 
 than trouble him so much ; and I never went 
 to him unless I could actually get nothing in 
 any other way. Well, sir, it happened that 
 in November I had done pretty well. 
 Among other tilings, a young man in tlie 
 
 Club, on Fifth avenue, named Ogden, 
 
 the same name as yours, sir, (turning to Mr. 
 Ogden) liad given mo several commissions to 
 attend to ; and one df»v, when I brought him 
 something he wanted — for I do most any- 
 
 thing, sir, sell stationei*y, neck-ties, suspen- 
 ders, soap, most anything on commission, sir 
 — I think this that I brought young Ogden 
 at his Club was a box of stationery — ne said 
 to a friend of his, another young man, '* Polly, 
 this fellow is a very useful sort of person. 
 He'll buy you almost anything on a commis- 
 sion. " This man he called Polly — whose 
 name was Pollard Curtis, took a very curious 
 scarf pin out of his pocket and showed it to 
 me. "I'll give you a hundred and twenty- 
 five dollars if you'll duplicate that for me." 
 ' I think the head of it was about an incli 
 square, and flat ; and it had the design of 
 two craTies standing among reeds — the back- 
 ground was of one sort of gold, and the de- 
 sign of another, and some of tlie design was 
 worked out in small diamonds. At any rate, 
 sir, I happened once to see, in a jeweller's 
 store — a small store, sir, where one wouMn't 
 look for such costly things, in Brooklyn — 
 I used to live in Brooklyn, that is, I slept 
 there for a time ; I live most anywhere, sir — 
 and as I tiiought he meant what he said, I 
 told him I would do the commission for him. 
 Well, as to the pin, I had been in the habit 
 of looking at tlie jewellery displayed in the 
 window in Brooklyn, sir, and 1 w as certain 
 I had seen the same thing. The young man 
 assured me that he would take it for a liun- 
 dred ami twentj^-five dollars, and I believed 
 him. I examined the pin carefully, but, a.s 
 I could see, Mr. Curtis didn't \\ ant to let me 
 take it aAvay with me — people don't confide 
 in persons who wear seedy coats, sir — and as 
 I am very sensitive al)Out being refused, I 
 didn't like to ask him. But I looked at it 
 carefully, and then went over to tlie store in 
 Brooklyn. They offered me that pin for a 
 hundred dollars. Twenty-five dollars was 
 an object to me, I can assure you, sir. I 
 hadn't had so much inoney at one time for 
 years, sir. Well, I told the jeweller that I 
 wanted the pin to sell again, and that I 
 would give him a hundred dollars, but 1 
 wanted tliree days to raise the nionej'. H .; 
 laughed. " I won't give you three iiours. 
 I may sell it in fifteen minutes to somebody 
 wlio is on tlie way here now." But I thouglit 
 of the profit I was to make, and I persevered. 
 "Well," said I, "I want the pin and 1 
 haven't got the money — I can't ^'et 
 it to-day (it was four o'clock) — but 
 I'll come round at nine o'clock to-mor- 
 row, and if you have it, will you give me 
 half an hour to raise the money." " To- 
 morrow's election day, "says he, "and we 
 shut up at 9." " Well, then,' said I, " can 
 I have it at five o'clock to-night ?" It was 
 then just about striking three, as I saw by 
 the regulator before me. I don't think the 
 shopkeeper thought I meant business, but 
 
 f(!il 
 
 
 ' fl 
 
53 
 
 ST. JUDE'S ASSISTANT. 
 
 he said, careless-like, " Yes, you can have 
 it for one hundred dollars at tive o'clock ;" 
 and turned off' to do something else. 
 
 * I had nobody to go to but George. It 
 was a push to go up to Tentli street and 
 back in two hours, but I thought I'd try 
 it. I found George, luckily, at the studio 
 in Ninth street — I told him what I have 
 told you, and that I had a chance of mak- 
 ing twenty -five dollars, enough to live on 
 for a month. " My boy," says George — I 
 remember his very words, as indee<l I ought 
 to, since they were tlie last I heard him 
 speak, " I haven't got that much money, 
 but I'll give you all I've got." He had 
 only six dollars, and that took every cent, 
 even to pennies, he could find in his pocket. 
 " But." says I, " tliat's no use to me, unless 
 I have more. " Then he thought a minute, 
 and took his watch out of his pocket. He 
 took it from his chain, and liaiuled it to me. 
 
 " There," said he, " you might be able to 
 raise the rest on that. You can take it 
 up with what you get on the pin. " I was 
 in too much of a hurry to thank him, for I 
 wanted to get down to tlie ])awn shop 
 before it closed, and then get lvjv to Brook- 
 lyn. 
 
 ' ^^ ell, sir, I pawned the watch. But I 
 didn't get to the jeweller's in time. When 
 I did get there, a boy was putting up the 
 shutters ; but he said the proprietor would 
 keep open on election day from two to four. 
 So I determinec^ to buy the pin > et. On 
 the afternoon of the election day, I bought 
 the pin and paid a hundred dollars for it, 
 and started for the Club. When I got 
 there, I waited two hours for Mr. Curtis, 
 but he didn,t come. I couliln't find him 
 that day ; and the next morning I heard of 
 the murder. I ought to have come right 
 up and told all this before, sir, I know, 
 but I was afraid. There was such an ex- 
 citement at the time that I was afraiil I 
 would be arrested for the murder, and so I 
 kept putting it off, and off, until — well, to 
 be frank, sir — until I had to pawn the pin 
 itself, as 1 had the watch. I didn't mean 
 to be dishonest, sir ; but, you know, when 
 a man is starving, if he has money in liis 
 pocket he can't resist buying something to 
 eat with it, sir. Well, I kept on and on, 
 hoping to be able to take the watch up and 
 return it to the authorities, but I never did; 
 and the longer I put it off, the more 
 frightened I grew ; and the thought of tell- 
 ing this would throw me into a cold per- 
 spiration. One day I did have money 
 enough to take up the watch, but I was 
 afraid to go for it myself, and tried to get a 
 Jew to do it for me, but he wouldn't, and 
 that chance went like the rest. But I saw 
 
 the advertisement in the Herald, and 
 I kne\v people were on my track. And now 
 I've told it, and I feel better. ' 
 
 The weak, miserable, vascillating man, 
 leaned back in his cliair and wiped liis face 
 again. Nobody seemed to notice him. Mr. 
 Ogden and the detective werein consultation. 
 When at last Tom amved, and entered, fol- 
 lowed l)y Doyle, Mr. Ogden gi-eeted the 
 young artist warmly. iJoyle himself sunk 
 into a chair between the door and the poor 
 creature by the window. 
 
 ' My dear Frear, we regret our o1)ligations 
 to troul)le you. But Mr. Strasbiu'ger has 
 Tor.e or two questions to put to you, ' said 
 Mr. Ogden, in his pompous, good-natured 
 way. 
 
 ' I ]jeg pardon of Mr. Strasburger, ' said 
 Mr. Tqui Frear, — whose sufferings under the 
 silent surveillance of the horrible Doyle liad 
 nerved him, to his own surprise, 'and, if 
 necessary, I will also beg pardon of the fel- 
 low that brought me here ; but, as I haven't 
 killed any body, or set tire to anybody's 
 house, I don't propose 
 this sort of style any 
 time anybody is to be 
 
 der 'em myself and hang for it, if cdhvenient 
 to everybody ; but d — n me if I'll hang for 
 nothing, any more.' 
 
 ' Well then, Frear, I believe 
 that is required of you ; so I'll 
 you ever happened to see that 
 fore ?' And 5lr. Ogden pointed 
 ject form of Mr. Lucius Core. 
 
 Tom lookeil at him carefully, 
 man that followed me down stairs from the 
 fourth floor of the Studio Buildings the aftei:- 
 noon })efore Brand was murdered, ' said he, 
 confidently. 
 
 ' You know him ?' ,/ ;' " ■' 
 
 'Perfectly.' 
 
 Mr. Ogden bowed. ' I believe that's all, 
 Mr. Strasburger, ' said he. .,..,, 
 
 Mr. Strasburger bowed. ' "' 
 
 'Good-morning, sir,' said Tom, and in an 
 instant the door had slammed behind him. 
 
 ' Doyle, you stay here with this man, ' said 
 Strasburger. ' Mr. Ogden and I have busi- 
 ness ;' and accordingly they passed outside. 
 When the door was shut, Strasbni'ger said in 
 a tone of illy-concealed contempt. ' That 
 man couldn't murder a cat. He must be ar- 
 rested, though. If necessary, we can hold 
 him for the larceny of the watch. 
 
 ' Or of the money,' said Mr. Ogden. 
 
 Thp verdict of the lawyer and tiie detec- 
 tive evidently was unfavourable to Mr. Lu- 
 cius Core's worthiness to be hung for murder. 
 Had he been the murderer they were seeking 
 they would possibly have respected him ; as 
 he was innocent, they despised him. And 
 
 to be hounded in 
 longer. The next 
 murdered, I'll mur- 
 
 I know all 
 ask you if 
 person be- 
 to the ab- 
 
 'Thp.t's the 
 
ST. JUDES ASSISTANT. 
 
 8jy 
 
 ■■"€ 
 
 HO it is everywlieic. Better lie wicked than 
 weak, tint lie iiiiiat be arreuted, nevertiie- 
 Ijsa. Two years luvd passed. The Brand 
 murderwas invarialily alluded to wheuasyno- 
 nyui for the inellicienoy of the New York 
 l'(jiice was reiiuired. At least it must app ar 
 tliat they were not idle. Mr. iStriisbur;,'Lr 
 wore on hi-; watch chain, a tiny steel whi»tle. 
 He put this to his lips, and blew gently. 
 At tiiat in-itant the horiihie Doyle, catching 
 the sound witliin the private room, rose and 
 laid In's liand upon Lucius Core's seedy 
 shoulder, ' You are my prisoner, ' aaiil he. 
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 
 JO I! PIERCE. 
 
 Tlie same shambling nervousness and un- 
 ni:uUiness whicii had kept the wretched 
 Lucius Core from presenting himself and 
 aoc junting for <ieurge Brand's watch, at 
 the time of the murder, iiad led him to call 
 upon Mr. Ogden and malie a clean breast uf 
 it, as soon as he found that the watch was 
 being traced. Tlie world is full of just such 
 men, who iiave not moral courage enough 
 ei tiler to lie or tell the truth. They dare be 
 nothing else than spaniels. Let a man be 
 of tiiis sort and he may as well calculate on 
 a spaniel's fortune. N(jtliing will go well 
 with him. He who fears the worst will al- 
 ways experience the worat. The man who 
 lays ' wagi r it would cripple him to pay, or 
 who dreads losing it, as sure as fate, will 
 l(jse that wager. It is only brave men wlio 
 will, in tliis world. 
 
 It niiglit be supposed that, after the long 
 and patient circumstantiality of Mr. Strasbur- 
 gors's pursuit, the ultimate result of his clue 
 would iiave disconcerted him. Not in the 
 least. To be sure.he had believed that the 
 man wiio pawned the watch would ultimately 
 turn out to be the murderer of (leorge 
 Brand. To be sure, he had been wrong in 
 his speculations, but not wrong in his clue 
 — ^ wrong in his guess work, l)ut not in his 
 facts. More than ever was he convinced 
 that he was reaching the right track. He 
 never despaired. If. instead of the poor em- 
 asculated specimen of liumanitj' he had 
 caused to be locked up in the Tombs, his 
 clue had developed the object of his search, 
 lie would have been satisfied, as expecting no 
 more. As it was, he had been equally pre- 
 pared for loss. For it must not be supposed 
 that.in ids search for the watch,he had over- 
 looked otlier opportunities for his detective 
 skill. Upon the first narration of the cir- 
 cuuistancys he was to trace W their sources, 
 he had seized upon the fact that the murder- 
 ed man had a betrotlied. It was, there- 
 
 fore, a matter of course that he shoiii ' have 
 acquainted himself accurately with tii early 
 history of the betrothed girl. ^Vlien, in this 
 history.he had met the name of Paul Ogden, 
 he had been guilty of no laches in learning 
 the story of Paul Ogden 's life. In ascer- 
 taining the antecedents of the murdered 
 man, he had aimed to know of his acquain- 
 tance — of bis friends and his enemies. Mr. 
 Strasburger knew nothing of that attril>ute 
 of humanity called Love, except as he was 
 obliged to meet it in his daily experience — 
 its material phase of lust, or, let us say, 
 passion. But he was as well aware of its 
 omnipotency, as he was of the power of 
 compressed air or of steam. It was meiuly 
 a fact in natural philosophy to him. It was 
 nothing new to iiim, then, to associate Paul 
 Ogden's name with the name of the murder- 
 ed man ; and, in the classification of tlie 
 murdered man's acquaintance, he had set 
 down Paul Ogden as a man who rankeil 
 among his enemies, rather than among his 
 friends, as naturally as he would iiave car- 
 ried ten units to tiie tens' cohinm wiieii lie 
 added u]) his disburseiiieiits for a collection 
 from a client. Nor had lie, by any means, 
 overlooked the name of Paul Ogden, or of 
 Paul Ogden's Club, in Lucius Core's narra- 
 tive. 
 
 Lucius Core was in the prisoner's room of 
 the Toiiilw, one day. He was not in ra 
 enough to calculate the small chance an i;.- 
 nocent man stood of swinging, in a coiii- 
 niunity where not one guilty in live liundr.; ! 
 ever meets iiis deserts, he felt himself al- 
 ready doomed to tlie gallows, and v.ept an;! 
 moaned, as no guilty man ever did yet. Tlie 
 burglars and murderers with win mi lie wa* 
 compelled to meet, in that dismal iKjiiday uf 
 despair, despised him for a spiritless apology 
 for a prisoner and a brother, uiiwortliy of 
 tiie Tonil)s and of their, society ; and tlie 
 general impression in that precinct, which 
 had witnessed so much of the mere anim.il 
 in iiumanitj-, as had been Mr. Strasiiurgtr's, 
 was. tliat lie was far too little of a man to do 
 ail} tiling, good or i)ad. One day, as lie 'i:it 
 upon a bencli in tiie assembly or recejition 
 room of the prison, drumming list- 
 lessly with his fingers upon ids 
 knees, Mr. Strasburger himself stood bofi i-j- 
 him. 
 
 ' I want you. Come with me,' .said Mr. 
 Strasburger, very curtly, fur he could not 
 waste words, at least upon a man of sacli 
 calibre. 
 
 It was not the nature of the man Core to 
 demur to any direction. All iiis life-tinie, 
 anyliody's word Ijut ids own, had lieen law 
 to iiim. He rose and followed tiie detective. 
 Mr. Strasijurger led the way, tlirough a .slit 
 
 
 '< i 
 
ifni 
 
 BO 
 
 ST. JUDE'S ASSISTANT. 
 
 in the wall, where a turnkey stepped aside 
 to admit him, along a narrow corridor, be- 
 tween roAvs of grated cells, until another 
 turnkey admitted them into a small room, a 
 tell itself, to all intents and purposes, except 
 .tliat it was about eight feet square, had two 
 .grated windows, and was furnished with a 
 table and .several chairs. Lucius sank into a 
 chair at a motion from the detective, and the 
 •loor was closed. 
 
 It Avas not a cliamber of duress, but a 
 ciiamber of torture, in which the miserable 
 wretch found himself. He was only snin- 
 luoned to a cross-examination ; but with the 
 small black eye of the detective upon him, 
 that was, as we have seen, even under the 
 most favourable circumstances, an ordeal to 
 be coveted by none. 
 
 ' On the morning of that election day two 
 years ago, tlie day this murder took place, 
 where were you?' said the detective, careless- 
 ly, as he locked the door, and, stuffing his 
 liands in his pockets and spreading his legs 
 npart as far as they would go, steadily re- 
 ijiirded his shrinking victim. 
 
 ' I was at my room in the fourth storey of 
 No. — , Market Street, sir.' 
 
 • Did you breakfast that morning V 
 
 ' Yes, sir.' " ' ' : 
 
 'Where?' 
 
 ' In my room. I made my own coffee, and 
 .1 had some rolls in a cupboard. ' 
 
 ' When did you leave your room ?' •" , 
 ' At about nine o'clock. ' ■- 
 
 ' Where did you go ?' 
 ' I went up to the Mercantile Library.' 
 ' T)id you go on foot ?' 
 
 * Yes, sir. ' , , . , . 
 
 ' What did you do at the Mercantile Li- 
 'hrary?' 
 
 ' I went into t'ae reading-room and looked 
 over the papers. ' 
 
 ' Are you a member of that Library ?' 
 
 ' no, sir ; but I go in there and read, just 
 the same ; nobody ever asks any (luestions' — 
 
 ' How long did you stay there :' 
 
 ' Until afternoon, sir ; about half past 
 twelve, or may be one. ' 
 
 ' Where did you go then ?• 
 
 ' I went out on liroadway and took a South 
 Ferry stage going down. I was going to 
 Erooklyn, after the pin tliat Mr. Curtis of 
 the Club was to purchase from me.' 
 
 ' Was thjre anybody you knew in that 
 stage, when you entered ?' 
 
 ' No sir ; except' — 
 
 ' Did anybody you knew get into the stage 
 ^befi)re you left it?' 
 
 Lucius Core paused to think. After a 
 rmoment, he said, ' Yes sir, one man.' 
 
 'Who?' , 
 
 ' His name was Paul Ogden ; he was the 
 
 man who had introduced me to Mr. Curtis ; 
 and, besides, I had often executed comnii»- 
 sions for him. ' 
 
 * Did you speak to him ?' 
 
 ' We nodded, and he mighi. have address- 
 ed some remark to me. ' 
 
 ' Where did he take the stage ?' 
 ' I think it was dcjwn-town, somewhere ; 
 but I don't think I knew precisely, even at 
 the time. ' 
 
 * About where ?' 
 
 ' Down-town somewhere ; about two-thirds 
 of the way to South B^erry, perhaps, sir. I 
 really can't remember any nearer than tliat. 
 
 sir, what are they going to do with me ? 
 When are they going to try me ? I haven't 
 done anything, except' — 
 
 ' Don't speak, except to answer my quer- 
 tions. I have no time for yours. Are you 
 sure that you met Ogden that day ?' 
 
 ' Yes, sir, because I saw him twice after- 
 wards, on that same day' — 
 
 'Where?' 
 
 ' Why you see, sir, after I had got up to 
 the Club with the pin, and found that Mr. 
 Curtis was notthere,they letme stand in the 
 hall and wait for him. While I stood there, 
 this same Mr. Ogden rushed in, with a 
 large parcel done up in brown paper under 
 his arm. ' 
 
 ' What sort of a looking bundle ?' 
 
 ' Well, it was of an irregular shape. I 
 couldn't tell — it was about as large as that,' 
 and he placed his hands about a foot apart. 
 
 ' What colour of paper was it wrappecl in ?' 
 
 ' A sort of light brown paper. ' 
 
 ' Could you tell the colour of that paper 
 again if you saw it ?' 
 
 ' I — I think — yes sir. I think I could.' 
 
 ' Did Ogden say anything to anyliody in 
 the Club ?^ 
 
 ' He asked if some room was vacant, 1 
 think. I think be mentioned some room by 
 the number.' > 
 
 ' He mentioned a number ?' 
 
 ' Yes sir.' 
 
 ' How tlid you know it was a room ?' , 
 
 ' I got that impression.' ;- 
 
 ' Well, go on. ' 
 
 ' The hall man told him that it wasempty ; 
 and he ran up-8t9,irs. Pretty soon after- 
 wards — it could not have been more than 
 ten minutes — he came down again with the 
 same bundle under his arm, and went out. 
 
 1 have never seen him since that day. He 
 is a relative of — that is, his name is the same 
 as the name of — 
 
 ' That is merely a coincidence u." names. 
 Do you know that he is a relative, of you r 
 own knowledfe ? ' said Mr. Strasbu rger, 
 who did not care to involve matters at tliis 
 juncture. 
 
ST. JUDK'S ASSISTANT. 
 
 61 
 
 paper 
 
 names, 
 of your 
 ;bu rger, 
 
 at tliis 
 
 ' O no sir, I only ' — 
 
 * Well, you can get out now,' said the 
 detective, turning the key. They passed 
 out, Strasburger tirat, and mingled with tlie 
 crowds in the large reception room of the 
 prison, where the less dangerous inmates are 
 allowerl to congregate at certain hours of tlie 
 (lay. Mr. Strasburger moved rapidly through 
 these, and was about passing out of the door- 
 way, past the armed turnkey, when a large 
 heavy man stepped immediately in his path 
 and confronted him. This man was dressed 
 in a very old and 8hab])y pair of trowsers, 
 and a coarse blue flannel shirt. For the rest, 
 he was barefooted, and bareheaded. His 
 hands were huge and hairy. The hair of his 
 head grew down and mingled with his un- 
 kempt beard, and his throat, which was 
 bare, was also a mass of black grizzly hair. 
 He was almost a foot taller than Mr. 
 Strasburger, who looked like a pigmy beside 
 him. 
 
 ' (;let out of my way, Job Pierce, and let 
 me pass, ' said Mr. Strasburger, calmly. 
 
 ' Ay, an' if I let you pass now it will be 
 the last time you'll ever be let to pass, John 
 Strasburger.' He did no stir his great 
 frame, but continued : ' Ai-e you going to 
 say the word that let's me out of this, 
 or not ? ' 
 
 ' You are a fool. Job Pierce, ' said the 
 detective ; ' you know aa well as you need 
 to know, that 1 have no power to let you out. 
 I can put men in here, and so can you, for 
 tliat matter; but neither you nor I can take 
 them out. The law nuist do that. ' 
 
 ' \'ou lie, ' muttered Job Pierce. 
 
 ' Turnkey, will you move this man so that 
 I can get out? ' said Mr. Strasburger, I'aising 
 his voice. 
 
 The turnkey made a pass at Job Pierce 
 with his club, and he slunk away, and 
 mingled with the wretched crowd beyond. 
 ^V'hen Mr. Strasburger stepped out upon 
 Centre Street, he hailed a Fourth Avenue 
 oar, and rode down to the City Hall Park. 
 Having reached the Park, he ascended the 
 iron steps of a large brown stone building 
 which adjoins that unfinished pile of rotten 
 marble which perpetuates the memory of a 
 wicked Tweed ami cert<ain innocent tax- 
 payers — (a sort of Abelard and Heloise, o\er 
 whose story tears are yet shed). In the 
 second storey of this building is the office of 
 the District Attorney ; and upon entering 
 this, Mr. Strasburger's well-known face pro- 
 cured him an immediate audience with the 
 great public prosecutor himself, who was 
 munching a sandwich in a small private 
 office. 
 
 When Mr. Strasburger had anything to 
 Bay, he went and said it. He had never 
 
 written, up to this time, a letter of more than 
 a line in length in his life. 
 
 ' Mr. Kay, ' said Mr. Strasburger, ' I want 
 to see you about the man Lucius Core, ar- 
 rested on su8j)iciou of being concerned in tliL 
 Brand murder, two years ago.' 
 
 ' There is such a man, is there ? ' asked 
 Mr. Kay : and he pressed a finger bell upon 
 his table. • Send Cobbler hero, ' he said to a 
 boy who answered it. 
 
 ' Cobbler was a sixteenth assistant deputy 
 District Attorney's seventeenth clei'k. It 
 was imderstood, however, that Cobbler was 
 Memory Man in General to the Department 
 of Public Justice of the city of New York, 
 and at everybody's service. Indeed, the 
 duties of the other overworked assistant 
 deputies and clerks of that Bureau were 
 supposed to consist chiefly of calling for 
 ' Cobbler ' from 10 A. M. until 3 p. iM. at the 
 top pitch of their lungs. Not infrecjuently, 
 however, their duties were lightened by the 
 abbreviation of ' Cobbler ' to ' Col)l)v ' and 
 •Cob.' 
 
 Cobbler, a small, thin, wiry-looking man 
 of sixty or thereabouts, on answering his 
 chief that such a man was confined in the 
 Tombs at that moment, was dismissed, and 
 Mr. Kay bent his head to listen to the de- 
 tective's speech. 
 
 ' Mr. Kay, there is not the sliglitest 
 evidence against this man Core. He is a 
 poor, weak, drivelling thing, wh j isn't worth 
 wasting prison fare upon. But he is I'ust 
 now valuable, and, if possible, we must keep 
 him where he is ' — 
 
 'We can't keep a fellow in the T()nd)s 
 unless he's done soniutliing, or soniel)ody 
 makes a complaint against him, you know. 
 You see we have to be pretty careful now . 
 Everybody is howling for Reform, and tlie 
 Comptroller looks up the accounts pretty 
 sharp. We can't afford to board people at 
 the city's expense, unless they've done 
 something to justify it,' said the great man, 
 with his mouth full of sandwich. 
 
 Mr. Kay's office was supposed to net him, 
 in salary and perquisites, from thirty to 
 forty thousand yearly ; and to pay this sum. 
 it was necessary that nobody should board 
 at the first class hotel, maintained by the 
 city treasury at seventy-eight cents a day. 
 unless the boarder had remunerated the city 
 that amount in crime of some sort. 
 
 • Nevertiieless, the public safety must be 
 made to justify it ; and, ' lowering his voice, 
 ' if he can be kept there one month, I 
 undertake, upon my professional reputation, 
 at the end of that time to give you the 
 name of the Brand murderer. I can't say as 
 much for the man himself. He may have 
 
 ■« 
 
 
 I ' ' 
 
B2 
 
 ST. JUDE'S ASSISTANT. 
 
 to be extradited, for all I know, but jtt .any 
 rate I'll give you his name.' 
 
 ' I guess we can manage it someliow,' said 
 Mr. Kay ; and, indeed, it is to be guessed 
 that he couhl, too. One was merely to 
 manage to do nothing long enough, and a 
 guiltless man, once passed the Egyptian 
 portal of the Tombs, miglit rot in perfect 
 ])eace. But as for Lucius Core, he was of a 
 oontented disposition th ^ tlirove well on 
 any fare, provided it came regularly 
 three times a day, an average wliich, so far, 
 precarious meals earned in his general com- 
 mission business had lianlly equalled — so 
 let us hope he did not rot. 
 
 ' And now, Mr. Strasburger, what can we 
 for you ? ' 
 
 •' One thing. There is a man in tlie 
 Tombs named Job I'ierce —only larceny — 
 loaf of bread or pie, or something of the 
 sort ; but lie appears to believe tliat some- 
 how or otlier, 1 am hunting him down. He 
 is an unscrupulous man ; lie has already 
 tluvattned me personally, and I am con- 
 vinced that if he were set at large, my life 
 wouldn't be worth an hour's purciiase. ' 
 
 This was serious. Mr. Strasburger was 
 the Infallible Detective of the Force, and 
 nobody knew it better than Mr. Kay. 
 
 ' We will see to tiiat, you may be sure, 
 (^ood niornitig. ' And as Mr. Strasburger 
 passed the door, Mr. Kay made a memo- 
 randum with his pencil upon the surface of 
 his desk, which was covered with a large 
 - sheet of yellow blotting paper, and drew a 
 ■second sandwich from among the last batch 
 of indictments stuffed away in his table 
 drawer. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 . FIRST TRIAL BALANCE OF MR. 
 LEDGER. 
 
 stbasburgbr's 
 
 If any of Mr. Strasburger's associates had 
 met him, as he left the Public Prosecutor's 
 offices, they would have l)een surprised to 
 notice symptoms of personal excitement 
 quite unknown in his usual stolid demeanour. 
 
 Once or twice before reaching the street 
 exit of the broAvn stone building, he stopped, 
 hesitated, and began to reascend. He finally 
 turned, however, and continued on his way. 
 In short, the placid, taciturn Mr. Stras- 
 burger was excited. Perhaps, it was that 
 he had staked his professional reputation to 
 Mr. Kay upon the hazanl of the new die he 
 was about to cast ; perhaps lie had fears <rf 
 his own personal safety from the ruffianly- 
 looking man who had threatened him. At 
 any rate, for the first time in his life, he 
 showed symptoms of considerable personal 
 
 excitement. At the comer of Centre and 
 Chambers street, he hailed a Fourth ave luic 
 car going up ; but after riding a short dis- 
 tance he grew restive at its lumbering giit. 
 Altliough London, the most conservative of 
 cities, possessed an underground railroad 
 which, practically, annihilated all distiuiccs 
 within her borders, at this date, Xew ^'clrk, 
 the most railical and progressive of cities, 
 had, absolutely no rapid transit at all. Tlie 
 difficulties in the way of ra])id tran.-*it in tlio 
 latter city, were not tlicoretical : the want 
 was one acknowledged to Vki vital on all 
 hands. Neither were the diflficnilties finan- 
 cial. The needed millions had hecii piofl'ired 
 over and over again. Neitiicr were the difii- 
 cnlties practical. Engineers hivd submitted 
 plans without number, which other engineers 
 had pronounced accurate an feasible. Tlie 
 dilKculties were rather — if we may so express 
 it — legal. As we are told in the fifth verse 
 of the fourth chapter of Ezra, tliat, whenever 
 the children of the Captivity undei t<jok to 
 build up any needed improvement, their 
 adversaries ' hired counsellors against tliem 
 to frustrate their purpose,' so also, frciii 
 motives either of private cupidity and greed, 
 or otherwise, whenever rapid transit, so 
 far, had been suggested in Xew York, there 
 were sufficient counsellors hired against its 
 projectors, to frustrate their purpose. 
 
 There are times when the swiftest lighten- 
 ing express train ever moved by steam on an 
 iron track, will travel too slowly for one 
 rapid brain. No wonder that the lumbering 
 Fourth Avenue or was too slow for Mr. 
 Strasburger, He stepped out, and hailed a 
 coupe. 
 
 Arrived at the headquarters in Mulberry 
 Street, he bade the driver await him, and 
 ascctided to his chambers. Then, with an 
 unlighted cigar in his month, he sat down to 
 draw off a first trial balance from his books, 
 that he might know exactly how far he had 
 gone upon his errand of detection, and appre- 
 hend his own bearings for the *-'ire. Al- 
 though the clue of the watch had failed to 
 develope, in the person of the pawnor, the 
 murderer of George Brand, yet the pursuit 
 of that clue had afforded another, which Mr. 
 Strasburger had caught upon at once, as 
 invaluable. That olue was Paul Ogden. Do 
 what he would, turn where he might, the 
 name of Paul Ogden confronted him. Ac- 
 cording to Mr. Strasburger's Journal and 
 Day Book, the prisoner Lucius Core had 
 three times seen Ogden upon the d.ay of the 
 murder. Now this Ogden had been a sort 
 of rival of the murdered man's ; that is, he 
 had been a lover, a rejected lover of the girl 
 to whom the murdered num, at the date of 
 his deatli, had been betrothed. Ogden hail 
 
Sf. JUDE'S ASSISTANT. 
 
 63 
 
 probaMy smarted at hia disiuisgal by hia lady 
 lovti. Few men care to receive tlieir conge 
 • lirect from a lady, however apt to gut up 
 from their kiieea ami 4va'k away on their 
 own acoount. There Mr. Stnisburger stuck 
 a pin, and made a momoranduiu to fully as- 
 certain the circuniatances of the broken cTi- 
 gagement. It may be »ately affirmed, titat 
 no engageinenn between young people is ever 
 broken without pain to at least one of tiie 
 parties. At least Mr. Strasburger believed 
 tliat such were the probabilities, and he deter- 
 Miincd to probe even hearts to the bottom, 
 and Hud out w:hich had suffered the pang. 
 
 Now each of these three occasions had 
 been peculiar — not wonderful, or in the 
 least more than ordinary — but, in the de- 
 tective's eye, they were peculiar. For, in 
 the first place, it was undeniably peculiar 
 tliat a young man witliout business, a gen- 
 tleman of lazy leisure, who, if sauntering 
 iiiudessly, would be more likely to saunter 
 in localities where he would meet friends 
 or acquaintances, should be riding . down 
 town on a public holiday, when no banking- 
 liousea or other offices were open, and in a 
 <! (strict where no known attractions for a-i 
 man of leisure are to do found. In the sec- 
 ond place, it was peculiar tliat this same 
 man, who liad been going down town at this 
 lime, should, within a very short interval, 
 jippear at his club up town, with a large 
 package, such as messenger boys and retad- 
 ■er'« clerks, rather than elegant gentlemen 
 (who arc, on the whole, averse to carrying 
 their own l>iindles) are to be seen transport- 
 ing. In the third place, that he should in- 
 <iuire if a certain room was vacant, should 
 seek it, and, in a moment more, be seen a 
 tliird time to return again to the fiishionable 
 avenue, wli:3re his acquaintances would not 
 be unlikely to meet him, with the same 
 .awkward parcel under hia arm, was, at 
 least, peculiar. 
 
 Moreover, on that day, at jibout the time 
 Paul O^^tlen had been going down town, a 
 man whose personal description of Ogden 
 himself, had purchased a passage for Europe 
 at the Cunard office, under an assumed 
 name, and for, as it had appeared, a ficti- 
 tious purpose — seeing that the passage pur- 
 chased had never been used. Again the 
 portier of the 'Studio Buildings,' No. 51 
 West Tenth street, had, upon close question- 
 ing as to the young man who had called 
 upon Mr. Frear, occupant of the next room 
 to tiiat in which the murder occurred, and 
 who iiad been ' impudent,' pronounced upon 
 the caller's j^ersoual appearance ; and this, 
 again, in genei-al, might pass for a tolerable 
 description of Paul Ogden. At all events, 
 Mv. .Strasburger was in possession of seve.al 
 
 contrary and singular movements, njado 
 upon tlie day of the murder, by this .Mr. 
 Paul Ogden, which, unless accounted for, lie 
 had a right to inquire inte. To cap the 
 climax, this very Paul Ogden, a week after 
 all this, and before a telegram from Qiuens- 
 town, announcing the arrival of the stc Liner 
 upon which the hctitioua passage had lieen 
 secured, had himself quitted the ccMiitry, 
 and been last hoard from in i^russcls, a city 
 known to be a sort of cave of Ailullum, for 
 the rest of the extraditable world. No oncf 
 of these circumstances, nor perhaps their 
 total, would justify anything likeasusiiicion 
 of guilt against a young man of unexcep- 
 tionally tamiable manners. Mr. Strasburger 
 had, perhaps, no idea of discovering any- 
 thing but a clue in the personality of Mr. 
 Paul Ogden. But upon occasions wlieii 
 great crimes are committe<l, it is only proper 
 and just to tlie community — whose safety 
 is compromised by the !il)erty of 
 the criminal — that individuals siiould Ihj 
 asked, not only, but should lie anxious to 
 explain any unusual feature of their own 
 conduct, or any proceeding of their own 
 to which comment could possibly bo at- 
 tached. 
 
 Hole the entries ceased, and Mr. Stras- 
 burger put down his second pin. The large 
 paper bundle or parcel must lie traceil. 
 Lucius Core must affirm to tlie colour of tlie 
 paper — merchants using thSt colour of paper 
 must l>e interviewed — and — 
 
 Mr. Strasburger bit hia cigar vigorously 
 and started to his feet. He went hastily to 
 a shelf anil took down a large blank book. 
 He opened it as he stood before the shelf, 
 spread his legs apart, and chewed the 
 cigar violently. An idea had evidently 
 entered his brain, so novel as to norplns 
 him for tiie instant. He turned to the 
 record of a certain memoralilc murder, 
 which, some thirteen years l>cfore, had been 
 committed at Irvingtim on the Hudson, and 
 whicli had been most laliouriously but suc- 
 cessfully worked by a certain Mr. Burton, 
 now dead, who, in his time, had been con- 
 sidered, as ilr. Strasburger now was, in- 
 fallible. Mr. Strasburger had a great re- 
 spect for the memory and attainments of 
 this Mr. Burton. Mr. Burton, to tell the 
 truth, had been his Gamaliel. It was at hia 
 feet and in his faith and system that he had 
 beeen graduated. • 
 
 Now when Mr. Strasburger, as we have 
 seen, started abruptly and rusiicvl to t u 
 large manuscript record he held in iiis iiaad. 
 it had been because he had sudilenly re- 
 membered a remarkable fact connected with 
 this same Mr. Burton, and Mr. Burton's 
 •onncction with tiie Irvington murder, Mr. 
 
 I !, 
 
 t-1 
 
 1 
 
14 
 
 8T. JUDE'S ASSISTANT. 
 
 Burton, in vtorking up that murder, iiiwl 
 conij)leteil. iih we might say, two perfectly 
 (listuiL't cliiiins of oviilenee— one haekward 
 from the date and act of the murder itself, 
 and the otiier forward, towards the <late of 
 the murder — from a given point which he 
 iiad fixi'cl upon in the career of an acquaint- 
 aiice of tiiu murdered man. For a long 
 time all his researches had negatived the 
 existence of a connection between those two 
 chains, until, at la^t, by means of which 
 seemed to be supurnaturuj or miraculous 
 agency, the missing link had been pro- 
 cured, and the two chains foiined one — 
 but one 8o strung, so perfect, and so con- 
 vincing, that its extremities, touching the 
 murder and the murderer, had led to his 
 confession and suicide, whicii although not 
 pu))lic Justice, is certainly Expiation ; 
 at any rate is deatli, and therefore Capital, 
 i'i e supernatural risiurce of Mr. Bui 
 ton's liad been nothing less tiian a resort to 
 tile mysterious power of clairvoyance — lie 
 having succeeded in inducing a mesmeric 
 sleep upon the person of his own little 
 daughter, a frail, sickly girl, with a highly 
 nervous organization, under the influence of 
 which she had seen and described scenes 
 and things wiiich actually furnisiied the 
 key to the detective's search. ' Clairvoy- 
 ancy' is the word employed by the French 
 to express an aflegeil faculty mani- 
 fested by magneCk! somnambulists, of seeing 
 vith invisible eyes things at the most remote 
 distance from the body, hidden by miUiona 
 of opacpie barriers from the sight of persons 
 awake — or even separated from the period at 
 which the subject is under operation by 
 long durations of time, eitlier past or to 
 come. According to Mr. Deleuze, a recog- 
 nized authority, it consists of ' an inexpli- 
 cable change which occurs in the functions 
 of the nervous system, in the play of the or- 
 gans, anil in the manner of receiving and 
 transmitting sensation. ' Under the influence 
 of this cliange, the soul of the subject might 
 easily leave the body and travel through 
 epace or time — through solids or fluids — to 
 wherever the operator willed it, and speak 
 through the natural lips of its body of what 
 it there beheld. As in most otlier sciences, 
 the converts of clairvoyance find ample 
 Bible instances of the workings of tiieir philo- 
 sophy. So when in tlie sixth chapter of 2 
 Kings, Elisha's servant perceives his master's 
 lii>use surrounded by the warriors of the King 
 of Syria, and exclaims, ' Alas, my master, 
 what shall we do ?' Elisha answers, * Fear 
 not, for they that be with us are more than 
 they that be with tiiem ;' and he prays ' that 
 his eyes — (i. e. his spiritual eyes, for plainly 
 his mortal eyes could not have served him) 
 
 -may be o|>enod to see the mountain full of 
 armed men and horses. And in tlie twenty - 
 eighth chapter of 1 Samuel, an unmistakablt* 
 experiment in clairvoyance ia narrated, when 
 Saul, King of Israel, entered the cave of the 
 witch of Endor. She wa« evidently ignorant 
 of his identity, and it was only upon asti-on^ 
 pledge that she consented to employ her art. 
 No sooner, however, had she entered the 
 clairvoyant state, than she became aware of 
 the rank of her visitor, andexolaimed, 'Why 
 hast thou deceived me— for thou art Saul !' 
 Thereupon the woman proceeded to describe 
 the person whom she saw — for it is evident 
 from the chronicle that Saul himself at no 
 time saw any actual vision —and only 'per- 
 ceived,' i. e. comprehended — that it wa.s 
 Samuel, from the woman's description. 
 Through her lips it was that the dead prophet 
 told the king of his sin and of his nearing 
 doom. Upon the woman's awakening from 
 her trance, she had so little recollection of 
 what had passed as to be totally unaware of 
 Saul's rank, and to persuade him to eat in 
 her house, and recover his exhausted 
 strength. That the physical process by which 
 a me-smerizer producea the sleep in his 'Sub- 
 ject was one familiar among the Greeks, is. 
 apparent from a passage in the Audira of 
 Plautus, where Sosia says, ' What if I stroke 
 Jiim i/i'iitly ivitk the hand, so as to put him to- 
 sleep ?' 
 
 But Mr. Strasburger, without troubling 
 himself about either the Bible or Plautus, 
 was rapidly convincing himself, that, by em- 
 ploying this m.agnetism of personal influence 
 he was not deserting his own materialism, 
 that materialism which had, so far, 
 brought him the reputation of infal- 
 libility. Professors and expositors of 
 the science of Animal Magnetism or Clair- 
 voyance, habitually introduce the experi- 
 ment of inducing their subjects, in the coma, 
 of the mesmeric sleep, to read from closed 
 books ; through opaque objects ; to read the 
 contents of sealed letters ; to travel in 
 thought or mind beyond the room in which 
 their body sleeps, and to give, tlirougli 
 their hps, descriptions of other localities, of 
 rooms, of furniture, of houses, etc. ; but the 
 science is not without its practical side, and 
 physicians have not infrequently resorted to 
 clairveyant subjects for information as to the 
 condition of the internal organs of invalids.* 
 
 *See a volume, 'Exposition of Animal iMaj?- 
 netism, by F. C. Durant,' New York, Wiley and 
 Putnam, 1837. pasre 48, giving an extraordinary 
 account of a Dr. Brownell's inducing his subject 
 to describe the condition of a diseased spleen. 
 ' The patient lived more than a quarter of a 
 mile from my house,' said the doctor. ' I re- 
 quested a somnambulist, then at my house, to 
 sec if she could And such a man, at the same 
 time pointing out to her the sittiatloa of the 
 
ST. JUDE'S ASSISTANT. 
 
 65 
 
 Such beitiff the theory — or, according to Mr. 
 Biirton-tno fact which Mr. Stroaburger on- 
 countered there, appeared to be no rooaon 
 why, in this case, he should decline to avail 
 kiinaolf of any information ho might ao pro- 
 cure. If a man 'a inteatinea may be aearcned 
 hy magnetiam — a fact in nature which, at 
 this ago, nobody diaputea— wiiy not a man's 
 mind ? at any rate, aaid Mr. Straaburger to 
 liimself, a second time, there appeared to bo 
 uo reason why, if auoh a thing as clairvoy- 
 iinon existed, he should not avail himself 
 of it. 
 
 Air. Straaburger would have smiled at the 
 iilca of his becoming a convert to the doc- 
 tiine of the clairvoyants — or indeed to any 
 (kctrine at all. We have seen that he did 
 not Ijelieve in, or trouble in the least, any- 
 thing like doctrine or speculation. We ha\ e 
 hcen, that in hia opcratioivs, he waa a remark- 
 ably practical, slow-thinking, minute and 
 patient man. Other people might leap at 
 
 house, which was not in siKht from the room, 
 where we contliiufd alltho time. She saw hiii). 
 On iMiing rtskod in what room, HhetTpliiMl In the 
 third room buck from tiio at root. She was then 
 requested to dt'Hcribe tho situation of the furni- 
 ture in it, in order to discover whetlior she had 
 Kot into tho ritcht place, and whether her 
 (rlttirvoyance niiMrht he trustetl to at that time; 
 tthc described it very oxiictly. 
 
 I then told her my patient had been sick a 
 long time, and desired her to examine him and 
 tell wluit the disease w^is. 
 
 She said, ' He looks so had. I do not like to rtfl 
 ii.' I .eplied. ' Never mind that ; it looks bad to 
 you, boiause you have not been accustomed to 
 looking at the interior of a bodj'.' 
 
 As I supposed him to he affected with a dis- 
 (sased liver, and with indiirestion arising from a 
 diHoaaed state of tlie stonwuh, I aslceil her to 
 look at tlic stoma"h to sec if iliat was diseased. 
 She answered, ' No. 
 
 Is tlio liver diseased? ' No.' 
 
 Well, examine the whole intestinal canal, and 
 SCO if thcrj is any disease there. ' I do not see 
 any,' said she. 
 
 Examine the kidncsp. ' Nothing is the mat- 
 ter with them.' 
 
 Not knowing what other part to call her at- 
 tention to, I requested her to look at every part 
 of him. 
 
 Aft r some little time, she says, ' His spleen is 
 swelled ; it is enlarged.' 
 
 His spleen ! said J ; when we speak of a person 
 who is splceny. we suppose he has an imaginary 
 complaint. What do you moan ? 
 
 8he said, ' The part called the spleen, is en- 
 larged.' 
 
 How do you know it is enlarged i 
 
 ' It is a great deal larger than yours.' 
 
 Do you see mine ? 'Yes.' 
 
 How large is his spleen? 
 
 • It is a great deal longer and thicker than 
 your hand. 
 
 I then asked her to put her hand where the 
 spleen is situated. She immediately placed her 
 hand over the region of the spleen. 
 
 I then asked her what the shape of the stomach 
 was ; she replied that it was like a flower in the 
 garden. I was not acquainted with that flower, 
 and do not recollect the name she gave to it. 
 
 concluaions — he crept towarda them. A\'e 
 have aeon that he waa a particularly practical 
 man, who would have as soon searched in 
 tho aea for eagle'a nesta aa sounded tho depth 
 of the aupornatural for mundane fact. But, 
 juat now, the point to which he had arrived 
 HI hia caao ho perceived to be almoat precise- 
 ly identical with the stage where Mr. Bur- 
 ton had invoked the aid of Animal Magnet- 
 ism. Here alao, there were two fragmouts 
 of chain — one leading from tho murcler to- 
 wards a auppositious murderer ; the other 
 from a day in tho career of an individual 
 supposed to have boon a rival of tlic murder- 
 eil man. It did not militate against Mr ' 
 Strasburgor's new clue that the individual 
 aforesaid was a nephew of the lawyer em- 
 ployed to ferret out tho murderer's; stranger 
 t lings than that had happened without 
 causing tlio detective to marvel. 
 
 Should Mr. Strasburger follow in the foot- 
 steps of his master, and invoke the aid of 
 Clairvoyance ? That waa tho question 
 which had made him pause. There was the 
 rub that had rubbed him to his feet. Mr. 
 Strasburger felt tlia* he must connect the 
 brown paper parcel with the murder of 
 George Brand ; and as this was the result of 
 his deliberation, he would not scorn to tako 
 a hint from any source. 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 • FOB BKTT^B, FOB WOBSK ; FOR RICHER, Kit- 
 POORER. ' 
 
 If we left Tom on his knees before Mam; 
 it was because we felt it to be no place or 
 situation upon wliich chroniclers should 
 intrude. We have no scruples however, 
 about coming upon them suddenly, beneatli 
 an umbrageous tree (for it is summer once 
 more, the Ogden town- house is closed, and 
 the Ogdena are at Malcolm), not far from tlio 
 sjiot where Mara had touched Paul Ogden's 
 sleeve the night before he had sailed away. 
 Mara liked Torn better than any man sIk* 
 met in society ; and ho was so far a favourito 
 with the family, that he had been invited 
 down to Malcolm. But this is not, now a 
 days, a step forward for a young man seek- 
 ing to advance in his mistress' favour. 
 That pa- :i and mamma should manif^tly ap- 
 prove of a young man's attentio.ns to the!:- 
 daughter, is perhaps the worst thing tha^ 
 could happen to him now-a-days. Woe to 
 the true love whose course runs smooth • 
 Apart from the rule that each man and wo- 
 man values most for which they, he or she, 
 most strive and endure and battle, the 
 tendency, in the modem American yonng 
 lady, is to marry against papa ai;d inanuHa : 
 
 ii 
 
 VP 
 
66 
 
 ST. JUDE'S ASSISTANT. 
 
 and it is enough to easily prejudice tlie 
 daughter against 'the beat man living,' that 
 pupa and uiainnia do approve. To make a 
 man love a woman or a woman love a man, a 
 fair quantity of abuse is the thing. To sing 
 the praises of our lady love or our lover in 
 (jur ears, is fo lanin him forever. One does 
 not like proper jieople or proper things in 
 this ninetoenth century. The man who has 
 not sowed anj' wild oats, is no man for a 
 woman. The man who pays his debts in 
 cash at every shop, can get no credit, should 
 he happen to want it, because, forsooth, his 
 name is on nobody's books, and nobody 
 knows or cares wlience he cometh or whithf^i 
 he goeth. Tradesmen are curt and sharp 
 with him. It is the desperate charactoi-, t!ie 
 flis.sipated man wliom ladies love and sue to 
 --it is the man deep in the tradesmen's 
 l)Ooks, to whom tlie tradesman extends 
 credit, and to whom he is obsequiously civil. 
 We love most those whom we forgive most. 
 We are most grateful to tliose who unex- 
 pectedly pay us our bad debts. Ah, poor 
 snubbed ninety and nine ! who would be 
 one of you ? 
 
 But, in this case, Mara really liked Tom, 
 •ind sometimes thought she loved him. Could 
 she have forgotten Paul Ogden, there was 
 no vow of love or loyalty siie would not 
 have made to Tom. But, although 
 she rather im.igined that Paul Ogden, 
 if lie thought of her at all, thought 
 of her only as a child whom he had 
 befriended, she still felt she belonged to 
 him ; and without his authority and per- 
 mission, slie could belong to no other man. 
 Tom had not taken no for an answer, and 
 women like persistent men. Tom liad taken 
 her in his arms and kissed her, and had re- 
 peated the offence, in spite of her protesta- 
 tions — and women worship audacious men. 
 'L'audace, I'audace, toujours I'audacel'is 
 the Napoleonic motto for him who would 
 contiuer women. Tom had these two elements 
 in his favour, at least. 
 
 Well, they were sitting under the trees ; 
 !Mara watching Tom, and — although she was 
 working at some sort of worsted tancy stutf 
 ■ — keeping one arm free to prevent his too 
 ardent misbehaviour. 
 
 When Tom had entirely destroyed the 
 flower \\^ was pulling to pieces, he looked 
 iij). and said quietly, ' Mara, you are a flirt. ' 
 ' No, I'm not,' said Mara. 
 ' I've been a long time making up my 
 mind,' said Tom, ' But I've m-ide it up at 
 last. You are a flirt, and you are keeping 
 me here for your amusement, and as a foil to 
 some other man, Mara. ' And here he took 
 her hand, and licld it so tight that she 
 screamed a little. ' Wliy can't you be 
 
 honest with me, as I am with you "/ If you 
 had a friend you cared for only as a friend, 
 yon would not suffer liim to rush to destruc- 
 tion, if you could stretch out a hand to save 
 him. You ought to think I am your friend 
 — unless that I am so much more than a 
 friend, is a sin in your eyes— and I ask you, 
 if you cannot make me happy, if you cannot 
 love me always, for God's sake to let me 
 go!' 
 i ' I like you very well, I'm sure, 'said Mara, 
 ' pouting. 'I've had to tell you that, you 
 
 horrid ' — 
 I ' How much do you like me, Mara — so 
 I much ? ' And he held his thumb and finger 
 
 about an inch apart. 
 ! ' Oh dear, no — not so much as that ; about 
 ' so much ' (half an inch, with Mara's thumb 
 
 and finger). 
 i ' There might be a good deal in that much, ' 
 
 said Tom, hopefully. 
 j ' Ai-e you satisfied ? ' said Mara. 
 I ' No, by Jove, no ; I shouldn't be satisfied 
 J if you loved me more than all the world be- 
 sides. I should even then want you to love 
 i me more and more, ' said Tom. • 
 I ' Well, you are the moat presumptuous 
 I man I ever met, ' said Mara. ' Besides, I 
 , said nothing about loving you at all ; it wae 
 ' only about liking you. I'm sure I couldn't 
 j love you more than I do papa or mamma, 
 ; even if I loved you at all. ' 
 i ' But you nmst, Mara. I wouldn't take 
 I your lo\e as a gift unless you loved me more 
 than you loved your father and mother. ' 
 ' That isn't fair to ask of any girl.' 
 ' That's scripture, anyway, ' said Tom. 
 ' Does the Bible say that ? ' said Mara. 
 ' Indeed it does. ' 
 • Where ? ' 
 
 ' In the — in the — well, in the Bible some- 
 where. 
 
 ' I must look -that up wlun I go home,' 
 said Mara. ' But stop, — I don't think it 
 says anything of the sort. I know tbere's 
 something about a man leaving father and 
 mother and cleaving to his wife ; but no- 
 thing about the wife leaving her father and 
 mother' — 
 
 ' And they twain shall be one flesh, ' said 
 Tom. ' That's it. It's the same thing ; the 
 translators of the Bible always put he for a 
 person. In the Hebrew it's' — 
 
 ' In the original Hebrew itia it, I suppose,' 
 said Maria, and ' it means a baby. ' 
 
 ' Babies don't get married, ' said Tom, who 
 knew as nmeh about the original Hebrew 
 as he did about tlie centre of the planet 
 Jupiter. 
 
 ' Besides, ' said Mara^ ' I've told you that 
 I love somebody else.' 
 'Who?' said Tom. 
 
ST. JUDE'S ASSISTANT, 
 
 take 
 
 some- 
 
 Jhome,' 
 Ihink it 
 
 tliere's 
 ler and 
 but no- 
 
 ler and 
 
 said 
 
 |ig ; the 
 
 for a 
 
 |ppose,' 
 
 who 
 
 lebrew 
 
 planet 
 
 |>a that 
 
 ' I think you are very rude and impertin- 
 ent to ask questions that you have no right 
 to, ' said Maia. ' I tell you more than I do 
 anybody else, as it is ; and you shouldn't — 
 indeed you shouldn't be — do you know that 
 iv's broad daylight, sir, and that I know 
 everybody here ? Take your arm away ! I 
 declare you don't seem to care the least bit 
 about me, or you wouldn't act so. It's all 
 very well for you, who go away to-morrow, 
 and who are a man ; but I've got to stay 
 liere and l)e talked about, and — oh dear, oh 
 ilear, nobody cares anything about me !' and 
 .•she burst into a flood of tears. 
 
 All this was because Tom's arm had stray- 
 ed around hcf waist ; but wlien she began 
 to cry, instead of taking it away, he only 
 presseii her tlie tighter — nay more, he began 
 kissing her pas.uonately. 
 
 •Why shoiddn't I put my arms around 
 you y' he cried ; 'can anyl)oily say mor*? to 
 yon than I lia\ e '! Have 1 not asked you to 
 be my wife '/ Have I not told you tliat 
 1 love you more tlian all the world Ije- 
 sidcs ?' 
 
 Tliere was a rustling in the bushes, and 
 Tom hail not time to recover himself before 
 Mr. Ogden stood before them. Tom com- 
 prehended the situation, and, thoroughly in 
 eunestas he was, could think of no better 
 time than the present to speak to tJie old 
 gentleman. So, witiiuut releasing Mara he 
 said : 
 
 'Ogden, I love your daughter,and I want 
 to make her my wife.' 
 
 'Yes?' said the lawyer, dryly. He 
 paused, and then added. ' and what does 
 -Mara say ?' 
 
 ' Say ? I say that I hate him — there !' 
 And freeing herself from Tom's arms, Mara 
 bounded away and disappeared in the direc- 
 tion of the house. 
 
 ' Frear, I have just started for a walk — 
 will you come ?' said Mr. Ogden. 
 
 Tom would rather have done anything just 
 tlien than take a walk with Mr. Ogden, but 
 be did not dare to refuse. 
 
 ' Wliat d'> you think of my windmill ?' 
 said Mr. Ogden. 
 
 ' 1 -i omy just noticed it for a moment," 
 said Tom ; ' 1 think it is very — very pictur- 
 es lue, sir. ' 
 
 ' What I look at is its utility, ' said Mr. 
 Ogden. 'It will pump two liundred gal- 
 li ns of water a minute into my reservoir. I 
 liad looked everywhere for what I wanted, 
 and finally had just determineu to invent 
 <uio myself, when I chanced to hear of a fel- 
 low who had just the thing I wanted. 
 Wonderful ! ' continued Ire, musing : ' VVon- 
 (l.tflid, what fellows those Yankees are for 
 ii-A^nting. I'll lay you a wager, Krenr, that 
 
 you can't suggest in a year, a desideratum 
 that some Yankee won't be found to have 
 provided a contrivance for. Why, when I 
 was a young man, I boarded with a doctor. 
 V was poor, and had to combine and eon- 
 ..ive to make both ends meet ; and one day 
 he said to me, "Ogden, I've t)een thinking 
 that I could get a cabinot-maker to make me 
 a table so that you coidd lift the lid and 
 have inside a wash-basin and a little zinc 
 reservoir to hold water, with a place below 
 the wash-basin to let out the water. " — 
 " Hold on," said I, " don't do anything of 
 the sort. Somebody down PJast must have 
 invented that sort of thing. It's like a case 
 — if you have a case with a question that's 
 new to you in it, you may be sure that, at 
 some time or other, that (luestion's coiue up 
 before ; !..id, if you're only diligent enough 
 you're safe to find it." And do you know, 
 he took my advice. He hunted around a 
 day or so, and at last he fouiul a table that 
 not only had a lavatory in it, but a step- 
 ladder, a sofa, and a place to black boots. 
 And I remember too — 
 
 ' But, if you will pardon me, Mr. Ogden,' 
 said Tom, ' I want to talk with you about 
 Mara. ' 
 
 ' Yes ? ' said Mr. Ogden, again. There is 
 something about the monosyllable ' Yes, ' 
 spoken interrogatively, that may chill the 
 stoutest heart. Tom apprehemled pre- 
 cisely the discouragement it was intended to 
 convey, but he pushed on. ' Mr. Ogden, 1 
 love Mara, and I know she likes me. .She 
 has liked me along time,' (T«m did not 
 ([uite see how he was bound to say any- 
 thing about any other man than himself. ) ' I 
 want to make her my wife, Mr. Ogden, and 
 I want your consent ; can I look to win that, 
 sir ? ' 
 
 ' Mr. Frear, ' said the lawyer, somewhat 
 ]i(iinponsly, as was his wont — though he had 
 \isnally called Tom by his nickname, and 
 relax(.'d much in his coinp.iny -' Mi'. Frear, 
 when I was a young man, and proposed to 
 my wife's father for my present wife, the 
 estimable gentlnian said to me, " My young 
 friend, my dangliter will most likelj' marry, 
 as did her mother liefore her, I have no- 
 thing to say as to that ; but, as her fatlier, 
 1 conceive it my duty to see that she mar- 
 ries a man who can at least afford to give 
 her those comforts to whicii 1 have accus- 
 tomed her, and which, therefore she 
 has a right to expeet. She must choose 
 for herself as to disposition and character ; 
 tliat is, I suppose she will not choose other 
 tluin a gentleman." 1 do not know that I 
 can say more to you.' 
 
 Tom was nonplussed. _He had no income 
 to speak of, and he was not likely to forget 
 
 Ilhi 
 
 illi 
 
68 
 
 ST. JUDE'S ASSISTANT. 
 
 that fact. He sold a picture occasionally, 
 anil lived upon the prorits until they were 
 exhausted. But he dressed, dined, sub- 
 scribed to a Club, drove in the park — in 
 short, did everything that he had done in 
 the days Ids father had controlled millions. 
 He was, thenefoi'c, as a matter of course, not 
 only poor but heavily in debt. It was use- 
 Lss for him to tliink of marrying, unless lie 
 could marry a fortune ; and here he was 
 pro^)osing to marry a girl who, so far as he 
 knew, would have nothing — no home, no 
 money, no expectation ! Still here Tom 
 was ; he had proposed for the girl, and he 
 loved her. 
 
 ' 1 suppose she must take me for l)ettor 
 
 or worse, Mr. Ogdun, ' said Tom ; ' but I 
 
 love her, and I can't help it. Yes, I sup- 
 
 Ijjl pose we must take each other for better or 
 
 worse. ' 
 
 ' And for richer, or poorer, ' said Mr. 
 Ogden. ' Well, my boy, ' said he, relaxing 
 into his kindly way again, ' there are many 
 things to be said in a negotiation of this 
 kind. In the first place, Mara is not my 
 daugliter' — 
 
 ' I know it, she has told me all ,))out it, ' 
 sail! Tom. 
 
 ' If she were, I should feel bound to sec 
 tliat she wanted for nothing, whoever she 
 married ; but, as it is, my responsibility for 
 her will probably cease at her marriage : 
 therefore, all the more, I cannot suffer hei- 
 to leave my roof until she enters another 
 that will shelter her, at least as well as my 
 poor one has done. But we will speak of 
 this again. I want to show you my Kerry's. 
 Joe just received a bull calf this morning. 
 I gave a cheque for $2,000 for him yester- 
 day,autl I think I've got a bargain.' 
 
 As they emerged from the grove and 
 crossed tlie lawn on their way to the barn- 
 yard, a yi u ig man, a clerk in Mr. Ogden 's 
 office, met liim and presented a letter which 
 had been deemed too important fur the law- 
 yer to miss seeing at once. 
 
 When Mr. Ogden had entertained Mr. Great- 
 orox over his Burgundy, with tlie story of 
 Miss Isabella Singleton's claim to a con- 
 siderable ti'act of laud :u Boston, he had 
 aUvady caused a writ of ejectment to be 
 filed and served against the present incum- 
 bents of tlie property. The case had been 
 -as he prophesied — decided in her favour; 
 a.id an appeal was promptly takcu by tlie 
 otliurside. Tlie letter which Mr. Ogden 
 now oijened, as lie was luggiiiig Tom of!" to 
 see his Kerry bull calf, Mas a letter from a 
 certain oiiiiiicnt gentleman of the .Sull'olk 
 l)ar, aniUjUnoiiig a decision of a bare ma- 
 jority of tlio juilges of the Supreme Court of 
 Judicature of that State, afhrmiiig the 
 
 judgment at Nisi Prius. Tliis welcome- 
 intelligence, however, was accompanied by 
 the remark, that, upon the fact that a min- 
 ority of one of that learned court 
 had recorded thir joint opinion 
 against the plaintifTs claim, a motion for a 
 re-argument had been made, and would doubt- 
 less be granted. The stakes were worth 
 playing for. Should judgment Iw ultimately 
 given for Isabella, she would become possess- 
 ed of a property of from forty to fifty thou- 
 sand <lollars a year ; so Mr. Ogden determin- 
 ed tosendhis eminent Massachuaets' brother 
 the che((ue desired, and to direct the motion 
 for the re-argument to \>e strenuously re- 
 sisted, and made a memorandum to that 
 effect in the clerk's note book. After this 
 interruption they proceeded to inspect the- 
 bull calf, and let us hopt that Tom was both 
 entertained and enthusiastic. 
 
 CHAPTER XII. i ' 
 
 THE MIND-PwEADER. ' 
 
 The result of Mr. Strasburger's cogitations 
 was, on the whole, favourable to the experi- 
 ment he had contemplated. As he had yet 
 an hour before dinner, he proceeded to utilize- 
 it therefore, by a visit to a certain Mr.. 
 Grloster. 
 
 Now, this Mr. Gloster was a man concern- 
 ing whom there was a wide difference of 
 opinion ; many, perhaps most persons hold- 
 ing him a charlatan and a quack, while a re- 
 spectable minority affirmed him possessed of 
 certain marvellous and peculiar gifts. In 
 judging of unusual phenomena of any sort, 
 it is always safe to pronounce them humbugs; 
 and if one only doubts assiduously and ha- 
 bitually, he rarely misses a reputation for 
 wisdom. Doubt is, after all, the only solid 
 foothold we can have in judging of things out 
 of the common and theratural. And, not 
 oidy does a doubter risk nothing by doubt, 
 l)ut,uiK)u a demonstration of that which he 
 doubted, ojxn alwayscover himself with glory 
 by afrank confession of his error,and carry the 
 public sentiment by his reluctant but candid 
 convei'sion. 
 
 There was much about this Mr. Gloster to 
 command approbation, at any rate. Although 
 styling himself a ' Mind-Reader, ' he insert- 
 ed no advertisements in the newspapers — 
 promised no infallibility^authorized no 
 statements as^o his prowess, and claimed no 
 supernatural gifts of any kind. Nobody 
 knew, indeed, ex.ictly how he first became 
 known ; who first discovered his presence in 
 th^ city, or could put their finger upon anv 
 great practical benefit which lie had been \\ 
 any case. But, somehow or other, his name'' 
 
Ti 
 
 ST. JUDE'S ASSISTANT. 
 
 89 
 
 icamo 
 ce ill 
 
 iiaiuo' 
 
 '/■■' 
 
 l>egan to be noised about, and hundreds of 
 people, believers and unbelievers, flocked to 
 his apartments. His plan of doing business, 
 • at any rate, was said to be simple enough. 
 Upon payment of a consultation fee, you 
 •entered his presence, when, if he could be of 
 no assistance he would tell you so at oucu, 
 and turn to the next comer. 
 
 Mr. Gloster's fame had not missed the om- 
 iiiivorous ears of Mr. Strasburger ; and,tliere- 
 fore, when he found he had an houi' to spare 
 •after pcsting his ledger and drawing off his 
 first trial bjuance, he again entered his hired 
 coupe, and ordered himself driven to 191 — 
 Broadway. 
 
 Broadway, as far as the nineteen hundreds, 
 ;is not, .as yet, a thickly built street ; but. 
 liere and there along its sides, far-seeing 
 men, who are able to wait for their incomes, 
 have erected large and tolerably spacious 
 ■edifices. No. 191 — was one of these, a large 
 Jive-storey structure of red brick, faced with 
 •brown stone. Upon the street door of this 
 'building were five bell knobs, ranged one 
 above the other. Over the fourth bell from 
 the bottom, indicating the fourth floor, was 
 tacked a small printed card, liearing the 
 name ' Mr. Gloster. ' This fourth bell Mr. 
 Strasburger pidled ; and, as the door swung 
 open before him, ascended. Upon the fourth 
 landing was a door bearing a large paste- 
 board placard, upon which the name of Mr. 
 (xloster, while the additional words, ' Mind- 
 Reader, ' appeared beneath. Upon the door 
 opening, with a ring which could be heard 
 in the adjoining room, a small young man 
 accosted him with, ' Do you want to consult 
 Mr. (Jloster, sir? Your card, and ten dollars, 
 please. ' 
 
 Mr. Strasburger handed the small young 
 man a ten dollar bill and a card he had pro- 
 cui*ed for the purpose, upon wliich wa? tvrit- 
 ten, ' Mr. John Btll. ' The g'"".!'! young 
 man thereupon disappeared for a moment, 
 but innnediately returned with a ' walk this 
 way, if you jilejise, sir. ' Mr. Strasburger 
 was then ushered into a large front room. 
 
 Sever.ai open trunks were standing upon 
 the floor, and a stout, bustling woman was 
 evidantly engaged in packing them, as 
 she went from one to the other, deposit- 
 ing articles in each. A large chiffonier 
 stood in one corner of the room, it's many 
 drsiwers being pulled half open, and two or 
 three tables were piled with a profusion of 
 such nondescript articles as come prominent- 
 ly to the surface at house-moving. Mr. (ilos- 
 ter was evidently about to emigrate from his 
 
 E resent abode, and Mrs, (iloster — the stout, 
 ustling woman — was evidently entrusted 
 with the operation. At a small desk be- 
 :tween the two front windows sat a rather 
 
 stout, good-looking gentleman with brown 
 curling hair, and moustache and imjierial of 
 the same colour. He was dresseil in black 
 broadcloth ; and, had he been standing, 
 would have been quite tall. As Mr. Stras- 
 burger approached liim, the \Tind-Reader — 
 for tliis was Mr. (iiuHter iiinisuif- t'.tniud 
 and said (juietly, ' I can tell you nothing, 
 sir, unless you give me your true name.' 
 
 ' I cannot consent U) give yon that unless 
 this room is emptied of all besides us two, ' 
 said Mr. Strasburger ; then, lowering his 
 voice, he added, ' I am a detective, and this 
 seems to be imperative. ' 
 
 Mr. Gloster made a motion to his wife, 
 who, up to tliis time, had gone with her 
 packing — and she graciously withdrew. 
 
 ' Will yon sit down in that chair, if yon 
 please? ' said the .\liud-Reatler, aft«rshe had 
 gone. ' Your first name is John, as the 
 card says, I know. ^Vhat is your last ? ' 
 
 Mr. Strasburger took another card, his 
 ov/n, this time, from his card case, and 
 handed it to Mr. Gloster, sitting, at the 
 same time, in the chair indicated. 
 
 ' I cannot tell you what you desire to 
 know, Mr. Strasburger, ' said Mr. Gloster, 
 ' myself ; but the lady of whom you are 
 now thinking, will, under my direction, go 
 in spirit to the studio you have yourself 
 visited, and see for you all that you would 
 wish to see. But, in order to do this, she 
 must be brought here, and within two days. 
 I shall not be hsre f>n Friday — this is Tues- 
 day. If she be i rought here in a carriage, 
 blindfolded, and seated in this room, at four 
 o'clock on Thursday afternoon next, she will 
 tell you everj'thing. For myself, except in 
 tliis waj, I can tell you nothing. That is 
 all I have to say this afternoon, Mr. Stras- 
 liurger. ' 
 
 He ceased speaking. Mr. Str.asburger 
 waited for him to resume. But he waited 
 in vain. At last, after about five mitmtea 
 of expectation, he said, * Am I to hear no 
 more ?' 
 
 ' There is nothing more to say. There 
 will be some objection on the part of friends 
 to the young lady's being transported here, 
 but, unless she be placed in the chair in 
 wliich you now sit, it is hopeless for you to 
 expect any aid from me. The friends will 
 perceive this and consent. As for myself, 
 tlie business you wish of me it is not my 
 liiibit to do. I .am myself a Mind-Reader, 
 and am continually in the 8t.ate of sleep in 
 which you see me now. I sleep myself — I 
 do not induce sleep in others. But in this 
 case I will do what you require. There 
 is nothing further that I can tell you 
 now. (iood morning. As you have re- 
 quested that my wife withdraw, will you 
 
 :il ■& 
 
 {it 
 
 >■ I 
 
 f! 
 
70 
 
 ST. JUUK'S ASSISTANT. 
 
 yourself ring the bell to be shown out ?' and 
 with hia long white and delicately shaped 
 hand, he indicated a bellpuU upon the wall 
 near him. 
 
 Mr. StrasVnirger touclied the bell indi- 
 cated, and Mrs. Uloater appeared, but, as slue 
 turned to leave, Mr. Gloster, who was hold- 
 ing the card very near his eyes, said, ' stay. 
 There is a widow lady now upon a train of 
 cars moving towarils this city, who will be of 
 much service to you. Her name is Melden. 
 She is dressed in black, and carries a white 
 canvas satciiel. ' 
 
 Mr. Strasburger had enteied the Mind- 
 Reader's presence a thorougli sceptic. He 
 left it convinced. As he approached Mr. 
 Gloster, tlie thought had really lieen upper- 
 most in his mind of suggesting the name of 
 Olive Gray as a lady wliose highly nervous 
 organization iiad once, as he had ajii'crtaineil, 
 given expression to clairvoyant symptoms ; 
 hut the fact of her present hopeless state of 
 mental derangement, had occurred to him, 
 and checked the words upon his lips. Now he 
 has assured that she oould, through this man 
 -this num, who liad in an instant disarmed 
 all the detective's doubts, and read his own 
 taoughts — be again put into a clairvoyant 
 st.ite — could see, in retrospection, the 
 veriest details of the crime he was unfolding, 
 and give him, at hvst, a solution of all his 
 labours. He ordered his coupe back again to 
 Mulberry street. Arrived at the Hcad- 
 ((uarters, his Hrst act was to sunnnon the 
 'aithful i)oyle. Upon his sinister face ap- 
 I (earing, Mr. Strasburger gavL- vent to the 
 toUowiug order : ' A wonnn named Melden, 
 ,1 M'idow, dressed in black, with a white 
 canvas satchel, will arrive in this city in a 
 1 vv moments, either at the (irand Central 
 or at one of the Jersey stations. She nuist 
 be taken to the House of Detention for 
 wit ie-:s !\t nnce. Lose no time. Do all 
 by telegraph.' 
 
 I lie ^lupiiistophelian sulicidinate made 
 neither sound nor sign, but disappeared ; 
 and Mr. Strasburger lighted a gas burner, for 
 it was now dusk, and rang for his dinner, 
 which he usually had sent in to him from a 
 neighbouring restaurant. But before it was 
 spread, there was a low knock at his door. 
 
 . ,.., CHAPTER Xni. 
 
 * WE llAVK FOUND IT.' 
 
 •Come in," said Mr. Strasburger. The 
 door opened, and the form of Mr. .Tim- 
 nierson, the pawnbroker, whom we have 
 once before seen in the detective's I'oom, ap- 
 peared. 1- I,' ■••(/' J--! VJU I 
 
 'Cbme in, .Tinuuerson, sit down ;' said the 
 detective. 
 
 Old Jimmerson sat down heavily at the 
 table. 
 
 'I'm just ordering the dinner. You've 
 dined, I suppose';!', 
 
 'No, I haven't.' 
 
 ' Then I'll order something. ' 
 
 ' As you please. I should like something 
 to drink,' said the pawnbroker. 
 
 Probably there existed no two men in the 
 city with fewer friendships and less frienils, 
 apiece, than the two now hob-nobl)ing in the 
 dusky room. Their avocations in life were 
 not congenial to friendships. A man may 
 be hail-fellow-well-met with his dentist, or 
 even on terms of intimacy with his under- 
 taker ; but one scarcely would like for his 
 bosom friend either a detective or a pa^\■n- 
 broker. Then, again, the natural eflect of 
 the two trades is to cultivate suspicion. The 
 one a suspicion of persons, the other a sus-' 
 picion of things. Suspicion is clearly the 
 business of each. Your detective looks at 
 every nianasapossii)le felon. Y(jur pawnbroker 
 looks at everyt'.nng as fruit of a possible 
 larceny, or, as it were, a Deodand, ' of 
 which he, in lieu of holy Church, nuist take 
 in custody. 
 
 But, pariahs as they were, a sort of 
 str.ange, unaccountable friendship— or per- 
 haps it was only an attraction — had grown 
 up between these two men. Or, it might 
 have been that each, illustrious in his own 
 calling, felt the need of the oWier ; and that 
 their friendship was only an alliance otien- 
 sive and defensive. But surely, without 
 confessing, nay, without suspecting it them- 
 selves, each, in time of doubt or stress, 
 woidd have called upon the other as his next- 
 friend, his procheiii aiiiji. 
 
 The two men finished their cover of soup 
 while a waiter was in attendance. Then, by 
 direction, the joint was served, the table 
 spread, the ciaret uncorked — the dish of 
 fruit, which was to form their simple des- 
 sert, was ])ut within reach, and the waiter 
 withdrew. 
 
 The pawnbroker was first to speak. Draw- 
 ing a heavy i)lain gold ring from his pocket, 
 he laifl itby the detective's plate, as he saitl, 
 ' It came in this morning at eleven o'clock. 
 We gave him a dollar and thirty cents on it. ' 
 
 Mr. Strasburger lifted it, examined it, and 
 put it in his vest pocket, ' That is the ring, 
 i knew it woidd conic to you. I have not 
 seen it for seven years, but I knew yo i 
 would take it sooner or later. What sort of 
 a looking man left it ? ' said he. 
 
 ' O, a ti'ajnp— t head and face and neck all 
 ccvcrcd with hair. His ijreast. which was. 
 open, was a mass of hair, like the rest. ' fn. 
 
ST. JUDE'S ASSISTANT. 
 
 71 
 
 noup 
 
 by 
 
 ible 
 of 
 
 les- 
 iter 
 
 yoi 
 
 ot 
 
 t 
 
 :all 
 was 
 
 Mr. Strasburger gave a start. 
 
 • I could pick out that man anywhere. He 
 is a perfect giant. Barniun ought to have 
 him, he ought ! ' 
 
 As this was Mr. Jimmeraon's CMily joke, 
 he reached for the claret, and filling his 
 water goblet to the brim, gulped it down. 
 
 • Pass me that, ' said Mr. Strasburger. 
 
 He emptied the remainder of the bottle in 
 his own glass, and swallowed it. Then he 
 paused a moment, looked at the closed door, 
 and said to Jimmerson, ' Then he is at lar^e. 
 They told me he should never leave tlie 
 
 Tombs.' ,vr,,.f-- 
 
 ' What is he ? a tramp ? ' 
 
 'Yes, a tramp — but a tramp that will be 
 a murderer if he ever finds me out. Jimmer- 
 son, do you know my life is not worth a 
 shilling a day while that man is outside of a 
 jail ? I am not a timid man as you know 
 well enough, but I call you to remember and 
 to witness here, that if ever my body is 
 found streched on this floor, with a knife in 
 my heart, that man. Job Pierce, drove the 
 knife home. And he'll do it— he'll do it !' 
 
 Brave man as he was, he sluuldered. ' I 
 see it before me, my man, ' he wont on. ' I 
 see myself sitting here alone some midnight, 
 as I have sat many times before. Maybe I 
 have maps and plans on this table — maybe 
 an old glove or a shoe, or a scrap of a letter, 
 which are mostly the tools I work witli. 
 Then I hear a rustle over my head. I don't 
 look up, but go on with my work. Tlien I 
 hear the rustle again. I feel — I know wlio 
 is in the room. I reach to press the knob 
 that calls I^oyle, when two great hairy hands 
 seize my wrists, and the devil who pawned 
 that ring holds me in his power. I tell you, 
 Jimmerson, tliat all the power of the city, all 
 its law and magistrates, all this police force 
 of ten thousand men, every one of whom are 
 at my service when I want them, cannot 
 keep my blood from being <lrained by that 
 man. Remember, when you hear of my 
 nuirder, remember Job Pierce is the name of 
 t le man that did it.' 
 
 .) immerson had never seen his friend in 
 this mood before. 
 
 ' What has come over you, my man ? ' said 
 
 he. 
 
 ' 0, I think I am growing to be a clairvoy- 
 ant, 'said the detective with a laugh. 'I 
 went to one to-day, and we're going to search 
 for a hidden clue through him on Thursday. 
 I believe I am one myself, and might have 
 saved the expense — that's all. ' 
 
 ' Who is this Pierce ? ' said Jim'.ierson, 
 after a considerable pause, in which the two 
 men went on M'ith their dinner. 
 
 • Who is he ? He is a ruffian. ' 
 ' What has he done?.' 
 
 ' Nothing — that's it. If he only would do 
 something I could shut him up; but lie 
 won't steal, and he won't break any law. 1 
 have had him held three months on sus-pi- 
 cion, and understood, from the office, that 
 he would be kept there indefinitely. But 
 he's out. I suppose I could have him held 
 for threatening my life,/ but it wouldn't d<> 
 for Stra.sburger to show himself treniljling at 
 a tramp's menace— nor yet the menace of 
 any man that lives.' 
 
 He took tiie ring out of his pocket, and 
 looked at it long ; he held it to tlie liglit and 
 read tlie inscription engraved insitle. Hi 
 seemed communing with his own thouglits. 
 So the practical Jimmerson went on witli 
 his dinner, and did liot interrupt iiiuj. 
 
 ' Twenty years ago,' said Mr. Strasburger. 
 at last, but speaking more to himself than 
 to his companion, ' twenty yeai's ago a girl 
 — a married girl — took her wedding ring otl" 
 the finger where her husband had placed it, 
 and gave it to me. To-day you take it for a 
 dollar and thirty cents, and it comes to me 
 again. God I Jimmerson, you and I don't 
 have any time to fall in love, do we, 
 old man ? Ha, ha ! Love I Tliere's sue'a a 
 thing — I know it— I've seen it — it's the sur- 
 est fact of all the facts I have to deal with. 
 It grows up in a man's heart or a woman's 
 lieart, until it's as much a part of their life 
 as their hearts' blood. It's there ! Why, 
 man, I might love j'ou— you, Jimmerson— 
 and if I did, without your asking me to, or 
 having anything to do with it, or even 
 knowing me or caring anything about me, 
 that love for you would be as mucli a part 
 of my life as my blood — or my pulse, or my 
 breath. It would be a part of my nature, 
 and you might as well expect to learn tlie 
 habits of an eagle by studying them on tlie 
 supposition that it was a hawk, as expect to 
 learn anytliiug about me, without taking my 
 love for you into account. Wlien I find a 
 man dead by the stroke of a left-hanilod 
 man, I look for a left-handed man — when I 
 find a man killed by a heartless man — killed 
 from no motive of robbery, or intrigue, or 
 succession, do you know what I look for? 
 Why, I look for a man who has no life in 
 his heart, wlio has loved a woman against 
 his will and her own — who has a bootless 
 love put into his heart by the same Power 
 or the same Chance or the same Fate — or 
 whatever you call it, that put blood vessels 
 there ; and I am never wrong. If you place 
 a man in an air pump, and pump away his 
 breath, he will put his mouth to the crevice 
 through which tlie air is flowing away. If 
 you take the last loaf of breail from a starv- 
 ing chilli, that child will follow the bread 
 that you tear from its band. I took from 
 
 i.jll 
 
 i:fl 
 
 t ''I 
 
 "i 1 1 
 
 Ml 
 
 H 
 
 hi 
 
ST. JUDE'S ASSISTANT. 
 
 itii a, long mini 
 
 T only tell you 
 
 -the name of my 
 
 that great hairy giant, Job Pierce, the love of 
 the woman he loved — and hr s following me 
 with a scent and a purpose tnat is inevitable 
 and inexorable ; and yon will find me dead 
 upon this floor, Jimnierson, witli a long slim 
 knife in my heart, some day, 
 to remember that his nan)e- 
 murderer — is Job Pierce ?' 
 
 Did the detective, as he spoke, think of 
 himself alone, or did he see, in his eager eye, 
 the dark studio where the nuirrlered form of 
 St. Jude's Assistant knelt as if in prayer, 
 one day ? Did he see the bliglited house- 
 hold -the ci'azed gii-l, the outcast soul red- 
 dened with a brother's blood, the primal 
 eldest curse, the curse of (^ain? Let us be 
 sure he did ; for, in the hitherto unsuspected 
 terror of his own soul, the detective lost no 
 sight of his lure. He felt, that, wide 
 apart as they were in life -wide as 
 the hemispheres — the doom of George Brand 
 was his doom. In tracking the murderer of 
 St. Jude's Assistant, he knew that he was 
 tracking his own murderer. He was the 
 greatest detective that had ever lived. He 
 had detected the liand that should let out 
 his own life ! 
 
 Mr. Jimmerson, in his trade, was used 
 enough to the relics of tragedy. He was 
 familiar enough — (lod knows — with wan and 
 faded cheeks, with lioUow and bleared eyes, 
 hollow and blear with desperation or despair; 
 but he never witnessed the tragedy itself. 
 He was a little disconcerted with the turn 
 things were taking, but he went on eating 
 and drinking. 
 
 ' The girl that twenty years ago, took her 
 wedding-ring — this ring, Jimmerson, off her 
 linger and gave it to me,' proceeded Mr. 
 Strasburger, in the musing voice — ' was the 
 wife of my murderer. She loved me — I don't 
 know why. I saw her on the stage. She 
 was an actress, with a beautiful bust and 
 pretty ankle. I took her for what I supposed 
 she was, like most actresses — to be enjoyed. 
 I sought her to enjoy her, nothing more ; 
 but she clung to me, loved me, as I never 
 supposed any woman would ever love me. 
 When I found that she was a married, 
 woman, of course I only enjoyed her the 
 more. It was an additional spice to our 
 intrigue ; but, while I don't pretend to any 
 conscience upon the subject, and while the 
 fact that she had a husband wouldn't have 
 in the least interfered with my appetite for 
 her, yet, it so happened, that I did tire *■ 
 her, and tried to prevail upon her to 
 back, but she wouldn'f, I tell you, fi 
 first to last, I never sought her love 
 never dreamed of desiring it .any more than 
 I dreamed of inspiring it. Wiien my 
 appetite was satisfied she could have gone 
 
 where she would, but she clung to me, as I 
 told you, and she was my slave until she 
 died. There was a child — she died in giving 
 birth to it — it was a girl. I had it takeii 
 care of, of course, .and I put around its little 
 neck a ch<ain, to which I attached this ring, 
 its mother's wedding-ring. Well, the chihl 
 grew up, and wore tne ring around its neck. 
 Even when a mere baby, it looked strangely 
 like its mother — she was a beauty, there is no 
 denying that. I used to visit the child occa- 
 sionally, and leave money for its keep. She 
 was tlien in charge of an old woman, who 
 lived in the suburos of Newark, New Jersey, 
 in a portion called Roseville, wliere I had 
 placed her. One day, as I entered that ohl 
 woman's cottage, I c.auglit sight of this m.an,. 
 Job Pierce, w.atching nie. I knew him by 
 sight, as the husb.and I hjid wronged. We 
 did not meet. Soon after I he.ard that tlie 
 child had been stolen away. ' I was not 
 sorry to be relieved of its maintenance, fori 
 didn't love it. I looked at it only us tHe 
 bill sent in for my entertainment, which I 
 was to pay, t'.iat was all. So I paid it. 
 But. bj'-and-))y, as time went on, I began to 
 feel a sort of conscience in the m.atter. More 
 than th.at, as I grew older, with no living 
 thing in the world to call mine — \vitli no 
 home, no friends, nothing tluat cared whe- 
 tlier I lived or died, I began to think that if 
 I could find this child- -for it was mine — 
 nobody could gainsay that — I miglit make a 
 home for my old age. I set about tracing 
 my child just as calmly as I would set about 
 finding a murderer. I felt confident, th.at 
 sooner or later, the man who had the child 
 Mould use that ring to raise money ; and I 
 was sure that it would come to you. That 
 is how we came to know eacli other — and 
 now the ring is before me. I am usually 
 right in these matters. But — l)ut Job Pierce 
 must have been very hungry indeed to have 
 paited with this. 
 
 At this moment a small bell in the wall 
 was heard to ring. An instant' after there 
 ^vas a knock at the door. Mr. Strasburger 
 rose and opened it. 
 
 The ugly face of Doyle first intruded, and 
 then a portion of his body. ' The woman 
 Melden is all safe, ' he said. 
 
 •AH right ; there is nothinc; more to- 
 night. ' 
 
 And the confidence between the detective 
 and the pawnbroker, thus interrupted, was 
 never resumed. " 
 
ST. JUDES ASSISTANT. 
 
 73 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 MRS. MELD EN. 
 
 Our readers must, by this time, have 
 drawn from these pages some conclusions as 
 to the power and scope of authority held by 
 tlie great Mr. Strasburger. A man who can 
 detain persons, accused of no cranes, within 
 stone walls and barred windows, and carry 
 iiinoc(!nt women to Houses of Detention, 
 must be a person whose friendship is valu- 
 able and whose animosity is dangerous. But 
 to no les.s than this, amounted the preroga- 
 tive of Mr. Strasburger. A long career of 
 uninteiTupted success liad so impressed his 
 chiefs, that their standing order was, ' I'o as 
 Mr. Strasburger orders ;' and so, ineffect, he 
 was omnipotent. But outside of the police 
 and their professional correspondents, it is 
 to be added, Mr. Strasburger was entirely 
 unknown. Outside of the Force he had scarce- 
 ly a nodding acquaintance. He might have 
 walked up and down liroadway, from sun- 
 rise to sunset, for a week, without being v^- 
 cognized by a civilian, and, with the excep- 
 tion of the old pawnbroker, Jimmerson, he 
 certainly had never opened his heart to a liv- 
 ing man. This being understood, it will ex- 
 cite no surprise when we say that, as he 
 stood before Mrs. Mehlen, that wortliy lady 
 was conscious, for the first time in her life, 
 of meeting a person whom she had not only 
 never seen before, but of whose ancestry, re- 
 putation and previous career, she had not 
 the slightest information. 
 
 For Mrs. Melden, reader, was alady whose 
 forte it was to know everything about every- 
 body. Given any person, living or dead, she 
 could tell you who his fatlier was, and under 
 what circumstances, after how mavy repulses 
 and rejections, he married that person's 
 mother. Nay, she could inform you (and 
 would and did, ) where the father first met 
 the mother, what induced him to fall in love 
 with her, how many times before he had 
 been engaged, and thfe moving cause for each 
 ;breaking off. And to his worldly condition, 
 whether rich or poor, whether his paternal 
 ;home was mortgaged, and for how much, 
 whether he had been wild or quiet, healthy 
 ■ or delicate, she knew everything accurately. 
 'Of contemporary record she was a walking 
 ■chronicle, a peripatetic newspaper — a Burke's 
 or anybody else s peerage, only Burke's never 
 went further than the nobility and gentry, 
 while Mrs. Melden took in the commonalty 
 and yeomanry as well. There never M'as a 
 wedding spoken of but she knew all 
 labout the parties and the parties' genealogies, 
 "back to_..the primal gorilla or ape. She 
 would feel no demerit to descend to par- 
 
 ticulars about the bride's trosscau, and tind 
 no impropriety in introducing the most 
 sacred secrets of the bridal bower , and bed 
 among the detiiils of the gifts, the tour, and 
 the tJcttlcments. 
 
 Mrs. Melden, for the refreshment of the 
 outer M'orld, was possessed of a pair of lungs 
 that many richer and wiser persons might 
 have envied her. She never passed hve 
 minutes without dispensing iiifuiination, and 
 she never dispensed it except at the very 
 top of that same pair of lungs. She habitu- 
 ally addressed you, even if you were sitting 
 within a yard of her, in tones as if you were 
 in tlie fourth storey of the house across the 
 street. She talked incessantly, and, strange 
 to say, she not only talked, as a hahit, but 
 talked as a trade. Her tongue was lier 
 fortune ; and by it she lived and tlirove. 
 But this last statement may need explana- 
 tion. 
 
 We do not mean to be understood as say- 
 ing that^people actually sul)scribed for Mrs. 
 Melden,* as tliey did for the J f mild, by the 
 week, month, or year — although it cannot 
 be denied that they took her for longer or 
 shorter pex'iods, as tlie case was. We would 
 not so far forget our duty to that lady as to 
 insinuate that she went from house to house 
 for so much a year, in money, and tliercby 
 earned lier bread. She was not, liowever, 
 we are bound to say, so very different in that 
 respect, from her contemporary, the Hera td, 
 Like the Herald, she entered every house ; 
 like the Herald, she was consulted o' every 
 hand ; like the Hendd she was reterred to 
 in every dispute ; and, like the Herald, her 
 decision was beyond gainsaj'. 
 
 The great difference was that the Herald 
 had a cash capital, and was edited. Mrs. 
 Melden had no cash capital and no editor. 
 Although Mrs. Melden had talked three 
 husbands to death, no fourth husband, up to 
 this time, had sought martyrdom at lar 
 hands. - Neither of tlie three had left ht r 
 anj' fortune, and she was obliged, at tliifj 
 time to support herself by her tongue alone. 
 She did it in this wise : Say, on the first of 
 January, she would arrive at the Jones'. If 
 the Jones' guest rooms were all occupied, a 
 sliake down in tlie store-room, or on the ser- 
 vants' floor, would do for her. She usually 
 obtained her entrance by pushing past the 
 servants', it is true, but, once inside a thresh- 
 old, nobody dared to turn lier out. Once 
 within the street door, with her valise, she 
 was morally certain of the best the house 
 could give her, and the most respectul treat- 
 ment, until she chose to depart. Of cmirse 
 the reason for this was obvious. In order to 
 be so universal a dispenser of information, 
 she must be constantly collecting informa- 
 
 'f 
 
 
74 
 
 ST. .TUBE'S ASSISTANT. 
 
 tion. She had the most marvellous memory 
 for the iniinitoHt details, that mortal ever 
 possessed. (In fact, if Mr. Strashurger had 
 only known it, he stood before a living ex- 
 ami«'t' and exposition of the extreme of his 
 theory about the human store-house.) 
 Her eyes and ears and nostrils were 
 wide open and on the alert, and 
 not the most trivial circumstance escaped 
 her. Therefore it was, tliat a family once 
 saddled witii Mrs. Melden, treated her 
 thenceforward, and as long as she chose to 
 make their roof lier home, witli tiie most 
 studied and even abject civility. They knew 
 tliat their reputation was in her hands. The 
 Jones 8 — as they listened to hei- report of the 
 doings and goings on at the Browns, across 
 the street — shuddered to think what the 
 Robinsons, in turn, would hear of the Jones's, 
 if the.Tones's were not careful. So they load- 
 ed her plate with the delicacies of the table, 
 and could not do too much for her. Siie 
 usually gnve a fortnight of her NTiliuible time 
 to a family. But there were houses where 
 a month, or even six weeks was not too long 
 for her sojourn. If the Jones's came into 
 class A of her acquaintance, it was not 
 until late into February that she bade them 
 adieu, and moved over to the Kobinsons. If 
 the Robinsons were class B, a bare fortnight 
 of her capital time she lavished upon them 
 before she went to the Billings's. And so 
 her years are divided. The Smiths, the 
 Browns, the Jones's, the Robinsons, the Bil- 
 lings's, the Bakers, the Adams's, the Clarks, 
 the Dodges, the Harris's, the Parkers, the 
 Williams's — Mrs Melden had her letters ad- 
 dressed to any of these places, .and woe to 
 the tinhappy family who, ui\ receivinc; one 
 of them, did not make gala preparation for 
 her reception. 
 
 It will be remembered that Mr. Gloster, 
 the mind reader, had not indicated, or even 
 hinted at the key to the particular informa- 
 tion in Mrs. Melden's possession, which the 
 detective was to seek. Had Mr. .Strasburger 
 known Mrs, Melden's reputation, he 
 might iiavc either declined to set, her him- 
 self, and sent a substitute, or have proceeded 
 to beat generally, in search of some spot in 
 her discourse wherein to check her and in- 
 sert his magnet. As it was, while undecided 
 as to what course to take, he happened to 
 stumble upon precisely tlie opposite correct 
 course ; and to find out all about Mrs, Mel- 
 den herself Hrst, before seeking to suck from 
 Mrs. Melden's ample comb any information 
 about othei-s. In this he might have been 
 very unhapp}-, Mrs, Melden knew every- 
 thing. She was used to cross-questioning 
 about estates, weddings, elopements, child- 
 births, mortgages, failures ; and wliy not 
 
 about murders ? But, if the detective hafi 
 lieen posted as to her identity, he could not 
 have struck more accurately upon the charac- 
 ter of the woman, or on the track of the very 
 information ho was searching for. 
 
 Mrs, Melden, uj)on her arrest, had been con- 
 ducted to a carriage and conveyed by Doyl& 
 to the House of Detention, in utter silence. 
 That is to say, he — Doyle, had utterly re- 
 fused to open his lips on any subject any 
 further than ascertainnig her name and assur- 
 ing her of the impotence of any attempt tO' 
 escape or protest— had preserved his habitual 
 dumbness. Arrived at the House of Deten- 
 tion, she had been attended to a very tolerably 
 furnislied room, with a clean bed, facilities 
 for washing, dressing, etc, and her valise had 
 been handed in to her with as much ceremony 
 as if she had put up at the Windsor, or the 
 Fifth Avenue, Moreover, she had been 
 served with a fair supper of cold chicken, 
 white baker's rolls, a dish of hemes, and un- 
 limited tea. Beyond tiie disagreeable iron 
 bars that intervened, at a distance of about 
 a foot, between her M-indow and the daylight, 
 the thick walls, and the disagi-eeable click 
 of a key in lier door, she would have had 
 nothing of wliich to complain. To tell the 
 truth, she had been exhausted by her journey, 
 and had slept well. Her breakfast had not. 
 been unwholesome, and, saving and except- 
 ing that she had had actually nobody to talk 
 to for some fifteen hours, she was inclined to 
 be anything but savage. She had slept in 
 many worse beds, and eaten much worse fare 
 in the course of her sporadic conversational 
 life. When, therefore, an attendant aaked 
 her politely to follow him to the parlour of 
 the matron of the establishment, she might 
 have been in a worse mood than she found 
 herself. 
 
 Mr. Strasburger was afraid of women — so 
 he was polite to them. He never had, in 
 his trade, mucli call to be polite, but he could 
 be, if he tried. 
 
 ' We are sorry to have been 50 unceremoni- 
 ous with you, Mrs, Melden,' said Mr. Stras- 
 burger, 'but it was late, and we couldn't 
 t Icgraph your friends for bail.' (Which was 
 uncandid. No etfco't or intention of the kmd 
 had there been, on the part of the authorities, 
 to ask bail. In fact, it was an old trick of 
 Mr. Strasburger's to thus obtain for himself 
 an interview with a witness beforehand, at 
 the cost merely of an apology, wliich, upon, 
 occasion, he well knew how to make, ) ' If 
 you will give us any address, a carriage is at 
 your disposal, and we are only ordered to ask 
 your friends for their personal secuiity that 
 you will appear when you arc wanted.' 
 
 ' Wanted for wliat, if you please, sir ?' 
 said Mrs. Melden ; for the deference of the 
 
ST. JUDE'S ASSISTANT. 
 
 Vf- 
 
 oily (letoctivo liad already made her forgut 
 Uer unceromuuious incarceration. 
 
 ' A man named Core is soon to be tried for 
 burglary, ' said Mr. Strasburger. 
 
 'Not tlic Cores of Kondout, I hope,' said 
 Mrs. Melilen, ' I knt)w those Cores no well, 
 and I never knew a more Christian family ! 
 Wliy, they have family pr.iyers twice a day ; 
 and l)r. Fales, pastor of the Presbyterian 
 mectin' there — it was he as married for his 
 second wife, Miss Rivers of Hudson, you 
 know ; she was yery rich, and an old maid. 
 ii.nd now her oldest son, Rivers Fules, will 
 have it al', because that girl she had adojjted 
 I lied of the scarlet fever only a few months 
 ago'— 
 
 'You liavc been at Hudson, then?' said 
 Mr. Strasliurger, who caugiit at the first 
 lead, and determined to maintain it. 
 
 ' Yes, often. I visited the Henrys and 
 the Bogerharts there, two years ago. Mrs. 
 Bogerhart was a Newhouse — her father used 
 to be a lawyer here, and he grew very rich ; 
 but when lie died tiiey found that everything 
 was mortgaged up to its' — 
 
 ' Well,' Mr. Strasburger succeeded in in- 
 terrupting ; ' there was a great robl^ery at 
 Hudson the other day, and Mrs. Bogerhart 
 lost her watch. Among other things now, 
 upon this man Core, wo found a watch, 
 which we think is Mrs. Boge. liarts ; you 
 would know it and be able to indentify it, 
 wouldn't you '!' 
 
 ' Know it ! I should t.-nk I would know 
 it among ten thousand ! V\'liy, I was say- 
 ing at Mr. Ogden's once — you know Mr. 
 Ogden, he's a great lawyer ; in summer he 
 lives out at Malcolm ; but when I was there 
 he lived at Malcolm summer and winter. 
 Well, once I was staying there, when some- 
 one got into the house — ' 
 
 ' How large a family has this Mr. Ogden?' 
 broke in Mr. Strasburger. 
 
 ' Well, there's Mr. Ogden, is one ; and 
 Mrs. Ogden is two ; and there's the three 
 boys is five' — Mrs. Melden checked them oti" 
 on her lingers as she spoke — ' And then 
 there's that poor little gypsey girl they took 
 from the tramp and educateil, oidy slie's 
 quite a lad)' now, and very beautiful, they 
 say — not as I've seen her since they moved 
 in town — Mara they call her — Mara Ogden 
 — that's six : and then perhaps you migiit 
 count Paul. Ht's always there when lie's 
 at home — is seven — he's in Europe now — 
 and then there's that lean Miss Singleton, 
 who looks after the house — though they do 
 say slie's very rich or going to be — that's 
 eiglit. Eight. ' 
 
 ' Do you know Paul Ogden ?' 
 
 ' Slight. I know him by sight I see 
 him at the table when I was at Malcolm, 
 
 at Mr. Ogden's — three or more years ago — 
 and tlien I see him once since. ' 
 
 ' Wlien was that ?' 
 
 ' Only about a year after. I rememl)er it 
 was in the Indian summer, and a In.'ivutiful 
 day it was. The Woods, on Fifty-nintii 
 street, had just had a great wedding recep- 
 tion for their daughter. She that married 
 a Captain Joyce of the army, that after- 
 wards was killed by an awful old Indian 
 named Setting-Cow or Setting-Bull, oi- 
 something like that ; they liavc got hi.n 
 sword hanging up in the library over his. 
 picture, where I often seen it ; and on De- 
 coration Day they always perfectly cover it 
 with flowers.' 
 
 Mr. Strasburger knew Mrs. Melden very 
 well by this time ; and, jnoreover, lie Knew 
 that he was on tlie right track. So he did 
 not interrupt her flow of words until she 
 came to a full stop, when he said, ' Mrs. 
 Melden, the carriage will be here very 
 shortly. Would yi.u care for a glass of 
 porter, or some claret, or what would yoiL 
 prefer, before you staiied ?' 
 
 ' Indeed, and you are very kind, sir,.' 
 said Mrs. Melden. 
 
 ' You are tlie guest of the city of New 
 York, my dear Mrs. Melden, and we can- 
 not allow you to be uncomfortable. ' 
 
 Mrs. Melden mi^ht have reflecteil that 
 ' the city ' was a little uncereinoni(jus and 
 pressing in its hospitalities ; but, possibly, 
 she rememliered the great man in thw 
 Bible, who, when he gave suppers, went out 
 in the highways and liedges, and compelled 
 his guests to come in ; and rejoiced tliat ' the 
 city, ' followed such a high precedent. So 
 she exclaimed, ' Well, then, sir, as you are 
 so good, I believe I would like some sherry, 
 if I m not troubling you too much. ' 
 
 Mr. Strasburger nodded and rang a bell. 
 ' I thia< you were speaking of the Woods' 
 wedding, Mrs. Melden, ' said he. 
 
 ' Oh, yes. Well, they had the most beau- 
 tiful presents I ever seen in my life ; all 
 spread out in the second storey front room. 
 They said they was one hundred thousand 
 dollars — though, to be sure, the presents of 
 Mrs. Phapen's wedding was two hundred 
 and fifty thousand dollars — but then one 
 hundred thousand dollars of that ohl Mr. 
 Phapen gave them in a clieque on the Ciiem- 
 ical Bjink ; and as 1 was going over to tlie*' 
 — Here the sherry caiiio in, and Mrs. Melden 
 helped herself plentifully. 
 
 ' And I was saying, 1 was going over to 
 the Ogdeus'. So I took a Sixth Avenue car 
 and rode down to Fourteenth street, and 
 then I took the little blue cars that run 
 across — those cars that you never can stop, 
 you know, when you want to get on, unless- 
 
 l^fl 
 
 (■«■ 
 
 fe 
 
 hi 
 
 i 
 
 I 
 
76 
 
 ST. JUDE'S ASSISTANT. 
 
 you send a hoy around to shako an umbrella 
 at the thiver. And no wonder, for they 
 only liave one liorse and driver, ami tlie 
 <lnver iHu't .illowed to touch tlie money - 
 hut it gouH in a little glass hox ; and what 
 «l(ieH he care whether ho stops or not? I 
 suppose he getH his pay for driving, just the 
 same. I renienitter what a time I had getting 
 •I n to that car. And so 1 wont down to 
 Christoiiher street on that car, and on to the 
 boat. It was very warm, and bo I stood 
 outside. But there was too much breeze in 
 front, BO I stood at tlie hack of the hnat.and 
 that's the last time I saw I'aul Ogdt'u.' 
 
 ' Take some more ulierry, Mrs. Mehlen,' 
 Kjiid Mr. Strashurger, iVH he filled her glass. 
 ' Vou say you saw Paul Ogden. Are you 
 sure it was he himself ?' 
 
 ' Sure, ' said Mrs. Melden, drinking. 'I 
 can't be mistaken, because I remember his 
 face ; and then it was so funny to see thof;e 
 oranges appear one at a time in the water. ' 
 
 'Oranges ! — Mrs. Melden,' said Mr. Stras- 
 hurger, ' what oranges ?' 
 
 'Why, you see, Mr. Paul Oeden was 
 standing very near me, leaning on the I'ail : 
 and lie had a large paper bundle of oranges. 
 Ho had bought them to take out to the 
 children, I suppose, and all of a sudden, as 
 he was leaning oh the rail an<l was looking 
 out on the water, the bundle dropped otf the 
 boat. I heard him laugh, which was what 
 made me look up. There were some com- 
 mon looking men on the men's side of the 
 l)oat,and one of them asked Mr. Ogden 
 if there was valuables in the package ; 
 but he said, no, that they were only 
 some oranges he was carrying; " and," 
 says he, "wait a moment, and you'll see 
 thorn." And sure -enough, in a moment 
 more, we see little yellow oranges a bobbing 
 up all along after the boat. And I re- 
 member watching them until the boat had 
 almost touched her t;!ip, and thinking how 
 the Ogden boys would go without their 
 oranges that night. I don't know what be- 
 came of Paul, sir ; he moved away, most 
 likely while I was watching the oranges, for 
 I never saw him aeain.' 
 
 Mr. Strasburger hardly breathed as he 
 lieard these disclosures. But he saw it all 
 now, as plain as day-break. The pistol 
 which had done to <^th George Brand, had 
 been concealed in the package of oranges ; 
 the package had been carelessly dropped in 
 the Hudson river. Of course the pistol had 
 sunk, and as the water disintregrated the 
 paper, the oranges had risen to the surface, 
 thus accounting to any spectators of the 
 circumstances for the contents of the lost 
 parcel. He admired Paul Ogden as a con- 
 .suuunate organizer, from that moment ; and 
 
 III 
 
 lasted to 
 and Mr. 
 
 almost regretted the part he must take 
 hanging him. 
 
 The sherry — which had hardly 
 this denouement — was now gone ; 
 iStras burger rose, 
 
 'You have said something, Mrs. Melden, 
 about a gypsey girl whom the Ogdeiiw 
 adopted. Where is that girl now?' 
 
 • Hhe is living with them now. Hor name 
 is Mara Ogden. They do say she it n- 
 gaged to Mr. Frear, the young artist, whose 
 father was so rich, though when he ilied, Ik; 
 didn't leave one of them a cent ; and tiiere'.s 
 his wife, and his two rlaughters, and Tom, 
 and only Tom to sujiport them all. And 
 nnich he'll support them, painting pictures ! 
 I'd like to know who'll buy his pictures ! 
 This Mara, as I was saying, sir, she was 
 stolen by tramps from somewhere — at auy 
 rate she was taken from them by the 
 Ogdens — by Paul Ogden himself, some sfiya, 
 and treated kindly, and educated, and she 
 is very beautiful, and has no end of atten- 
 tion ; though they do say — that is, some do — 
 that she loves Paul Ogden better than f!ie 
 does Tom Frear. But Paul is in Kuropo,aiid 
 all I can say is that he'd better come home 
 and look after his lady love. ' 
 
 Mr. Strasburger had heard enough. The 
 next thing to do was to get rid of Mrs. 
 Melden as quietly as possible. Not only was 
 the information of which he was possessed, of 
 incalculable value, but it was also necessary 
 that nobody should suspect his possession of 
 it. So he said : 
 
 'Mrs. Melden, the carriage js at the door.' I 
 have only to say that, had the authorities 
 been aware of your 1>eing an acquaintance of 
 Mr. Ogden, you would never have been 
 troubled. I can only' repeat the apologies 
 which the city has to oflfer you for your un- 
 ceremonious treatment ; and to say that we 
 will not trouble you to give anj'thing more 
 than your word to testify in the 
 matter of Mrs. Bogerharts watch when 
 tlie government requires you. The 
 carriage at the door will carry you 
 wherever you desire, and is at your service 
 as long as you may wish it. Should you 
 ever think it necessary to mention this affair 
 to Mr, Ogden — though it is quite unneces- 
 sary — you might say that Mr. Dorchester 
 presents his compliments. Your valise has 
 already been placed in the caiTiage. ' 
 
 And Mr. Strasburger, with the grace of a 
 gentleman usher at a church wedding, placed 
 the old lady in her carriage. As it was not 
 often that Mrs, Melden found herself in su- 
 pervisory possession of a carriage, she im- 
 proved the occasion to pay sundry little calls 
 in state, for the general benefit of her repu- 
 tation — to make sundry little purchases at 
 
ST. JUDE'S ASSISTANT. 
 
 1 1 
 
 Ma III 
 
 oor. ' I 
 loritics 
 iuice of 
 
 heen " 
 
 okigios 
 
 )ur un- 
 
 that we 
 
 g more 
 
 the 
 
 when 
 
 The 
 
 ry you 
 
 ervice 
 
 ukl you 
 
 lis atfah- 
 
 mtieces- 
 
 chester 
 
 iliae has 
 
 StHwart'H and elsewhure — to pull over innch 
 coatly HJlk at ArnoM and Constable's, an<l, 
 finally, to 1k) driven to the (jirundy'a on tlio 
 avenue. But she could not forKet Mrs. 
 Bogorhart's watuli, and determined, as soon 
 as settled at tlie Grundy 'a, to be the tirst to 
 ac(iuuint Mrs. B. with tlio glad news of its 
 recovery. People always reniend)er plea- 
 santly those who first tell tliem good news, 
 and it might be worth a month, next sum- 
 nior at the Bogerhart's delightful river resi- 
 dence. Neitlier did she forget the sherry 
 witli which the city of New York had re- 
 galed her. But most of all di<l her mind 
 dwell upon tlie piercing black eye, the dark 
 handsome face and elegant manners of Mr. 
 Dorchester ; and she determined to lose no 
 time in ascertaining if he were any connec- 
 tion of her old friends, the Dorbhesters, of 
 Salem. 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 TIIK COUBSK OF TRUK LOVE. -' ' 
 
 Mrs. Meldeu was, as usual, accurate in 
 her information concerning Mara's engage- 
 ment to Tom Frear. Mara liked Tom, and 
 Tom liked her ; and, moreover, Mrs. Ogden 
 liad set her heart upon the match. Three 
 such causes, propelled violently at one ef- 
 fect, earned their point. As to details, there 
 was very little to arrange. Tom certainly 
 h ul no money to bless either himself or 
 Mara with, and Mara had no money to bless 
 Tom with, so it was not necessary to waste 
 much time on settlements. As to the otliev 
 and minor matters, of love, etc., Tom was 
 well nigh crazy with his good fortune, and ran 
 up vast bills at the florists for bouquets, and 
 at Maillard's for bonbonnieres. A bouquet 
 t;very morning and a bonbonniere every even- 
 ing, was the correctest of correct things for 
 tlie newly espoused, just at this time in New 
 ^'ork ; and Tom was notlung if not correct. 
 Fie saw, indeed, in his mind's ey;, 
 a pay day ; but he felt that the 
 present was, just now, more palpable 
 to him than even pay day, and he detpr- 
 mmed to make the shining liouis his own. 
 It is but small justice to say that Tom always 
 paid his bills when he could. Most people 
 do. The pleasure of paying a bill is second 
 only to the pleasure of incurring it. At any 
 rate, tliere is very little peace in the world 
 for tlie man who does not pay his bills. It 
 is not thase long parallelograms of paper, all 
 ruled in black, and thickest with figures, 
 that the Bureau of Vital Statistics issue 
 weeklj' — but the little bills — the little four 
 dijllar. and five dollar, and seven dollar ac- 
 t ouuts fur flowers, and bonbons, and neck 
 
 wear, and carriages from the theatre, that 
 are the true bill of mortality which hound u* 
 to our toml)s. 
 
 Tradesmen have 1 (mg memories, and the 
 hjager their nu;mori(<.s, the shorter the plea- 
 sures of their impciiinious or doubtful pat- 
 rons. Once or twice, imleed, it had occur- 
 red to Tom that he ought to say bravely to 
 his sweetheaat, 'Mara, lam ho poor that I 
 c.umot buy you a boucjuet flower or a box of 
 chocolate ;' and, if he hail, the chances are 
 that she woulil lui\ e stopped his mouth with 
 a kiss, and never accepted from him. there- 
 after, one of those little attentions. Women 
 like bravo men and cling to misfortune 
 where they fight free of good luck. But 
 Tom did not dare. ' Siie does not love me 
 enough for that, ' he said. Poor foolish, lov-- 
 ing boy 1 If she does not love you enough, 
 for that now, she will not h)ve you more 
 because you deceive her. What if you 
 should tell her some day tiiat you could not 
 afford to iiuy lier bread I But then, thought 
 Tom, people don't starve to death, now-a- 
 days. And so it went on. No words wore 
 •evtrsroken to put Mara on her guard, and 
 poor Tom, even when in the seventh ht.aveii 
 of her presence, with his arm around hei- 
 waist and lier little brown hand in his, could 
 not help feeling ashamed of the imposition 
 lie was practising. He tre.itcd her like a 
 queen. Hei' feet never pressed the ground. 
 There were her bouijuet every morning and 
 lier bon-bons every night. He fitted a mag- 
 nificent solitaire upon lier pretty finger, and 
 sealed it with a kiss. He brought her 
 bracelets, and neeklaeo, and lockets, and - 
 wondercul who the devil would ever pay for 
 them. But he wondered ahnie. He did not 
 ask Mara to share his marvel, at least. 
 
 As for Mara, although she had become 
 engaged, with misgivings as to her own 
 heart, she grew more and more used to Tom 
 daily. She gi-ew to listen for him, to dis- 
 tinguish his ring, and to long for the alter- 
 nate evenings, upon which only, so far, he 
 had been allowed to see her. Lender their 
 joint finessing the alternate evening arrange- 
 ment soon experienced an innovation. Mon- 
 days, Wednesdays and Fritlays, at tirst, had 
 been settled for Tom's visits. Soon Satur- 
 day was added, as the lover's night, and 
 Sunday evening it was but proper 
 that Tom should spend with his lady 
 love. For the other evenings, little plots 
 were mutually arranged. As, for instance, 
 on a Monday evening, jNIara would say, 
 ' Tom, I have got the loveliest letter of con- 
 gratulation from Molly Dewey, and she says 
 she is dying to see you. ' 
 
 • Let me see the letter,' says Tom. 
 
 ' Oh dear, it's clear up in the third storey. 
 
 ^'1 i '(! 
 
 
 ill 
 
■78 
 
 ST. JUDE'S ASSISTANT. 
 
 Coinc ill to-iii(tnow evuiiin^, on yuur way 
 fnnii (1 inner, iind I'll •how it to you ; ' and 
 Tom would be in on Tueaduy to see the 
 letter, and boinx in, could not well ttiir 
 hiuiHelf iiwny. Then, on a \Vt'(lue«day Tom 
 would Hay, ' Mara, the Voken |)iay in " A 
 Huuch of BeniuB ' to-morrow evening for tlio 
 laHt time, and you numt see tliem in that. 
 It'H their beat piece, you know.' And Mara 
 would consent, and bo the upshot was, in 
 time, that the seven ni^dits in a week were 
 oomiias ed, and were all too few for the 
 lovers, even tlien. 
 
 Then, too, Tom was fortunate in having; 
 the afVair 'out' at once. When a young 
 lady is known to bo engaged, her male call- 
 ers drop otr — she is thrown more and nu>re 
 in the company of her intended,-" and comes 
 to rely upon him as she can rely upon no- 
 body else — whicii is to the intended's advan- 
 tage. Tiiere are too many young ladies in 
 society, and society life, at least, is too 
 short, for men to try and break up each 
 other's matches. And, besides, men, as a 
 rule, are generous enough, when they hear 
 tiiat a felTinv-uuiu has become engaged, to 
 let liim possess his girl in peace. If the 
 young ladj' is disposed to (question her own 
 choice, and is prone to compare her lover 
 with otlier men, the only safety for her 
 lover is in a publicity which will keep other 
 men from u' 'tting in her \v>.y. So Mara and 
 Tom prosp^it (1 in tlieir betrothal. 
 
 Mara li.ul written to Paul of her engage- 
 ment, Imt she had trembled much, and re- 
 written again, in doing it. There had not as 
 yet been tinie for her to receive an answer. 
 Paul had never seen her since she had groM'n 
 beautiful. Paul uiiglit have loved her him- 
 self, si>e thouglit, and was he not entitled to 
 the opportunity 'f To some girls the idea 
 that a man possessed, as it were, a refusal of 
 their hearts, would have been endurable ; 
 hut to Mara there was only a justice about 
 it. Had it not b.'cn Paul, and Paul alone, 
 who had brought her out of a miseral)le ex- 
 istence — an existence that, with her beauty, 
 (■ >ul(l only have led to one fate — into the 
 l)eajeful happy home she now inhabited ? 
 Il.ad not his been the first kind word her 
 e irs had ever known — the first gentle hand 
 tliat had ever taken her own ? Was there 
 not liis image in her heart, and was there 
 r loni for another? Fonder and fonder as^ 
 she grew of Tom daily, she yet distrusted 
 herself. Sometimes she felt that it was 
 better that Paul should not come home. 
 And then again she would pray wildly that 
 Paul might come home and put her to the 
 test, before, at the altar, she would swear 
 a lie to tlu! man wlio idolized her. All this 
 time siic loved Tom too, but she felt that, 
 
 wherever she might Iwj, married tir single, 
 pledged or free, when the sweet n)anly vojci! 
 that Inul i)ade her await his coming home - 
 tiiat had called her ' Mara ' for the tirst 
 time, should sound again in her ears, it 
 wouhl have newer to draw her w hitherso- 
 e"er it would ; and that no vows sh*- might 
 nuike to another could withstand the mes- 
 merism of his touch. She felt that she wa< 
 sinnnig ; but somehow, before she could ask 
 advice or decitle for herself, she found her- 
 self engagetl to the handsome young artist, 
 and the fettei^s that bound her liegan to 
 grow so sweet that she could not lift her 
 hand to strike them asunder. Tom was ail 
 devotion ; her home was ail smile \ her 
 friends were all congratulations. Everything 
 seemed going on for the best, and to be regu- 
 lating itself. So Mara, though she coidd 
 not cease to think about Paul, cea::eil to 
 pray about him, an<l determined, in her own 
 mind to let things 'take care of themselves. ' 
 She repeated to herself the old j)rov(.'Vb 
 about a man's wooing whom he will but mar- 
 rying whom he's wierd ; and made up lier 
 mind, that, whatever happened, she could 
 be hai)py with Tom Frear. 
 
 Not the least joyous in the household, over 
 the betrothal, was our old friend, Isabella 
 Singleton. She was as full of love and 
 good-nature as a woman could be, and, re- 
 nu>ved from any matrimonial prospects her- 
 self, was thoroughly happy in thoge of others. 
 If she had ever held any sour milk in lier 
 composition it had no excuse to stay there 
 now, for latterly, everything hail turned out 
 luckily for her. Not only had she found a 
 kind home, but the great law suit had ulti- 
 mately resulted in her favour. The re-argu- 
 ment, which had been granted, had resulted 
 in the re-atlirmation of her judgment by a 
 larger majority of judges than before and 
 she was a very rich woman. She could now 
 undoubtedly marry if she would, but she 
 knew, if she did, she would be married only 
 for her money, and the kind friends all over 
 the union, (friends in the Lord, whom she 
 had never seen, but whose bowls yearned 
 foi\her all the same) who sent her daily 
 bunules of addresses, circulars, appeals, 
 and college and grammar school cata- 
 logues, seemed preferable even to such a sale 
 as that. 
 
 One has to Ijecome suddenly rich to realize 
 how many colleges and grammar schools 
 there are in this great and glorious country 
 of ours. The number of catalogues 
 of fresh water colleges and Dolly Varden 
 graunnar schools which Isabella received 
 alKjut this time, was something al- 
 most incredible. By a strange coincidence, 
 all of these colleges and grammar schools 
 
ST. JUDE'S ASSISTANT, 
 
 70 
 
 wcru 'iiutliurizuil by liiw to take money by 
 bticiuoHt, ' and contuinud a ))lunk ' I'^urin of 
 lif(i(ieHt, ' upon tliu iuuidu of the back uuvcr, 
 .&» follows : 
 
 ' I liereby give and l)oqucath in the Lord 
 the sum of 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 • THK MADMAN WHO TKIKU TO SHOOT IIIM- 
 8KLF AT NIAUAUA." 
 
 Considerable time has elapsed uinue we 
 liiHt encountered Paul Ogden. Meantime, 
 111! lias been roaming aimlessly over the Con- 
 tinent, with the ennui of an accustomed 
 traveller, tlie nonchalance, whicii there arc 
 so many — in tliat great mad range of school- 
 buys at perpetual play — to admire. VVlien 
 Mr. Strasburgcr supposed liini domiciled in 
 Brussels, he had, been misinformed. Paul 
 had mostly travelled from one stsition to 
 another, on the beaten routes, caring only to 
 exhaust the hours and days tliat dragged so 
 lioavily upon him. 
 
 Time is the stuff of which our lives are 
 nia<lc, but Paul, even in better days, had 
 never enjoyed a Present. No matter what 
 tlic fruitage in his grasp, some possibility 
 beyond had lured him to discard it. Like 
 the dog in the fable, he had, all his life, been 
 <lropping tlie bones in his mouth to strain 
 for tiie shadows in the water. Invariably 
 looking forward to indefinite and prospec- 
 tive liappinwis, it is to lie doubted wiiether 
 he ever had l)jen, even reasonably happy ; 
 but now, in his dogged, wayward unrest, 
 his listless premonition of approacliing 
 horror, that \ery horror seemed fascinating 
 to liim ; and the days dragged until it should 
 come home to his realization. 
 
 In sliort, Paul's insanity had assumed the 
 not unusual synt'itom of an utter callousness 
 to, or insensibi. ty of, Jiny moral rcspon i- 
 Inlity. Tiie idea (jf the awful revenge he 
 Jiad accomplished, of the life he had taken, 
 of the blood that stained his hands and soul, 
 was ever present to him. In.leed, he knew 
 — or at least there was within him a sciui- 
 bility to the fact that the law must — at son e 
 time or other, exact from him a penalty for 
 the deed ; but for all that, the omnipresent 
 «lread, the horror of remorse, the intense 
 striving of a guilty secret upward to the 
 light — these companions of the murderer, 
 that counsel have so often described lo 
 juries, and that have drawn cheers or tea s 
 from court-room audiences from time in.- 
 
 memorial -were utterly wanting in his caM. 
 That Paul was insane, there cinild bu 
 very little (lucstion. We arc told l»y a 
 very high authoiity— by no less a student of 
 insanity and insane symptoms than !)r. 
 .Maudsley, that ' nielancholie depression, 
 morbid suspieions or actual delusions,' are a 
 species of insanity. ' It will be found,' con- 
 tinued the doctor, 'that many of the suicides 
 and homicides done by insane persons, are 
 done by persons labouring under com- 
 mencing melancholia, before tlic di.scase has 
 developed into the stage of intellectual de- 
 rangement; thoughoverwhelmedwitha vague 
 fear or distress, dejected, sleepless, and feel- 
 ing themselves overladen with the heavy 
 burden of their miserable lives, they manifest 
 no actual delusion, and are not thought 1)y 
 their friends or medical attendants ill enough 
 to be placed under their control.' 
 
 It happened that in Rome, where Paul had 
 found himself one April day, there happen- 
 ed to sit op])osite him at his table d'hote, an 
 Eiigli.ih family — paterfamilias, mamma, one 
 son and two daughters. Pesides them, the 
 guests at Paul's hotel were mainly Ameri- 
 cans. 
 
 When an Iviglish family flnil themselves 
 at a table d'hote composed mainly of Ameri- 
 cans, they recognize an opportunity for as- 
 serting their nationaland peculiar imi)ortancc, 
 which they are not slow to improve. The 
 idea of one's dignity, birth, breeding or fa- 
 miliarity with high people, and general im- 
 portance, is very hard to impress upon onus 
 neighbours if tliey happen to bo foreigners, 
 and do not understand your native tongue ; 
 which, of, course, is to be employed socially 
 among themselves. But wiien our I'^nglish 
 are eurrounded by low and vulgar Americans, 
 who have the temerity to use a common 
 language with the lofty Ih'itons themselves, 
 the occasion is improved with eclat. 
 
 The father of the family who dines ci.i-a-rin 
 to Paul, is long, lean an<l metropolitan (the 
 bucolic Knglishman is invariably I'ouiid ); his 
 nose is thin, his eyes mild and gentle, his 
 hair sparse and straight ; and — what is much 
 more prominent than nose, eyes or hair, in 
 your conventional middle-aged Englishman 
 — -his choker or dickey is starched to the Last 
 degree, asserting itself c\ en to interference 
 with the movement of cheeks and chin, 
 rendered necessary by the process of dinner. 
 
 Madam is stout, heavy, hard to manoeuvre. 
 Her lord is spare and wan. Her cheeks aro 
 of the standard colour of English feminine 
 cheeks — the colour of underdone roast Vieef. 
 Her chin has disappeared in folds of neck, 
 and her eyes are all but hidden in folds of 
 fa e. She dresses conceitedly, as do all of 
 her race, in tawdry and glaring colours, 
 
 ;i 
 
80 
 
 ST. JUDE'S ASSISTANT. 
 
 w hile bust and bosom are lavishly bandaged 
 with white goods of a lacey pattern, secured 
 by a brooch. Papa and mamma sit Ijetween 
 two daughters. Die son does his dinner in 
 silence, as an tnitpost. 
 
 Tlie young girl of Mnghaid, from nine to 
 riineteeii, is pretty. It may be a blonde and 
 Amelia style of prettincss, impressing you 
 with an idea of amiability, goodness, and 
 honey, that we rapid transatlantic people 
 meet with very rarely at home and are not 
 upt to appreciate. Kut it is, or ouglit to l)e, 
 ail the more attracti\e on account of its nov- 
 elty. It is a national characteristic that she 
 dress dowilily ; and therefore not her fault,nor 
 does it militate iigaiust her attractions. She 
 is prcttj', let lis admit, up to nineteen. But, 
 uniuippily, at justaboutnineteen,the beer slie 
 is tauglit to drink and the beei she is tauglit 
 to mana.'e, l)egin to sliow tiieir traces. Slie 
 losusthe Kuglis'i lily from her cheek, and its 
 ])l:i.i(; iaJ:aken by the J'Liglishrosu, which is too 
 ajit to be of rarely-done viiind hue afore- 
 said, 
 
 'i'lie two types of English females sit 
 before Paul in mammr ml daughters. 
 Wlien tlie daughters grow ii)i to mamma's 
 years, they will be mamma over again. 
 Blonde hair is very pretty over blonde 
 ciieeks, but when those blonde cheeks 
 ))ecome roljust and fl'-riil, the effect is inde- 
 scribable. But what surprises Americans 
 most in English women, is the absence of 
 what we are accustomed, on our side of tiie 
 water, to account as feminine. The delicacy 
 of mate attentions seem hardly to be called 
 tor when their object is larger, heavier, rud- 
 dier than you ; when she can outstrip you 
 in walking, riding, hunting and fishing ; 
 and so, it is one bad Anglo-American taste, 
 t'\at young men from this side are rarely 
 attracted by Ene;lish women, and rarely 
 In'iug home English wives. Something in 
 the transatlantic air, we are vain enough and 
 patriotic enough to imagine, purifies and 
 rarifics a woman's charms. 
 
 When a typical English family strives to 
 imbue the Amer.can mind witli the vastness 
 of its superioritv in all the amenities of life, 
 its plan is to hold converse among its mem- 
 bers, one wit': another, at as high a key and 
 8" loudly as possible. The impression thus 
 created, is, tliat the I'ritonp ignore the very 
 presence of their humble cousins from over 
 the soa — which is the very impression in- 
 tended — tiiat the hotel '.vhich they honour 
 witli their presence is built for them, and is 
 only, by sutferance of their grace, at our 
 huml)le service. That our humble selves 
 ai"^ welcome — you know — if you want to 
 ." vy, Oi. course ; and — and- -all that sort of 
 t'.ung ; but then -ah — you — you can't expect 
 
 anybody to notice you, and all that sort of 
 thing, you know. It is a great mistake on 
 our part to suppose the money that is spent 
 on the Continent is spent by tourists from 
 the United States ; tliat about all the wares 
 sold in the shops are purchased by them ; 
 tliat all the equipages, turn-outs, dresses, 
 display, (vulgar, low and absurd, iiudoubt- 
 cdly ; everything an American does abroad is 
 vulgar, low and absurd,) are paid for by 
 Americans. That Continental landlords 
 count on the generous extravagance of our 
 countrymen to enable them to entert; in 
 Britons at all ; and to -oompensate for time 
 wasted in disputing the Britons' hotel bills — 
 (your Englisiiman always fights a windy 
 wai-fare over his account, note and Rerhuinj. 
 Rome would be no Rome to him if he could 
 not have a wrangle with the landlord, 
 wiienever debited with a bougie). 
 
 The conversation by which the aforesaid 
 air was maintained in Paul's ears every 
 evening, at halt-past six, was something a» 
 follows : 
 
 1st Dauf/Jifer. Paw ! / 
 
 Father. ' My deah ? ' 
 
 1st. D. Do you remember that young 
 
 Lord , son of the Duke of , that 
 
 danced with me at the county ball ? 
 
 Father. No, my deah. Did he ? 
 
 {Mental memorandum, to be made by the 
 neighbouring guests : This young lady dances 
 with milors, and it is so common a thing, 
 that the family don't remember it.) 
 
 Ist. D. Yes ; and I saw in the paper that 
 he's registered in Florence. 
 
 F. I suppose that you'll see him there, 
 come next Tuesday. 
 
 1st. D. O la ! I hope not, Pav . He isn't 
 nice, at all. 
 
 {M. \f., to be v.ade as abom. This family 
 will have nothing to do with peers of the 
 realm if they're not ' m'ce.') 
 
 Moth'-r. Have you acknowledged the 
 Honorable Miss 's invitation yet, Gwen- 
 doline ? 
 
 2(1. D. O la ! no mamma. You know it's 
 such ; bore to write, when one's travelling, 
 you know. 
 
 (M. M. High people, these !) 
 
 M. But you really should — you know, 
 my dear ! 
 
 \st. D. , la ! she is scriljbling us notes 
 all the time. I don't suppose slie imagines 
 that we can be answering them all you know 
 . And so forth, and so forth. 
 
 Paul wonld run against this family, too, at 
 tho galleries. Now your countrymen and 
 countr)'women are very undignified in Ita- 
 lian picture galleries. Who is not asliamed 
 of them '! Wiio has not neen a family of 
 three daughters,, with papa and matmna„ 
 
ST. JUDE'S ASSISTANT. 
 
 81 
 
 perfectly wild with delight over a pictr're 
 whose name perhaps wasn t printed in sm ": 
 capitals on the catalogue, or even noticed ^t 
 all in tlie guide book ! Who lias not seen 
 them frantic over an -Andrea del Sarto, or 
 quiet and absurdly rapt before a little bit of 
 Carlo Doki. Everbody ought to know, by 
 this time, that the guide-book tells them 
 what to admire ; that Murray mentions the 
 ten pictures in the Pitti that are not to be 
 noticed, and that, while you may just be a 
 little daft in the Tribune, you must keep 
 your insouciance in the long corridors of the 
 Ufizzi. 
 
 And then, in Rome, the idea of going into 
 r.ipturcs over a del Sarto ! We cannot ex- 
 press ourselves too emphatically about such 
 an American family. Why, papa will ba 
 cithusiastic over one lovely face, and 
 maninia over another, while Kittie will go 
 wild over a Rubino, Madge over a Mater 
 Dolorosa, and Ruth over a sad St. Jerome. 
 'J'liese five indiscreet individuals will each 
 insist on all the others admiring their par- 
 ticulai' admiration. Their delight will kn<i\v 
 no bounds. Tliey foi-get the solemn dignity 
 that befits the Eternal City. They foig.t 
 that they are obsen-ed. They are oblivious 
 of everytliuig except tliose marvellous faces, 
 tliost; divine lips, and eyes, and features tluit 
 look down upon us, from the auriole and the 
 nimbus, as from heaven itself. What would 
 the artist say to see his work admired by 
 su,;h chits I Really, my countrymen, you 
 should ol)S('rvc youi- manners, you know ! 
 ()l)servethe I'Jighsh family on the otherhand. 
 
 They walk —papa, and tiii'^ two blooming 
 blondes — in close and solid square. I'apa 
 iiolds the catalogue — 
 
 I*. No. 315. My deahs — ah — there is a — 
 a -a (eonsultini,' tlie catalogue) a picture by 
 I'viifacl —a Madonna. 
 
 i^famma. All, 
 
 ]Mf Ddutjhliv. All. 
 
 •Ill Jhtnij/itrr. Ah. 
 
 They move on to anotlier. No. 252. 
 
 /'. Ah, my dealis, this is a — a — a — (con- 
 sulting the catalogue, ) this is a picture by 
 St. Jerome — no, l)y Andrea del Sarto. 
 
 Mum ma. Ah. 
 
 l.sV. Daitrihtcr. Ah. . 
 
 'lit. Daiujiifi-r. Ah. " ' 
 
 The sylLUe ah, in the British English, is 
 not an interjection — it is a gasp ; a kind of 
 (•xpiring, long breath. In this connection, it 
 i ■• meant to express the sense of relief ad'ord- 
 c'l by the fact that there is one less picture 
 to look at to-day. 
 
 Only occasionally is this formula varied 
 Let us supp(jse that the picture before our 
 family, is a treatment of tliat very common 
 subject wliich is set down in tlie books as 
 6 
 
 • Roman Pietj', ' i. p., the filial and admirable 
 conduct of a certain damsel to her starving 
 father. 
 
 The dialogue will then be — Number 614. 
 My deahs — ah — ah — ah. Yes — yes. 
 
 Mamma. (Interrupting and tugging at 
 papa's arm to hurry him of!'.) Ye.'i — yea — ^we 
 see. 
 
 The daughters are then expected to say : 
 
 Ist Dau'j/ifir. What a vulgar-looking 
 American girl that is, I'acing round with that 
 catalogue. 
 
 2(1 Daugh/cr, Yes, my dear, they are all 
 vulgar, you know. 
 
 (Or, the picture is the Borghese Danae. ) 
 
 Papa. This is 1 )y Corregio, my deahs, my 
 deahs— No. 40. 
 
 l.s< JJauij/iter. Oh I see that little cherub ! 
 
 2<i J)oiii//iter. Ye.s, l)ut — 
 
 Mamnm. 'N'es, yes, my deahs — what is 
 No. 43, my deah ? 
 
 And so forth, and so forth. 
 
 A sort of excusable intimacy grows up 
 from constantly meeting the same faces, even 
 wlien they are English faces ; and in spite of 
 their insulaisms, Paul was not sorry, one 
 evening, in Bingen on the Rhine, three or 
 four months from Rome, on feeling a tap on 
 his shoulder, to look up and recognize the 
 young Englishman, son and hop* of the fam- 
 ily he ha(l faced in Rome at the table d'hote, 
 brother of Gwendoline and her sister fair. 
 
 Tourists will recall j^leasantly the little 
 hotel ' ^''icto^ia,' at Bingen. It is not 
 over clean ; it has not even a tolerablecuisine. 
 It i-i not well kept, but it is the best in 
 Bingen, and in front, and overlooking 
 tlie j'ellow river of Fatlierland, there is a 
 doliglitful little green lawn, • oversprinklrd 
 with Muall tables, where one can sip and 
 enjoy his Hudcsheimer and cigar, with the 
 broad Rhino sweeping before him, the ter- 
 raced hill-sides opposite, tiie -louse Tower 
 to tlie left, and, over against, Rhinestein, 
 whence Bishop Hatto embarked, that legen- 
 dary night, when unpleasant rats wt re 
 marshalling for his delectation. Paul was 
 sitting at one end of these tables, in the 
 earlj' evening, when hi.s friend, wl.o w as 
 ilresscd in the coarsest possible suit of 
 tweed, the coat of Avhicli was made like a 
 blouse, only somewhat longer and gathered 
 in at the waist \\\\\\ a belt of the same ma- 
 terial, accosted him. 
 
 ' (ilad to see you,' said Paul. 
 
 ' Thanks,' said his friend. 
 
 • Nice night,' said Paul again. 
 
 ' Yaas." 
 
 ' Now ■.' the soldier were only here,' said 
 Paul. 
 
 ' Wiiat soldier ?' 
 
 It 
 
 i 
 
82 
 
 ST. JUDE'S ASSISTANT. 
 
 ' \Vhy, you rcmomljor the Soldier 
 LtgioH who hiy dying in Algiers ?' 
 
 ' No, I fancy I don't remember him. I 
 never did Algiers, you know. ' 
 
 ' O, but you remember Mrs. Norton's 
 " Bingeu on the Khine," don't you? I 
 used to speak it when I was a lad in school 
 >vhen I little expected that I would be 
 here. ' 
 
 ' Mrs. Norton ! No, I can't say I ever 
 met Mrs. Norton. ' 
 
 ' But you recall the poem ?' 
 
 ' No, I can't say I do. What's it about ?' 
 
 ' About a soldier from Bingen. ' 
 
 ' Oh, I daresay. ' 
 
 This operated as something as a damp ' 
 on Paul's romance, and he resumed tuf! 
 lludeshcimer he was sipping. But he of tli^ 
 tweed had evidently become interestcil. 
 Paul had forgotten liim, and was falling 
 into his accustomed state of listless thinking 
 once more, when the Englishman left his 
 seat and tapped Paul again on tho shoul- 
 der. 
 
 ' I say, now,' he began, ' about that sol- 
 dier — you know.' 
 
 ' Paul didn't care to talk, so he simply 
 said ' Well. ' 
 
 ' But I want to know, you know.' 
 
 'Well.' 
 
 ' Who was the soldier ?' 
 
 ' How should 1 know ?' said Paul. 
 
 Tlie more you won't talk to an English- 
 man, the more he is determined you shall. 
 The more you show that he bores you, the 
 more of a bore he becomes. His face was 
 now a broad and genial grin. 
 
 ' Well, but you know, you said you 
 knew him. He died in Algiers, didn't he?' 
 
 ' Yes ?' . 
 
 • What did he die of ?' 
 
 No answer. , 
 
 ' I say, did ' le catch the fever there ?' 
 
 Paul began co wake up. After all, one 
 sees all sorts of people, and one might 
 as well get all the sport one 
 may out of them. This was Bingen — this 
 was the stately river whose children had 
 worshipped her for centuries ; the river whose 
 every castle had its legend, every hillside its 
 fairy, and every vineyard its romance. Gaul 
 and Teuton had shed their blood to possess 
 her. Tlie eoho of the last cannon had hardly 
 ceased. The French and German blood had 
 liardly dried, since they were .at each other's 
 throats, in a struggle, born of nothing else 
 than this Rliine-love. C /er against Paul 
 >vas the remnant of a ' Vv'acht am Rhein, 
 and the swelling minor of the song that he 
 had heiird so constantly, seemed drumming 
 in his ears yet. But a truce to it all — a 
 truce to the mooidight, the vineyards, the 
 
 of tlie I river. ' Take tho good the gods provide 
 thee,' here's an Kiiglishman beside thee — ' I 
 will give him his full rope,' thought Paul. 
 ' I say, dill he catch the fever there ?' 
 'Yes.' Paul was bound to humour liiui 
 this time. 
 
 'I dare say it's very unhealthy down there ?' 
 'Yes.' 
 
 ' 1 was thinking of dpint? it, you know. 
 One wants to do everything, you know. ' 
 ' I'd go, if I were you,' said Paul. 
 ' But I might catch the fever, you know.' 
 ' Oh. I guess not ; it isn't as hot there 
 now as it wa.s when the soldier was there.' 
 (A truth, too.) 
 
 ' I daresay. I haven't got anything to do 
 to-morrow. One couldn't walk there, 1 
 daresay. ' . 
 
 ' Oil, yes, you can go overland,' said Paul. 
 ' It would be awful jolly now, wouldn't 
 it ? I say, now, wouldn't you like to go ? 
 My party has gone on. We would walk it 
 slowly, you know, and go shares at the inns, 
 you know. ' 
 
 ' I guess I won't go,' said Paul, lazily. 
 ' Is there anything to see there ?' 
 ' Oh, yes. ' 
 
 ' Are the inns expensive ?' ' 
 
 •Oh, no.' 
 
 ' Because one don't want to be done, you 
 know. These inns here do you awfully. I 
 say, what's this, you call it ?' 
 ' Algiers.' 
 
 ' Yaas. What's Algiers like? Is it like 
 Coblentz, or Cologne, or any of those sort 
 of places ?' 
 
 ' No, it's larger. ' 
 
 ' Is there anything going on ? I'm afraid 
 it would be a jolly bore. ' 
 
 • Yes, there's something going on there all 
 the time, ' said Paul. 
 
 ' Is there an opera there ?' 
 ' Sans doubte. 
 ' What ?' 
 
 ' Yes, I guess so.' 
 
 ' I say, what was that you said before,you 
 know, ' 
 'When.' 
 
 'Why, just nov.', when I asked you if 
 there was an opera there ? ' 
 ' Oh, I said, sans doubte.' 
 ' What's that ? ' ( Face on a broad ^rhi. ) 
 ' That's French for " doubtless.'" 
 , Do they speak French in Algiers ? ' 
 ' Yes. ' ( Paul was glad to be able to in- 
 fuse a little reliable information iuto the 
 coHversation. ) 
 
 ' Then I'm not so sure I'll go. i^rench is a 
 bla-is-ted language, you know. ' 
 
 ' I wouldn't let that hinder you,' said Paul. 
 ' Wouldn't you, now ? ' 
 
 • 
 
ST. JUDE'S ASSISTANT. 
 
 83 
 
 iai<l 
 all 
 
 .you 
 ou if 
 
 h is a 
 Paul. 
 
 ' At this instant a lady and gentleman ap- 
 proached from the hotel, and seated tliem- 
 8 Ives .at one of tlu^ small tables. The young 
 Englishman was uiiiking an entry in his note 
 liook, possibly aboot Algiers, when suddenly 
 u thought struck him. 
 
 ' I say,' said lie to Paul, ' isn't there such 
 n newspaper as tiie Ihrald, published in 
 your country ? ' 
 
 ' Yes,' said Paul, ' there is.' 
 
 ' Well, T thought so. Do you know I've got 
 a copy of it in my pocket, and I paid twenty- 
 five kroitzcrs for, and I don't miiul letting 
 you have it for twenty, for I can't read it 
 you know. I have not the least idea where 
 to look for the news in it, you know.' 
 
 Paul smileil, counted out the twenty 
 kroit/.ers, reeei\ ed his Herald, and l)egan to 
 jun over its familiar columns. Next to an 
 old friend in a foreign land, what is n;)t the 
 !iows]iniLn' we used to read at home ? What 
 old platitudes will not dcligiit, — what old 
 news not freslieu, read in those familiar 
 cohinuis, and dressed in that f.amiliar type. 
 
 The Englishman had strolled away , the 
 light of the spent sun had all but faded, ami 
 I'auTs eyes were still straining over the 
 i.omcly type, when of a sudden he gave a 
 .' tart. 
 
 • My God ? ' 
 
 !ii)th the lady and gentleman turned at the 
 *!X(damation. 
 
 ' Why, Frank, my dear, ' cried the lady, 
 as she seized her husband's arm, ' it is tluit 
 madman who tried to shoot himself, at Nia- 
 gara, that evening down by the Falls ! ' 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 MY ijrother's only son. 
 
 In many other breasts besides Paul's had 
 the Hi raid's paragraph caused connnotion. 
 Mr. Strasburger, although himself one of the 
 few who had been previously in full posses- 
 sion of the tidings it published, had indulged 
 himself in some profanity upon beholding it. 
 The holy name had been on his lips, coupled 
 witli a very broad curse, more than once or 
 twice. 
 
 But before reproducing for our reader's bene- 
 fit the Herald's item itself, we -nust turn back 
 to the day following Mr. Strasburger 's visit 
 to the Mind-Reader. 
 
 Mr. Strasburger, as we have seen, was 
 now bent upon submitting the girl Olive 
 <Tray, to Mr. Gloster's manipulations. Like 
 all new converts, he was a raving convert, 
 and the gospel of clairvoyance, which he had 
 absorbed, would suffer him no respite pend- 
 ing its demonstration. Olive, however, was 
 Iho daughter of wealthy parents, and wealthy 
 
 people are proverbially proud and dillieult of 
 access. To obtain their consent to their 
 daughter's mesmerization, he nuist needs go 
 to work cautiously. He had accordingly 
 called upon Mr. Gray at the Bank, and been 
 shown into that gentleman's parlour. Mr. 
 (J ray was a stout, short, little gentleman, 
 with a morsel of iron gray side-whiskers, 
 high up on his cheeks. He was very near- 
 sighted, and wore habitually a pair of broad 
 gold-rimmed spectacles, which gave him the 
 wise (almost the owlish) appearance that had 
 made his fortune for him. For, by means of 
 these glasses, and by means of holding his 
 tongue, Mr. Gray had become a millionaire 
 — the president of more Banks, director of 
 more Savings Institutions, Insurance Com- 
 panies, and tiustee of more immense estates 
 and corporations than ever fell to the lot of 
 one man before. In very trutli, he liad 
 begun life with no other capital than this 
 certain look of stiibility and wisdom, which 
 had been found so invaluable by banks and 
 moneyed institutions. Mr. (iray, thence- 
 forward, liad nothing to do but to sit still 
 and look wise, and his income was assured. 
 We must, liowever, do him the common 
 justice of saying that he was as honest as he 
 looked, and that — in all the queer transac- 
 tions which had, at this time, made certain 
 E'.uopean nations understand the phni.-e 
 ' American securities ' ivs-*Bynonymous witli 
 'gimcracks' — his name or hand had never 
 appeared. 
 
 Matter-of-fact .as he was, he was surely the 
 last man to approach on an errand like .Mr. 
 Strasburger 's present errand. But the de- 
 tective could be delicate, on occasion, and 
 plumed himself ujion h.aving achieved a 
 genuine success, when he left Mr. Gray "s pre- 
 sence, with — instead of the Hat refusal lie 
 had anticipated — a letter to Dr. Forsytli,an(l 
 a reference of the whole matter to that 
 learned practitioner. 
 
 Doctor Forsyth, it is needles to s.ay, had 
 made Olive's case his careful study. Apart 
 from his interest in the girl herself — an iii- 
 tfcvcst which dated from the moment of lier 
 entrance into the world — apart even from 
 the large penjuisites clinging to the pos'ut)U 
 of perpetual medical adviser to a million- 
 aire's daughter : apart from these, .as we 
 have seen, he had made a specialty of men- 
 tal <liseases, and li.ad accumuhitcd a v.ast 
 store of inform.ation .and considerable ex- 
 perience in tiieir treatment. Up to this time 
 iu' had found that Olive, since the day her 
 iiii..d had left her, had grown very slight 
 symptoms of anything like a reasoning 
 faculty whose tlircme was in the brain. 
 
 We say in the brain, for Dr. Forsyth had 
 been the first among his brethren to insist 
 
 ■! I: 
 
 m 
 
 
 I 
 
8t 
 
 ST. JUL'E'S ASSISTANT. 
 
 tliat tlie reasouiiii^ faculty in aiiimate iintiii-o 
 exists, or may exist, in otlier poi'tions of the 
 aniTiuite body than the iiead or brain. Up 
 to his time, the experiment of decapitating 
 a frog, and tiien, with a straw ticUhng the 
 frog's bi'east, lia<l been a familiar one. Lnder 
 that experiment, the frog would invariably 
 move one of his arms or limbs to the placid 
 touched liy the straw, and endeavour tf) 
 brush it away. But this motion of the 
 frog'K lind) was accounted for by the exis- 
 tence of certain tw itching muscles connect- 
 ing the breast and the arm, and science was 
 pretty generally of the opinion that thi- 
 f rog s reason had notliing to do witii tiie 
 movement of his limb. Dr. Foi'syth's ex- 
 periment had gone further. He not only out 
 off the frog's head, but lie cut off tiie paw or 
 flapper of his right arm. He found then, 
 tiiat upon applying the straw to the frog's 
 breast, the frog would first endeavour to 
 push away the straw with his right limb : 
 but, fiiiiling it too short to reach the irritat- 
 ed s))ot, (by reas(jn of the absence of the 
 fla])per, ) he wotdd drop the slioitened limb 
 ami endeavour to brusli away tlie straw with 
 his left limb. This, Dr. Forsyth maintained, 
 indicated a reasoning process going on with- 
 in the frog ; and since the frog's l^rain was 
 detached, that reasoning process must have 
 its seat in some other organ or organs. How- 
 ever satisfactory IfRe cxjierinient, Dr. Foi-- 
 syth himself was firmly convinced that the 
 mind of animate things was not confined to 
 the brain alone — that such reasoning pro- 
 cesses as were sim])le and normal in their 
 nature —as, for instance, the apprehension of 
 distance from comparison, or of danger, from 
 pain or other sensation — could be, and in 
 fact were, discliargcd witliout re(piisition on 
 the brain. The system of a telcgraplrfrom 
 the foot to the liead, necessary 
 upon a contact of the foot with 
 a coal of fire, or a nail, or other 
 painful substance — to be answered by a return 
 telegra]ih from the head directing the remov- 
 al of the foot, he discarded as HokIi. 
 
 So, in Olive's case, lu^ observed a perfect 
 working of all the ordinary reasoning func- 
 tions. Nay more, she even attended service 
 at St. Jude's as regulai-ly as ever ; recogniz- 
 ed friends, and passed the compliments of 
 the season. It was only, in fact, wiien called 
 upon to comprehend, that she siiowed the 
 etVects of the shock which had destroyed her 
 brain. 
 
 Dr. ^'^ rystb therefore found in Olive a 
 subject Ipe for his speculations and experi- 
 ments. He had for a long time taken cop- 
 ious notes of her case, with his deductions 
 thereupon. Some of these he had from time 
 le time puldislicd, in order tliat they nn'giit 
 
 excite connnent. or further illu: t:-;itii n. Ht- 
 meditated, before leaving the ^^■ol•^l, indeed, 
 nothing less than a great sijuaring of the- 
 debt which, JBacon says, every man owes t<i 
 Ids profession, by a ti-eatise upon ' Material 
 of Mind,' which should be his moment ; an<l 
 Olive's case was destined to be almost a 
 text case in its labourious preparation. 
 
 Doubtless it was owing, therefore, more to 
 I this treatise on 'The .Material of Mind,' 
 1 and to the good Doctor's love of experiment, 
 than to his anxiety for the pul)lic safety and 
 for the tracking of George Bi-and's murder- 
 er, that he to the astonishment of Mr. 
 Strasburger, consented, on the instant, to 
 Ml. ( iloster's j-irojjosed mesmerizing of his 
 [ jiatient. Indeed he mentally seized upon it 
 as a final test, and meditated upon tilling at 
 least twenty pages of ' The Material of 
 Mind' with a careful report of the experi- 
 ment. 
 
 'H her mind is wholly gone,' thought the 
 Doctor to himself, ' of course the experiment 
 will be futile, and Mr. (rloster, who may be 
 and probably is a quack, will have ldslal)our 
 for his pains. If there is any renniant of 
 her mind still to be reached, under the abey- 
 ance of her l)rain, why then I can reach it as 
 well as Oloster : and, in time, restore it 
 all to its normal functions. ' 
 
 In short, Dr. Forsyth entered so heartily 
 into the arrangements for the seance, that 
 '^fr. Strasburger Ijegan to think that lu; him- 
 S If was a fool, and Dr. Foraytlia i old ;rinny 
 -tliat they were, indeed, all <dd fools and 
 giannies together. That everybody else 
 agreed with him, was apt to make Mr. Stras- 
 burger su.spicious of his own sanity, as is not 
 unlikely to be the case with men who hold 
 but indifferent opinions as to the common 
 sense of the world in general. 
 
 When Olive had been placed in the de- 
 signated chair in Mr. Gloster's apartments,^ 
 Mr. Gray, Mr. Ogden (who had been invited 
 by the connnon wish of all parties), Dr. 
 Forsyth, and Mr. Strasburger, had seated 
 themselves around a large table, upon which 
 writing mat nials were copiously scattered- 
 in the rear of the room, Mr. (iloster stood up 
 at his little desk between the windows, and 
 made a short speech. 
 
 ' Gentlemen, 'said he, ' you will please un- 
 derstand that I know nothing of the secret 
 which this young jierson is to unravel. When 
 I was favoured with a call from Mr. Stras- 
 btrgei;, I became aware that he wished to 
 explore a certain room, as it stood on a cer- 
 tain day, more than two yeai"s ago. All that 
 I can do is to gui<le this patient to that room, 
 if she will go. If she will not this confer- 
 ence wo must reluctantly dissolve. Tlu> 
 room toVhich you wi-'. 'o g« is a studio, L 
 
ST. JUDE'S ASSISTANT. 
 
 85 
 
 take it, full of old <inii(;ur, eaaels, books, pic- 
 tures, and various oVijects scattered loosely 
 nbout. Tlie man who occupied it. at the 
 <late you wish to search for, was her lover, 
 and is now dead. Under ordinary circuni- 
 fitancea, siia would go there readily — lier love 
 ulone W(juld lead her, hut as it is, she ha\ing 
 lost much of her mind from a certain terrible 
 strain, there is another room also associated 
 with her lover, to which she may find her 
 way instead. If she go to tliat other, I am 
 |towt;rles3 to prevent her. Let us hope that 
 .slie goes as you wish. If she does, I shall 
 be obliged to keep her there by questions. 
 These (juestions either of you gentlemen can 
 suggest to me, only you nnist do it V)y writ- 
 ing tliem on paper, and placing them before 
 me. You may move as you wish, but I am 
 ^ifraid it would be fatal to this interview for 
 you to speak, even in the faintest whisper. ' 
 
 As Mr. (iloster delivered his speech iuid 
 sat down, Mr. Strasburger's waning confi- 
 dence revived. He had seniyiulously avoided 
 acquainting the Mind-Read r ui:h any oFthe 
 details that peisonage had alluded to in his 
 address. He iiad not even mentioned Olive's 
 mental condition. To be sure, these details 
 might have l;een easily acijuired by Mr. 
 '< iloster, but Mr. Strasbuiger tliought he 
 perceived in him agenuineness and a sincerity 
 whicii gave him hoi)o, and he drew up closer 
 to the table, put his pen into the inkstand, 
 and aMaited the seance. 
 
 Mr. (iloster now moved his seat directly 
 in front of Olive, and looking up to the ceil- 
 ing, or out upon Broadway, or anywhere, in 
 fact, except into her eyes, began his passss. 
 His long, lithe, white hands rose and fell. 
 Sometimes he bent over tlie girl, and passed 
 his hands over the back of her head ; then 
 he would stretch his arms over her, and let 
 thorn rest gently an instant. After a few 
 moments thus spent, he was rewarded ; clair- 
 voyant sleep responded to the mesmeric ef- 
 forts of the operator, and Olive's eyes closed. 
 
 ' Wiiat a strange room it is,' said Mr. 
 <jloster, in his natural voice, but speaking 
 very slowly. ' Unfinished pictures in the 
 •corners, and on the easels. What a dogged 
 grin there is upon the steel face of that knight 
 in armour. It is strange to find him here, 
 ■'"<i..'ii, amidst all this rubbish. Do you see 
 him?' 
 
 1 ur a moment no answer came from tlio 
 parted lips of the sleeping girl ; and at last, 
 •when those lips moved, th"y muttered only 
 unintelligible sounds. 
 
 ' T)o you see him?' again said Mr. Ciloster. 
 
 ' Wait. He has not come in. His chair 
 is empty, '.-aid ulive with a start. 
 
 • Xo — he is .sitting l)y the window. Do 
 you see him now? Look ! Not at the 
 
 library, look at the studio. Why, he is 
 sitting at the window — he is writing to you. 
 
 Olive breathed heavily for a moment, tin ii 
 suddenly she stopped, and began again the 
 incoherent mutUrings. But at last her 
 hands twitched onvulsivcly. A smile no-v 
 seemed to break out over lier features for an 
 instant, to be succeeded by a look of pain. 
 The charm was working. 
 
 ' Oh, yes,' she broke out, 'oh yes, it is he. 
 George ! (Jeorge I my (leorge ! Oh yes ! I 
 see you, and you are writing to me. You 
 have opened the window to let the light in 
 upon the gloomy place. ' 
 
 Here a .diglit gesture from Mr. Strasburger 
 cauglit Mr. ( iloster "s eye. He was extend- 
 ing a slip of paper. On it was written, 'Let 
 her read tlie letter. S. ' 
 
 In compliance, Mr. Gloster turned to his 
 patient and said, ' Can you read the letter 
 he is writing? Read it aloud.' 
 
 ' Ah, yes. I can read it. Ah, I know liis 
 hand so well. He writes very fast. 
 
 My l)AJii,iN(i.— If you will excuse me, I 
 wont come to dinner this evening, as I find 
 myself behind hand on a certain bit of writing 
 I must do at once, and so I shall dine early. 
 Expect me tlien at about half after eight ; 
 anil Ijclieve me your own 
 
 George.' 
 
 ' Is that all ?' sai'l Mr. Gloster. 
 
 ' But, while you are writing me, George 
 — there is somebody — I cannot see who it is 
 j'tet — but there is somebody entering the 
 building from the street, to seek you, 
 George, I fear — ah, yes, I know he comes 
 for no good. He incpiires, not for you, but 
 for some one else-some one who lives in the 
 next room, but who is not there. Ah ! he 
 knows that it is not the other, hut you, that 
 lie seeks. He has some words with the old 
 man at the dotn*. Oh, if the old man tliere 
 would only refuse to admit iiiin I He lias 
 jiassed liiin, and is coming up the stairs. Ah, 
 I know he comes for no good purpose. Now 
 he has reached your door.' 
 
 ' Do you see him at the door, now? What 
 is lie doiuL.' there ? Does he pause, or does 
 he knock? ' said the Mind-Reader. 
 
 ' He knocks at the door,' proceeded Olive: 
 '"Comein. " 0, don't &ay " come in, " 
 George, because he bears you no good will. 
 There is a ch.air in the way of the door : 
 he will fall upon that if he enters. 
 Oh, no, don't say come in ! But 
 you have ! Ah, the door opens. He 
 comes in — T dp not wish to see you again, 
 I will liidi' myself behind that screen. Oh 
 Paul, Paul, don't for Christ's sake, don't, 
 
 
Ill j - 
 
 8J 
 
 ST. JUDE'S ASSISTANT. 
 
 I'iiul ! I liivve inailoyou very unhappy, I 
 know. But coiiM I lielp it ? Oil. Paul, I 
 !iavo Hptiiit ni^'lit-s -wliole nights praying 
 that I might love you -but I couhl not - I 
 I'uihl not help it, Paul. Oh, kill nio, but 
 ilont kill him ! Kill nie — here I am, see ! 
 I folil my hands— Kill nie ! kill mo I He 
 dill not wrong you — it was I — I ' - 
 
 The three listeners held their breath. 
 Mr. Strasliurger did not dare to look upon 
 Mr. Ogdon's face. If he had, he would 
 iiave seen a look of horror upon that usually 
 calm and placid face, which one would not 
 care, even in a stranger, to see twice. 
 What was passing in his mind '! 
 
 It is a wonderful trick of the human brain 
 that at a moment when some appalling 
 personal catastrophy overtakes us, tlie 
 tliougiits that first come to us are not 
 thoughts of ourselves. Mr. Ogden has 
 since remend)cri'd vividly the sensation 
 which overwlielmed him, when he first 
 liL'.ird Paul's name pron:nincod i'l connec- 
 tion with the murdur of George ]5rand. 
 Hi; saw, in his mind's eye, his younger 
 I>rother, Paul's fatlu'i-, a pretty curly- 
 iieaded boy. Pie sceniod to be leading 
 l:im as of old by the hand, along a narrow 
 patii, tli:it led from the dooi- of tiieir child- 
 hood's houK!, down a gentle iiill to a little 
 brook. He seemed to sou liimsulf a buy, 
 J!!st enou'^li his l)rotlier's elder to be his 
 guardianship. T'hen he seemed to travel 
 Oil through long years. The two boys were 
 men now, hardened with worldly cares, 
 lu'onzed by worldly suns, but still loving 
 ( ach other, as men love men. Again, he, 
 I'ercival Ogden, the elder brothei', stood 
 over a bed, upon which the younger, pale 
 and emaciated, was stretched in a last 
 sickness. ' Percy, my brother. God bless 
 you,' said the sick man's voice -a poor, 
 week, hollow voice it was. ' You have 
 been a good brother to me. I have only 
 one more thing to ask of you. Take care 
 of I'aul. Take care of him for his mother's 
 sake. He was the apple of horejo. When 
 she died, 1 promised that he should come to 
 her again ; for she said she would be lonely, 
 even in heaven, without Paul — Paul, her 
 darling, her idol ! — and that she should do 
 nothing but watch for hiin. And now I 
 must go to her without him. What will 
 she say when I come alone ? Oh, my 
 brother, take care of him for her and for 
 me I Take care of my Paul — my Paul ! 
 Take care of her Paul, and of mine ! ' 
 
 The lawyer heard nothing more of the 
 sleeping girl's vision. Under the subtile in- 
 fluences of the place, he heard only the 
 sound of his dead brother's voice : ' Take 
 care of my Paul — take care of my Paul !' 
 
 And how had he kept the promise he had 
 made to his brother ? How had he cared 
 for his brother's only child ? Ah ! he had 
 so cared for the child, that that child was a 
 murderer— the nmrderer, for whom he, 
 Percival Ogden, had been searching far 
 and wide ; on whose track, repre- 
 senting the majesty of the State, he 
 had spread over the world ten thousand 
 staring eyes ; and this nnn-derer, whom the 
 eyes had found, was the child, whose father 
 — that only deaily loved brother — he had 
 promised to so care for that the dead father 
 and mother should one day, in a hap))ior 
 country — in a country far removed from 
 tears — welcome once more their only child to 
 their yearning carms ! And then Mr. Ogdcn's 
 thoughts travelled on further, until lliey saw 
 his own happy home — his dear, matronly 
 little wife, who had loved Paul so, for the 
 sake of those that were, dead — and his own 
 boys, who loved their groMU-up cousin, too. 
 And he saw the terrible news burst upon 
 them. The news that must ' out ' — the new.i 
 that would not ' down 'the news that every 
 tongue would shout into their tender ears, 
 that every placard on the street and every 
 print upon their table would fash upon 
 their vision — the news that every breath of 
 every zephyr would whisper- and every 
 blast of every tempest would roar into their 
 ears, as long as they should live ! 
 
 par 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 ' LCCir.S CORK IS NO I.O.NIJKR NEEDED.' 
 
 Meantime the sleeping girl ha<l resumed 
 her speech. 
 
 ' He is going to kill George ! Oh Paul, I 
 have wronged you, bitt I have never wrong- 
 ed you like that ! Not with that instol I 
 not with that silent pistot ! Oh, you are 
 wrong, Paul ! you are wrong when you say 
 that he st(jle me away from you. I say it i» 
 not true I I say I was not youi's when he 
 BivW me first I I say I was not yours when I 
 first loved him ! AVhy will yim kill him ? 
 Oh, Paul, I do not deserve that you should 
 kill him ! and what will I do ? \Vhat shall 
 I do, when he is dead ? Do not think that 
 I will love you, Paul, when you have killed 
 my George ! 
 
 • ••.••• 
 
 ' Twice ! Ah. why shoot him again, when 
 he is dead already ! How noiseless that 
 pistol ia ! Oh, my jioor George ! and now 
 do you know what they will do? Ah! 
 They will bury you. But never 
 fear, they shall bury my heart, 
 too. I will not leave you, George. 
 
 No murderer shall 
 think it, dear. 
 
 ' Are you praying, 
 kneeling, and your heai 
 breast. Are you pra 
 will come to you ? Ah 
 that. But, I must leav 
 ers, for the man who hr 
 not escape me. I must 
 
 * Do you know, Geor 
 Vour murderer is in a 
 (»ranges. How (xld he 
 four — let me see, he 
 four oranges ! They i 
 brown paper, .and he h; 
 his arm. He has gone 
 walk. I see him take 
 a lady in the car. I c 
 he is speaking to, nor c 
 he is saying. But he si 
 smiles, George ! He i 
 third street. Then lu 
 Fifth avenue. He is 
 elegant building, with 
 a servant opens the do( 
 I know the building—] 
 faces a monument a 
 avenue, and there ar 
 windows talking, anil 
 looking out upon the j 
 windows are all opei 
 club house. He has go 
 is a bed in the room, a; 
 storey. Now he — ' 
 
 Olive had been s 
 sometimes slowly, thei 
 she were following the 
 scribed Paul as maki 
 altogether, and began 
 convulsively. Mr. St 
 down every syllable t 
 a il it lay in black and 
 
 Mr. (iloster, who li 
 bv the window, now a 
 O'live. 
 
 ' Are you awake?' 1 
 whisper ? 
 
 ' Have I slept ? Yes 
 said. 
 
 ' But you mui* nol 
 Gloster, and, as he sp 
 rapid passes before 
 shadowy hands. '] 
 are better now. Do i 
 
 • Him— yes.' 
 
 ♦ What has he done 
 ' He, 0, he has lock 
 
 may not be disturl 
 George, that he is y( 
 n:)boay follow him ? 
 covering olT the be<l. 
 the pistol, the pistol 
 
ST. JUDF/S ASSISTANT. 
 
 87 
 
 murderer shall part us, thougli he may 
 >k it, dear. 
 
 Are you praying, George ? You are 
 Bling, and your head lias fallen on your 
 ist. Are you praying for me— that I 
 
 come to you ? Ah ! there is no fear of 
 ;. But, I must leave you at your pray - 
 for the man who has murdered you must 
 escape me. I must follow him. 
 Do you know, George, it is very strange, 
 ir murderer is in a large shop buying 
 iges. How (xld he is ! — one, two, three, 
 • — lot me see, he has bought twenty- 
 • oranges ! They are wrapped in coai'sc 
 ivn paper, and he has taken them under 
 arm. He has gone out upon tlie side- 
 k. I see him tjvke a car. He speaks to 
 dy in the car. I do not know who it is 
 s speaking to, nor can I liear what it is 
 s saying. But he smiles ! Your murderer 
 les, George ! H«! rides up to Tvventy- 
 d street. Then he alights and walks to 
 h avenue. He is going into a large, 
 ;ant building, with many windows, where 
 rvant opens the door for him from within. 
 lOW the building — I have often S';en it. It 
 IS a monument and looks down the 
 Que, and there are men sitting in the 
 dows talking, and smoking cigars, and 
 ting out upon the people who pass. The 
 dows are all open. It is a hotel or a 
 ) house. He has gone into a room — there 
 
 bed in the room, and it is upon the third 
 ■ey. Now he — ' ■ • • 
 
 'live had been speaking irregulaily — 
 letimes slowly, then again rapidly, as if 
 
 were following the movements she de- 
 bed Paul as making. Now she ceased 
 gether, and began twitching her hands 
 vulsively. Mr. Strasburger had tiikcn 
 
 n every syllable tliat had escaped her ; 
 
 it lay in black and wliite before him. 
 
 V. Glostei", who had resumed his seat 
 irosL' and leaned over 
 
 ;he window, now 
 
 ^e. 
 
 Are vou awake?' 
 
 sper .' 
 
 Have I slept ? Yes, I am 
 
 he said to her in a 
 M'aking, ' she 
 
 But y<ni mu^ not ■ wake yet,' said Mr. 
 3ter, and, as he spoke, he began making 
 d passes before her, with his white 
 lowy hands. ' Not yet. There — you 
 better now. Do you still see him ?' 
 Him — yes.' , 
 
 What has he done now ?' 
 He, O, he has locked the door, that he 
 not be disturbed. Do you know, 
 e, that he is your murderer ? Will 
 y follow him ? He has pulled the 
 sring olf the bed. Now look — look — ah, 
 pistol, the pistol that took *your dear, 
 
 precious Hfe, George! He^ii putting it 
 among the oranges. 
 
 ' He ! Oh he has gone out with the parcel 
 under his arm. I do not see the pistol now, 
 but 1 know it is in that awful parcel, with 
 the oranges. Why does not somebody stop 
 him ? See ! he, j'our murderer, is walk- 
 ing Ixjldly upon tlie street, in open daylight. 
 See ! he is going back to you, Gcorj,'e — ali,he 
 must look upon you once more ! \ es, he is 
 going back I * * No ! he has only raised 
 his eyes to look in at the opini door. He lias 
 not entered, l)ut has taken another car.aiul is 
 being carried down to the water.' 
 
 The sleeping girl paussd again. 
 
 ' No,' she said, ' he has gone upon a boat, 
 and the boat is on the water. I cannot pass 
 that water. 0, George ! George !' And she 
 opened her eyes wide, and passed her liand 
 (jver her forehead. 
 
 After Olive had ceased speaking, Mr. 
 Strasburger folded up his notes and placed 
 them in his breast-pocket. He did not dare 
 to look — even now — at Mr. Ogden. He felt 
 that gentleman's eye upon him, hovve^ er,and 
 his own cohl heart, that had grown callous to 
 sights of misery and wretchedness, did feel 
 for the unhappy lawyer. 
 
 When Mr. Strasburger reached his a]iart- 
 ments that evening, he felt himself satisfied 
 with the result of the seance, and of Olive's 
 clairvoyant revelations. But there remained 
 one test of its accuracy — one which would 
 add surety to assurance— rand this test he 
 prc)ceede(l to apply. It will be remembered 
 that, when Mr. Strasburger had visited the 
 gloomy studio known as No. 37, in company 
 with Mr. Ogden and Tom Frear, he had dis- 
 covere<l and secured a morsel of paper upon 
 which were some words the murdered man 
 had written. It had not thrown much light 
 upon Mr. Strasburger's quest, but he iiad, 
 nevertieless, carefully preserved it, and he 
 now l)rought it out from the pigeon-hole 
 where, witli other matters and things r hat- 
 ing to the Brand case, it had been stowed 
 securely ever since. 
 
 It was a fragment of heavy cold-pressed 
 paper, such as is used for private note-papei\ 
 and had evidently been torn lengthwise 
 down the sheet. Of course, in destroying a 
 letter, if the tearing is transversely across 
 the written lines, however, entire lines might 
 remain illegible. The fragment of the letter 
 Brand had written to his betrothed — little 
 dreaming of the marvellous circumstances 
 under which its destined recipient should 
 read it — whicli Mr. Strasburger now held in 
 his hand, was torn doicn the lettei', in this 
 M-ay, ami contained these words, written in 
 a large, bold, and uneven hand : 
 
88 
 
 ST. JUDE'S ASSISTANT. 
 
 f you wi 
 
 " ' to (linne , , . 
 
 hc/nml ha , 
 
 ilKJ 1 IHU 
 
 k/kiU (I 
 
 at III) 
 nd Ixlli V 
 atudiu Bu 
 
 Mr. Strasliiuyqr laid tliis strip out before 
 him u))<)ii . the talik-, iind taking pen ami 
 paper, very 8pee<lily produced the Icttoi' 
 Olive had I'ead, from hi« notes of her com- 
 munication, upon cortaiu otliei' slips of paper. 
 He made several experiments, and <lestroyed 
 several sheets of note paper, hut at length 
 he litad, to his own satisfaction at least, in- 
 corporated this fragment into the letter Olive 
 had read, as follows : 
 
 'My Daki.ino : 
 
 ' If //o« wi 11 excuse, I won't 
 come in tn dhuii- r this livening, as I find 
 myself Ixhitiil ha nd on a certain l)it 
 of writ //(,'/ / ///'/ st tin at once and 
 so t*h(di <l ine early. Kxpect me 
 then at ah out half after eiglit 
 a nd bi'lh'O e me your own 
 
 Oeoroe. 
 Studio liii ildings, Tuesday.' 
 
 At least this proceeding fully satisfied Mr. 
 Stras burger of the practical value of clair- 
 voyant science, and, with his conclusions, 
 there are many who will coincide. As he 
 smoked his hahitual cigar that evening, we 
 must admit that Mr. Strasburger was as 
 fairly elated as he had ever allowed himself 
 to be. He was now in i)0ssessii>n of cv(;ry 
 step that Paul Ogden had taken upon that 
 fatal election day. From Lucius Gore, first, 
 from Olive's vision, second, and from Mrs. 
 Mehlen, third, he knew it all. The mar- 
 shalling of witnesses, who should, in a court 
 of justice, substantiate this great chain of 
 circumstantial evidence, was a minor task. 
 Mr. Stras!)urger'3 theory was complete ; and 
 once let liis theory be complete, he would 
 have turned every house on Manhattan 
 Island inside out, but he would surely, on 
 the trial, produce his witnesses to substan- 
 tiate it. 
 
 Before retiring that night, he signed and 
 placed in Doyle's liands a re(^uisition for the 
 release of Lucius Core. ' Lucius Core can go, 
 as no longer needed,' was all he wrote ; but 
 the authorities at the Tond)s, who under- 
 stood something of the circumstances of 
 Core's incarceration, required only a hint. 
 
 As in the Tombs, Mr. Lucius Core is no 
 longer needed, and therefore shall no longer 
 figure upon these pages. While he was an 
 
 inmate of that grim city prison, he ha<I Imtl 
 food such aa it was — in suflicicnit (juanti- 
 ties, at least, to keep soid and body toj.:»'- 
 ther. Once released, however, hci found 
 himself starving. Driven by desperation 
 nothing less tiian desperation wnuld have 
 induced him to do it — he actually souglit 
 out Mr. Strasburger, and tohl iiis wi.efiii 
 tale. Mr. Strasl)urger, either amused at a 
 nnsery so abject tliat it really seemed comic, 
 or feeling that he had been of suflicieiit ser- 
 vice to the department to justify a dinburse- 
 ment, he handed the poor wretch twenty-fix <• 
 dollars, and never saw him afterwards. 
 
 We sliall not be as fortunate, you 
 and I, reader, let us not Iiope it. 
 Lucius Core, as long as we live, will 
 penetrate into our sancta — into our private 
 offices and our counting-rooms. He will of- 
 fer to sell us suspenders, or neck-ties, or 
 soap —will insure our lives, or order us au}' 
 book we desire to reod, or any stationery 
 (lead pencils, pocket knives, pens, rulers, 
 etc.) we desire to purchase. No leger.ds 
 outside the door, ' Jieggars and I'cdlara not 
 admitted," however coarse the print in which 
 they are printed, will have any terrors tor 
 him. He will come with his shoe-strings, 
 his soap, and his life insiiranee policies upon 
 any system. Tontine, non-foifeitable, mulual, 
 or otherwise — as long, reader, as you and 1 
 shall have any lives to insure ! 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 THE HEBALD COME.S TO MR. OGDEN 's 
 
 A.SSISTANX'E. 
 
 After the seance, Mr. Og<ien did not dare 
 to go home. How should he kiss his dear 
 little woman, with her kindly face and merrj-, 
 laughing eyes — how should he take his boys 
 by the hand, and tell her and them that their 
 Paul was a murderer ? If ever Mr. Ogden 
 was a coward, he was a coward among cow- 
 ards, at that moment. So, instead of bein<' 
 carried home, he caused himself to be driven 
 to the Thirtieth-street Station of the Hudson 
 River Railway, and was soon in one of the 
 coaches of that company, Ijeing whirled uj) 
 to Fort ^\'ashington; Now the eminent Mr. 
 Greatorex lived at Fort Washington — in a 
 magnificent villa — whence, summer and win- 
 ter, he could overlook the magnificent river, 
 at once the Rhine, Danube, and Elbe of the 
 world. 
 
 So Mr. Ogden sent his little woman a dis- 
 patch; notifying her that business of import- 
 ance rendered it necessary that he should 
 spend the night at Fort Washington ; and 
 Mrs. Ogden, who knew how frerpuntly 
 her husband . was associated in 'jreafc 
 
 '.m' ' 
 
£:•.»• 
 
 he had hail 
 
 ilMit qlllDlti- 
 
 l)()(ly t()j.:»'- 
 
 lid found 
 Hjx'fatioii 
 iVmdd li!i\i' 
 dly souglit 
 his W(/elhl 
 iiiusud at a 
 int'd comic, 
 ifliciL'iit Mcr- 
 a dishurst;- 
 t\veiity-fi\t' 
 .aids, 
 mate, you 
 
 hope it. 
 
 live, will 
 
 Diu' privat*; 
 
 He will of- 
 
 L'ck-ties, fir 
 
 dor us auy 
 
 stationeiy 
 BUS, riders. 
 No legeKtls 
 ['edlars lu^t 
 lit in which 
 
 terrors foi' 
 
 hoe-strings, 
 
 ilicies upon 
 
 l)le, mutual, 
 
 you and I 
 
 OGDEN s 
 
 id not dare 
 ss his dear 
 andnierr^, 
 e his bojs 
 n that their 
 Mr. Ogden 
 imong cow- 
 id of beini' 
 o be driven 
 the Hudson 
 one of the 
 ivhirled up 
 minent Mr. 
 gton — in a 
 r and win- 
 cent river, 
 ilbe of the 
 
 )man a dis- 
 of import- 
 he should 
 gton ; and 
 frequently 
 in -reub 
 
 ST. JUDK'S ASSIS'I'ANT. 
 
 6:) 
 
 i-t 
 
 
 casoH with his brother Oreatorex, un- 
 derstood it, ami saw nothing unusual in 
 the circumstance. She was in the lHil)it, 
 however, upon occasions when her huhliaiid 
 iemaiiie<4 aw.ay from home all night, to 
 require the coachm.'Hi, Miuford —who liveil 
 over the s^'aliles — to sleep in tiie front l)ase- 
 luent room, and slie was careful, on thiri 
 particular evening, to herself see that tlie 
 burglar alarm was adjusted to the windows. 
 
 At tills time, Mara, wliose engagement to 
 Tom had become an old sfory, sported, on 
 the third linger of her brown little loft hand, 
 a brilliant solitaire dianuiud, about the size 
 iif a tear. Tom had had taste enough to 
 refrain from any attempt to express, in 
 <liamond, either his yoiuig lady's worth or 
 his own admiration. Of course no monetary 
 consideration could have limited his pui- 
 chase ; for, although he might not have the 
 price of a dinner in his pocket, he would 
 have purchased a ninety thousand dollar 
 necktie at Till'any's, with the same nonchal- 
 ance with which he would select a cigar at 
 Park and Tilford's. 
 
 It may or may not be ominous for young 
 ladies to remove their engagement rings, 
 but, on this particular evening, before re- 
 tiring, some mystery of her toilette reijuinul 
 -vlaia to take hers olf ; and, as luck would 
 have it, she tucked her little self into bed 
 and went sound asleep, thoughtlessly leav- 
 ing ic, together with hei* watch, upon the 
 bureau cushion. 
 
 It might have been a couple of hours past 
 miduiglit, when the whole Ogden household 
 Avas awakened by a violent ringing of the 
 burglar alarm. 
 
 Upon awakening, Mrs. Ogden herself, in- 
 stantly realizing the warning, groped her 
 way in the dark, into her husband's bed- 
 chamber, where, on the wall, above his bed, 
 Avas aflixed one of the American District 
 Telegraph Company 'si nvaluable apparatuses, 
 and summoned the police. 
 
 At this period, everything in New York 
 was done by telegraph. Messengers were 
 sent from private houses to India, and 
 answers brough'back again without leaving 
 <me's room. Messengers were called, police- 
 men or firemen were summoned, and lawyers 
 sat in their offices and answered to or ad- 
 journed their causes as held in court, by the 
 pressure of a finger upon a knob. 
 
 Not only was the price of gold — of West- 
 •ern Union or Lake Shore, brought every 
 ■other minute to the broker or speculator, 
 but actually all the news of the globe, was, 
 at the same intervals, put into the possession 
 of every resident— thus actually realizing, in 
 less than twenty years, a prophecy which 
 we remember to have seen published (in 
 
 Harper's Magazine) for the year 1900, whose 
 writer, in Imrlesipie strain, gave full swing 
 to his imagination in the most evtia\agunt 
 features he could assign to tliat year ol 
 grace. 
 
 Having achieved tiiis a*:t of forti- 
 tude, Mrs. Ogden went back to hci' room 
 and fainted away ; it being one of tliis good 
 lady's characteristics, that, althuiigh as 
 timid us a dove, she rarely ga\ e way to he 
 fear until she had been of all the service 
 it was possible for her to bo in tlie enier- 
 
 f;ency which produced it. Upon .^iiiifnrd's 
 ighting up the hall and parlours, and up(jn 
 the arrival of tiie police, it was disco\ cied 
 that the burgUir or burglars had escaped to 
 tlie Avenue, through one of the ])ar]our 
 windows — the one which had set otl' the 
 alarm. No trace of their entrance was any- 
 where discoverable, on a thorough search 
 over the premises. The parlour window, 
 which sto(;d open, as the burglar had left it, 
 bore jio trace of having l)eeii forced, but hail 
 evidently been opened naturally fromwitiiin. 
 The patrcd were of opinion, therefore, that 
 the burglar or burglars had been able to se- 
 crete themselves in the house during the 
 day ; and after having enjoyed tlic fullest 
 opportunity to i-ansacdi at their leisure, aftei' 
 the family had retired, had started the 
 alarm upon retiring with their bixjty. So 
 far as could be ascertained at that hour, 
 nothing whatever was missing. 15ut, in the 
 morning, everybody in the house was made 
 aware that Mara's diamond ring had been 
 taken frcjin the cushion, where siie distinctly 
 I'emembered to have left it, although liLr 
 watch and chain, which had lain beside it, 
 had not been touched ! The alfair was, of 
 course, the theme of the family's conversa- 
 tion at breakfast, until another sensation 
 was suddenlj- added to the morning's 
 chapter, wliich drove the burglary out of 
 their memorj' for many days to come. The 
 new sensation was in this wise. 
 
 The ohLst son, Percival Ogden, junior, 
 who, in his father's absence, was in posses- 
 sion of the Hi'rald, had sat down to hi:i 
 l)reakfast, and, while drinking liis coU'ee, 
 opened it. He was holding it in his left 
 baud, and running down its columns with 
 his eyes, while his right hand was holding 
 his cotfee to bis lips. Of a sudden, he clum- 
 sily dropped the cup, and spilled the cofTee. 
 At this Mara laughed. 
 
 'Don't laugh, Mara, but read that,' said 
 Percy, handing her the Jlerald, and indi- 
 cating an item in its columns. 
 
 Mara took it, read the item, and, without 
 a word, handed it to Mrs. Ogden. Mara 
 was as pale as a ghost, and her hand trem- 
 bled like an aspen leaf. But she held licr 
 
 rt', 
 
 in 
 
90 
 
 ST, JUDE'S ASSISTANT. 
 
 peace. Mrs. Oj^doii read it, mid left tlio 
 room -also witliout a word. 
 
 It waa tilt! item wliicli, two weeks lator, 
 Paul ()i;dcii was liiiimlf to read at lliiigeii on 
 the Uliiiie, and it ran thu.s : 
 
 ' It has boon ascertained without the 
 shadow of a |)ossil)ility of a doubt, tliat the 
 hand whicli iiiiirdorod, in cohl bloo<l, the 
 Reverend (i(M>r;,'(! Brand, As.sistant Rector of 
 St. Jude'.s Kpi.seopal Church on Fifth 
 Avenue, just thirty-two months ago, wa.s 
 the liaiid of Paul Ogden, a youiij' man 
 highly connected, and well-known in thin 
 city, who i.s at present livinj^ soinewiiere on 
 the continent of Europe. As we go to prc.^;, 
 we have barely time to make this annouiiif 
 ment, but will publish full particulars to- 
 morrow. ' 
 
 When Mr. Strasburger saw this item, a.-i 
 wc ha\'e already liinteil, he indulged in some 
 very iMiipiiatic profanity, and expressed him- 
 self to tlic decided eP.'ect that there waa no 
 farther possible use for men of his calling as 
 Ion? as the ffirnld existed. But, of i^onrs • 
 it was useless to swear at the Hcra/d—ono 
 might as well swear at all the Palisades. 
 
 As to the means wiioteby the /lerald had 
 obtained its information — wliich, after all, 
 coxild have been mere opinion on its part — al- 
 though announced,asit iiabitually announced 
 everything, <as gospel — llirnhl. gospel, at 
 least — it is idle to speculate. It is probalde, 
 however, that at Mr. (iloster's s./auce, whicli 
 we have already described, an indefatigable 
 Hprald reporter was lying on his belly some- 
 where between the joists, or with an ear at 
 some open Hue, and to earn the favour of his 
 employers and the three dollars which tliat 
 moneyed sheet pays its coriespondents a 
 column, had put into alisolute statement an 
 assertion what all practical, (Tod-fe<aring men 
 must, of course, recognize as sheer visionary 
 moonshine. But, at any rate, tlie Herald 
 did one good deed by the publication. When 
 Mr. Ogdeii entered his house that morning, 
 he saw by the first face that greeted him, 
 that he need coHtrive no longer how to break 
 to his family the terrible tidings that lay 
 npon his heart. They knew it as well as he. 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 Al) QUOD DAMN'ITM. 
 
 It is not difficult to imagine the consterna- 
 tion created in polite circles by tlie IlirahV!* 
 item. But so far from letting the matter 
 — b<ad enough as it was — rest, that news- 
 paper now took matters boldly out of Mr. 
 Strasburger 's hand ; and with its thousands 
 
 of emissaries, to say nothing of tlie do/ens. 
 perhaps evejri hundreds of ainatturs.of 'Scio, ' 
 and ' iNDKxi' anil ' Scrutatok,' ami 'A Citi- 
 /K.N,'and all the letters in tiiu alphabet 
 each of whom had seen, or thought they had 
 seen — something unusual on that fatal day, 
 the result was marvellous. Imlceil, just at 
 this time it was coming on dog-days. In 
 t'lose days everybody knows that news 
 comes but straggliiigly to Metropolitan eight 
 and twelve page journals. Everyone knows, 
 too, or ought to know, that tons of ' copy, ' 
 npon every subject under heaven, are stacKiil 
 away in these newspaper concenis, dur- 
 ing the cooler months, awaiting this 
 I log-day dearth, when they can b' 
 init under re(iuisition to fill up the yawning 
 barren columns. O, guileless reader ! you 
 wlio marvel at the activity which, witiiin 
 twelve hours of a great man's deatii, or the 
 dedication of a great cathedral, will s])read 
 before you ten solid columns of that man's 
 life, or twenty columns of descriptive ciitic- 
 isiii of tile school of architecture to wlii(;h 
 that cathedral belongs — do ye not know tiiat 
 a newspaper office containeth more of Eik'\ - 
 clopoidia, tlian those heavy volumes of Brit- 
 taiiica or of Apph-ton themselves ? Wliy, 
 your life, reader, and ours, is written out 
 and filed away somewhere in those dingy 
 precincts ! If we are ignoble, it may be in 
 ten lines, and in proportion as we are more 
 or less illustrious, it will bo a line, (jr a 
 page, of the great newspaper for your incon- 
 solable friends to read at l)reakfast, or as 
 tliey are transported down town to business 
 in the cars. When, reader, your turn and 
 ours comes to be carried, feet foremost, out 
 of the portal that shall know us no more for- 
 eviT, rest a.ssured, that — line, or column, or 
 ))vge — ^our lives will occupy in the Herald 
 JList precisely the space to which we have by 
 our virtues or oui- crimes entitled ourselves. 
 Sooner or later, friends — we must l)e juilgsid 
 by the J/<rald of the deeds done in the body. 
 When the newspapers chronicle a fire on 
 Broadway, do they not as surelj- accompany 
 the chronicle with a long dtscripticjii of all 
 the other fii'es the Metropolis has ever 
 known? We repeat, all this is written to 
 hand, indexed as to shelf, and pigeon-hole, 
 and ready for use ; as, reader, we have said, 
 are your lives and mine. 
 
 Therefore, being the Dog-days, the Herald 
 — followed soon, as it invariably w;is, by 
 other n\etropolitan sheets, (for to give tlie 
 Herald nothing less than its due, it was at 
 this date, as it had been for years, easily thi' 
 leader of metropolitan journalism, and its 
 young editor, a gentleman of acknowleilged 
 taste and cuture,) made the Brand murder, 
 or the St. Jude's murder— as it was iudclin- 
 
-C'J^ 
 
 ST. JUDE'S ASSISTANT, 
 
 01 
 
 itely styled— clearly the fashion, and devntc 1 
 \vhoIt> \m^eH daily to its recapitulation. Up 
 to tliis tin\<! tlie ff/rald had hail nothing to 
 print except the most alarming dctailH vtm- 
 I'erning tlit; Hltliy mid deatli-dualint; condi- 
 tion of ll.uloin FliitH, wliile tlic Inijifrinm 
 h;iil sta t '1 the ravages* of the small-pox, and 
 tht! I'ltii'' i\ timling the wiml of its sails tlins 
 captured liy its contonipuraries had raised 
 the hue and cry of Mad i)o;,'s I Now, how- 
 ever, the Ht. Jude's munlcr had purified 
 Harlem Flats, iiail utterly laid the small- 
 ]! )X, and externi'pateil all the mad dogs ! 
 So if it is an ill wind that blows nohody any 
 good, at least tlie St. .Fuile's murder was 
 doing Homehcitly a fa\'oui'. 
 
 Hut ujioii tlie (^gden family, it blew an ill 
 wind. Dragged mto horrrbh^ pnjminencc, 
 tlieir genealogy, private history, their 
 we.ilth, tlicir pcisonal appearance, respsctive 
 ag(!S, mode of living— tlieir ever'ythmg, in 
 short, was written up and spread before the 
 world, in those awful days. Of course, the 
 family had at once closed their city 
 house and betaken themselves to the 
 rotiromcnt of Malcolm. But it was no 
 rctii'i'inent now. Crowds of people came 
 up daily on the tr;i.iii.i Irom the city to in- 
 spect the Ogden house and the Ogden 
 giiniiids. 1 'ay and night ' interviews ' and 
 ' gentlenicn of the press " pulled the Ogden 
 bell — only to be refused, of course, admis- 
 sion. IJut the HcfdhI nevertheless, would 
 fill next dny, just the reciuisite amount of 
 space, indi'ereiit wliether the iiiterview- 
 (.•r had been admitted or not. For instance, 
 let us suppose that the Hirahl dispatched a 
 si«'eial interviewer to ask Mr. (Jgden the 
 (Olourofhis matorn.'d graTid mother's hair. 
 Of coiu'se Mr. Ogden would see no gcT'tle- 
 nian from the press ; nor, if he had, would 
 he give the shade of his ancestor's lock?. 
 Never mind. In the half column of the 
 next morning's paper which had been re- 
 served for that particular interview, had it 
 been o'ltained. would be an article running 
 Mke this : 
 
 wiir int'i viewer thereupon took the one, 
 (1 :10) train from Malcolm, and after a 
 du.sty ride, in the course of which he be- 
 came overlaid outwardly, and lined in- 
 wardly as to his diaphragm, with a coating 
 of bright red Jersey dust (why will not the 
 Sussex and Jussex either ballast its road 
 with stone, or adopt one of the dozens of 
 modern contrivances to banish dust ? We 
 fear the policy of that road is to squcese 
 everything into dividends, malgre the com- 
 fort of its patrons,) arrived at the charming 
 settlement. Upon tiie summit of a lovely 
 hill, at its rear, in a beautiful grove of 
 chestnut, stiinds the elegant Rennaissant 
 
 villa of the now famous Mr. Ogden. Tho 
 house is three stories in height.and overlooks 
 the railway station at tho lK>ttom of the 
 nill. The first storey is entirely surrounded 
 i)y a very wide and spacious verandah. 
 (Vossin" this, the Jf>rfifil re)>oiter rang thir 
 door bell which is in the form of a wrentrh 
 or crank, so contrived as to ring twiciMf 
 pressed to its utmost, but only once if 
 slightly moved. This bell was answcnd by 
 a very pretty domestic of perhaps eightoei 
 or ninet(!en summers, with i)lump, rosy 
 cheeks, bright, merry. Mack eyes, ana a dear 
 little turn up nose ; who announced, u]vin 
 loarning your reporter's errand— not, how- 
 ever, until she had inspected him thorough- 
 ly from pcih slals to capital that Mr.Ogden 
 was ' engaged,' and that ' t'want no tise ; 
 he wouldn't never see no gent of tho press. ' 
 — Kissing his tiiigers in lieu of the damsel's 
 teniptiii;; (rlieek, anil advising her to look up 
 Mr. Jji'idley Mu'.Tav's finious work on 
 < irimmatie Ku-'ifiieiits, a* her earliest leis- 
 ure, your reporter withdrew. 
 
 And then the reporter would go on to 
 describe his ride back to the city on the two 
 o'clock Belchertown Express, '\> Inch sto))- 
 ped at Malcolm expressly to accommodate 
 the Kmperor of Brazil, who was travelling 
 iiiroij. through the United States, and who 
 happened to be visiting Mr?(n'-Gencral Mc- 
 Mullen, late commander-in-chief of the 
 United States Army, who, as is well known, 
 resides at Malcolm.' Ami so forth, and so 
 forth. What could be done under this sort 
 of thing ? Mr. Ogden's oliicc was likewise 
 besieged, and ret'.dcrs of the daily 
 papers — in lieu of an * interview' 
 with its head, were treated 
 
 to minute descriptions of the office, chaml)ers, 
 t'le number of volumes in the librarj', of 
 clerks at tlie desks, of ca.'tes on the calendar, 
 and the number of quires of letral (;ap co\ered 
 with capital letters, in the course of the long 
 vacation, by the lazy little call boy wlmso 
 occupation for the time was gone. 
 
 Of course Mara's story did not escape the 
 general acrutiny. And every incident in the 
 child's life, from her discovery by Paul Ogden 
 at the grape trellis, to her eng.agement with 
 Tom Frear, and the theft of her engagement 
 ring, was printed, and ri!-iterateil in the news- 
 papers, from New York to Oregon. 
 
 Mr. Strasburger, who bent to the storm, 
 and calmly contemphited th.e temlering his 
 resignation, read, however, Mara's story witit 
 particular interest, sn))]demcnting from the 
 newspapers the information he had drawn 
 from Mrs. Melden — ^and drawing his own 
 conclusions. In this way, too, he first le-trn- 
 ed of the theft of Mara's ring. 
 
 Meanwhile Mr. Stuyvesjmt fjce. Senior 
 
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«2 
 
 ST. JUDE'S ASSISTANT. 
 
 Warden of St. Jud«'B Parish, had received 
 intimation ipom Mr. Ogden that that gentle- 
 man eoiihl not longer continue as counsel in 
 tlie matter wherein St. Jude's had long since 
 engaged his services, in the following letter, 
 which he iliily laid iK^ore tlie next Vestry 
 meeting : 
 
 ' Jauncey Court. 
 My Dbab Sir : 
 
 ' I feel myself and the gentlemen yon re- 
 present, so fully in ;the possession of the pre- 
 sent distressing circumstances, that all 
 allusion thereto may be spared me ; except 
 that it remains my earliest duty to place in 
 your hands a resignation of the trust with 
 "w'lich, two years ago you honoured me — a 
 <luty I herewith disiuiarge. 
 
 ' Assured of your regard and sympathy in 
 the de^ bitterness which has fallen on me 
 and mine, 
 I beg to remain, my dear ^Ir. I-^e, 
 
 Yours, most gratefjuUy land faithfwlly, 
 
 •/. r, . 'Pjircival Ooden. 
 Stuyvesant Lee, 'Esq., . 
 
 Sr. Warden, and for the Trustees of St. 
 Jude's Parish, &c. &c.' 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 THE BAT DELIVERS ITS OPINION 
 
 One morning, after the state of tliinG:s we 
 Jiave described had continued about a fort- 
 iiigiit, the Ogden family had just assembled 
 at breakfast. There were Mr. and Mrs. 
 'Ogden, Mara, the three boys, Tom, our 
 whilom friend, and Miss Siucleton — no 
 longer a housekeeper, but a valued member 
 of uie family — a lady possessed of many 
 more thousands a year than she could po!»- 
 sibly spend, and proportionately valued. 
 The veriest height to which human philoso- 
 phy and virtie can attain is the powec to 
 treat rich and poor alike. It is all very well 
 to say that wealth is an accident, and that 
 riches make no ditf'urence in men. But be- 
 yond the saying, we fancy that proverb 
 never gets far. The Ogdens probably came 
 as near to being independent of the human 
 weakness that grow from money warship, as 
 any people we ever knew. But we doubt if 
 even among them, Isabella was not, before 
 her good fortune, habitually addressed as 
 ' Singleton,' and alluded to as a ' good soul ;' 
 whereas, afterward, she was always address- 
 ed as JUiss Singleton, and everywliere con- 
 ceded to be * a perfect lady, 'and 'our dear- 
 est friend. ' 
 
 This unhappy fautily existed, at this period 
 of their livei^ — as we liave hinted, in a state 
 of perpetual persecution and siege. They 
 stole on tip-toe from one room to another. 
 
 in thoir own house, wherein they were, of 
 course, prisoners, for they could not pat-s its 
 threshold without being followed by a gap- 
 ing crowd. They spoke to each other m 
 muffled undertones, even in the sanctity uf 
 their own closete. The domestics were in- 
 structed to deal with butcher, baker, and 
 candlestick-maker at arm's length, lest a 
 green grjcer, who should be a newspaper 
 reporter in disguise, should break thiuugh 
 into the heart of the mansion and write up 
 its Lares and Penates ; and the meals, at 
 which it aeaenibled. were solemn ghostly 
 affairs, conducted almost in spectral silence. 
 Tom hxul shared the misfortunes of tlie 
 family, as he had its good report, and was 
 looked upon as quite one of tliemselves al- 
 ready. He quite lived at Malcolm, and was 
 almost always with the family at meal 
 times, where his plate was invariably laid 
 next to Mara's. Like the rest, he sat in 
 silence, and in tlie great pall of circumspec- 
 tion which himg over this devoted household. 
 They seemed to l)e aware tliat they went and 
 came,and roise up and lay dowii,and ate, aii<l 
 drank,and slept, in the great and awful eye 
 of the Public, and to that Public were 
 awfully accountable for the order of tlicir 
 going, and coming, and sleeping, and rising, 
 and eating and drmkiiig. 
 
 On this particular morning, they were pur- 
 suing their meal in the invariable silence, 
 when, on a sudden, the outside hall door 
 was heard to slam violently. Prepared, as 
 they always were in these days, to be sur- 
 prised at nothing, they were, however, 
 scarcely ready to see that the door leading 
 from the hall into the room where they were 
 sitting, pushed open, and a figure stride in 
 before tliem. It might have been a ghost 
 from a grave-yard that stood before them, so 
 pale and ghastly was the apparition. Nor 
 was it until after an instiint that they recog- 
 nized, in the hagurd lineaments, the dark- 
 rimmed eyes that protruded ° from their 
 
 ■ckets, and the wan and sunken cheeks, 
 the feature of no less a visitor than Paul. It 
 was no ghost. It was Paul himself, the mis- 
 erable cause of -the misery of the stricken 
 family before him. 
 
 ' My God, does nobody know me ? ' he 
 gasped, as he stood upon the threshold and 
 leaned against the door post. 
 
 ' Paul ! • 
 
 It was M«ra's voice that cried his name. 
 
 In another instant the girl had left her 
 
 lover's side and had thrown her arms around 
 
 ■the prodigal's neck. She was sobbing and 
 
 'lau^ming convulsively, by turns. 
 
 'Paul, Paul ! ' — that was all they could 
 distinguish— 'O, Paul, Paul ! ' 
 
 Poor Tom ! He did not know exactly 
 
ST. JUDE'S ASSISTANT. 
 
 9% 
 
 what was expected of him. His betrothad 
 wife hart flown from hia side, and was weep- 
 ing, before his eyes, upon another man's 
 neck. He had not ceased to feel ominous ' 
 about the loss of the engagement ring, and 
 about Mara's absolute renisal to accept a ' 
 duplicate. Now it seemed that the omen ; 
 were coming to its fulfilment. j 
 
 The whole househoM was now in confu- 1 
 hIou. Mara's laughter and sobs would have | 
 sufficed to drown all other speech, had there 
 l)een any ; but to tell the truth, nobody 
 knew what to say. As ill-luck would have 
 it— and as it always manages to have it in 
 sucli predicaments — the two servants who 
 waited at the breakfast table entered to- 
 gether, while everything was in confusion, 
 and while Mara was still lying, sobbing hy- 
 sterically upon Paul's breast. Mr. Ogden 
 liimself was at a loss for words. He ordered 
 the servants sternly from the room ; but Ke 
 knew, ere they obeyed, there was ample 
 time for mischief to be domi. He was quite 
 sure now that the news of Paul's return 
 wou'd have spread from Dan to Beeraheba, 
 from Malcolm to the Lord knows where, by 
 mid-day. There are no telegraphs so elec- 
 tric as hoiise-servants, however loyal. What 
 Mary Ann and Biddy do not exchange over 
 the area railings, is scarcely worth repeating 
 at any time. But here vas news indeed, 
 worthy of their circulation. Besides, Mr. 
 Ogden was not quite prepared to admit, by 
 cautioning them, that Paul was a fugitive 
 liiding from justice under his uncle's roof, or 
 that the counsel for St. Jude's was harbour- 
 ing the St. Jude's murderer. 
 
 When Mara was finally composed, and drag- 
 ■fed hy my main force from Paul's arms, she 
 shut herself up in her own room, and re- 
 fused herself to everybin'.y. As to 
 Tom, she would not even deign to answer 
 Ilia messages. Poor Tom ! He felt that 1 e 
 walked in a different atmosphere already. 
 There was something in the kind, respectful 
 demeanour of the servants, in the extra 
 timid tones of Mrs. Ogden herself, in the 
 f'xtra attention of all to his comfoi-t, that 
 seemed to tell how they pitied him. Who 
 has.not caught, in the same tokens, the 
 knell of liopes, and the death-note of love ? 
 
 As for Paul, what could be done ? His 
 aunt kissed him, as of old, and his uncle 
 took him by the hand, as he had always 
 done. No allusion was made to any altera- 
 tion in the circumstances under which Uiey 
 now met. In great crises of our lives, n is 
 always best, it ahvays helps matters along, to 
 take thinsrs silently for granted. So Mr. 
 O^rden had only said, with a touch of h''^ old 
 kiiidiH'sa, ' Paul, have you breakfasted?' 
 
 ' I have eateu nothing, for I don't know 
 
 how long, ' said Paul. 'I oou't remember 
 when I ate last. ' 
 
 And in very truth, Paul had scarcely eaten: 
 a morsel, since he left the shores of Europe,, 
 ten days or more before. 
 
 That day, for the first time in a week, 
 Mr. Ogrten went to his office in town. It 
 was better to keep out of the way. At any 
 rate, Paul was flesh of his flesh and bone of 
 his l)one — his dead brother's son. What if 
 all the world believed him a murderer, as y. t- 
 there was no iudict?neut out against hmi. 
 As yet, in the eye of the law, Mr. Ogden 
 was harbouring no criminal. After all, there 
 was no proof that could militate, in a court 
 of justice, against Paul's innocence. Alt 
 evi(ience procurable by the prosecution, must 
 of necessity, be barely circumstantial, and 
 the • circumstantiality of evidence, now-a- 
 days, is a tower of strength for the accused. 
 Mr. Ogden had saved many a man from the 
 gallows by expatiating upon the hazard of 
 putting any trust in one's own sensations r 
 could he do less for his own nephew ? 
 
 But he was perfectly sure, at any rate, that 
 the news of Paul's return and the prese"*^ 
 habitat would spread like wildfire. A little 
 delay, perhaps, arising from the necessity of 
 procuring a requisition from the Governor of 
 New Jersey, to justify it, might lengthen 
 tlie interval to elapse before Paul's arrest. 
 Not much delay, however. The city of 
 New York is the butter on New Jersey's 
 bread ; and Jerseymen proverbially know on 
 which side their bread is buttered. But ar- 
 rest would follow closely on the indictment, 
 which was now a matter of course, if only as 
 a sop on the part of the authorities to public 
 sentiment. For, indeed, it had not failed of 
 intimation by the one-penny papers of the 
 Metropolis — journals which insisted on re- 
 presenting the interests of ' the working 
 nun,' (whomsoever he might happen to be, 
 in a \fi3xd where the preacher's question, 
 'Who slall eat bread without labour?* 
 might w«,ll give pause)— that, in this 
 case, at least, there must not be one law 
 for the rich man and another for the poor 
 man ; and tliat no need of l)irth, blood, 
 wealth or social position should he allowed 
 here to interfere between the law and the 
 law-breaker. ' Nay, more, ' said the Bat, 
 (price one cent) ' we know that a relative of 
 the accused is one of the leaders of the Bar 
 — one, who, by his eloquence, his influence, 
 (not always we fear, exercised openly and 
 above-board) and his knowledge of subter- 
 fuge, technical law and chicane, has repeat- 
 edly cheated justice of its due. We warn 
 him, in this case, however, that no lordly 
 pettifoggery shall prevail. The case is 
 Capital. A young man without an enemy 
 
 ^li 
 
84 
 
 ST. JUDE'S ASSISTANT. 
 
 in the world, (etc. etc. Here followed a 
 piuuplirase of Webbter'a well-known descrip- 
 tion — only, for ' aged man, ' read ' young 
 man.') Let him (i.e., Mr. Ogdei) — the Bat's 
 editorials always reciuired annotation to be- 
 come intelligible) understand from us, that 
 no nKinipulation on the Grand Jury at hio 
 hands will be tolerated — that Grand Jury 
 must find a true bill, or the people will know 
 the reason why. And, moreover, we can 
 infunn that gentleman, that it is clearly im- 
 [lossible that he appear in court as counsel 
 for the muiilerer. ruU wires and advise tlie 
 <lefence in secret, we suppose he will M'ith- 
 <jut restraint or shame. Unfortunately, we 
 uamiot prevent that. But, appear a.s coun- 
 sel openly, or show himself in court at all, 
 except as a mere spectator, he very clearly 
 cannot. The statutes of the State of J^ew 
 York, happily, take care of that, and we 
 refer him — for, astute student of the 
 •Statutes as he is, he, perchance, may need 
 the reference — to the Revised S'-'tutee, Vol. 
 il. p. 591 § .'), where he may .." 1 that the 
 people will not permit him to stultify him- 
 Helf by appearing io defend a murderer, who. 
 for two years, lio has been engaged, under 
 lioavy retainers, to trace, and — as counsel for 
 St. Jude's Parish, of which the murdered 
 man was an officer — to assist the District 
 ^ittoniay in prosecuting a murderer ! ' 
 
 Moreover, vile as it was, the Batwaa right 
 alx>ut Mr. Ogden's duty. Although he had 
 at once withdrawn from the St Jude's case, 
 and sent his withdrawal to the proper 
 officers, upon the first intimation that the 
 name of a member of his own family would 
 be iissociated with it, he could not — accord- 
 ing to his own ideas of professional honour — 
 go over to the opposite side, even in defence 
 of the purity of his own household, and ap- 
 pear to a prosecution which must be insti- 
 j^'atcd, or, at least, strenirthened by the 
 moral force of liis late client. True, Mr. 
 (ireatorex — who, it was understood, \\foulil 
 act as counsel for Paul Ogdeu, in tlie event 
 of his aiTaignment — had laughed at his 
 scruples, ilr. Greatorex v/as a lawyer, who 
 ! «elieved that whatever a lawyer is autlior- 
 ized to do by law, he may do by right, fee- 
 N'ond Iiis retainers, he did not speculate 
 nmch in purely metaphysical questions. If 
 i t was wrong to defend a guilty man, why, 
 I ':, w IS the fault of the law that gave the 
 ''uilty man a trial and ivssigned him counsel. 
 It was none of his business. But Mr. Ogden 
 wjis in doubt. Mr. Greatorex was not 
 troubled with a judicial mind — a sort of 
 r.\[\id that is quite out of place off the bench, 
 anil that rarely accomplished anything 
 notable. ^fr. Greatorex was willing to let 
 judges decide. He found it quite all he was 
 
 able to do to argue one side of a question ; 
 any doubts aa to whether or no his side was 
 the right side, he was quite willing to leave 
 for the settlement of tne last resort — cpn- 
 fident that all opposite views would receive 
 — from the eminent gentlemen opposed — at 
 least their full weight and force, and solici- 
 tous only, that his own position should lose 
 none of its virtue in his mouth. 
 
 At any rate, Mr. Ogden, long before the 
 But haa printed the above editorial in 
 double-leaued lines, had felt himself clear, 
 that, although his nephew's natural pro- 
 tector, he could scarcely — consistently with 
 his own views of pr4>fessional honour — un- 
 deriuke his nephew's defence. Of course the 
 statute which the Bat had cited had no re- 
 sercnce whatever to the case ; and, except 
 as applying to certain civil cases, was en- 
 tirely ridiculous. A little learning is no- 
 where so dangerous as in legal or statuory 
 matters ; and the lawyer was forced to smile 
 at this effort of the scurvy pumlit, at least. 
 But although lie smiled, he was vexed to feel 
 that, punctilious gentlei.ian as he was, his 
 acts ill adherence to wliat he considered an 
 honourable cause, would be surely reckoned, 
 on other sides, as the result of moral coer- 
 cion, applied by the hands of such a dirty 
 demagogue as the editor of the Bat. 
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 THE LAWYBB's duty TO THE STATE. 
 
 Upon arriving at his office that morning. 
 Mr. Ogden sent a message round to Mr, 
 Greatorex, to the effect that he must have 
 an interview that morning, and that he 
 would find .anj hour convenient that Mr. 
 Greatorex would name. Mr. Greatorex re- 
 turned answer that he would drive around 
 to Mr. Ogden's office on his return from 
 chamljers, at twelve o'clock. And, 
 shorty after that hour, he entered Mr. 
 Ogden's private office, and the door was 
 locked. 
 
 'Greatorex,' said Mr. Ogden, * my nephew, 
 Paul Ogden, made his appearance at my 
 house this morning. ' 
 
 ' Doubtless that was the place he should 
 first appeal",' said Mr. Greatorex. ' He, re- 
 course, is aware of the public sentiment of 
 gaiiling him ?' 
 
 ' Unquestionably.' 
 
 • Well, so far as we have progressed, I sec 
 no reason why he sliouhl not appear. ' 
 
 ' My idea, ' retunied Mr. Ogden, ' is that 
 he should at once surrender himself to the 
 autliorities.' 
 
 ' I am not so clear about that. So far, 
 there is no defined suspicion— there is as yet 
 
ST. JUDE'S ASSISTANT. 
 
 dS 
 
 uothiug but gossip— so far n« J can see, mere 
 ^oss p and old wives' faliles. I might go 
 4iud deliver myself up to the authorities with 
 precisely the same reason. ' 
 
 ' But, public opinion — * 
 
 ' I fail to recognize any considerations of 
 public opinion as affecting, in any way, the 
 question of our duty, or at least of im/ duty, 
 here ;' said Mr. Greatorex. ' When tlie time 
 comes that public opinion shall take the 
 place of Liw, and try men in the newspapers, 
 and send tlieni to prison or to the gimlet, 
 then, I say, ;yrou and I, Ogden, munt prac- 
 tise public opinion instead of law, and plead 
 in the newspapers, instead of in the courts ; 
 but so long as we practise law, I don't see 
 that we are called to trouble ourselves alK>ut 
 what you call public opinion. ' 
 
 Ana let us oe slow in pronouncing Mr. 
 <jrreatorex in the wrong. Tlie duties a lawyer 
 <jwes to his client are well Known. We are 
 instructed that a client is authorized to ex- 
 
 «ect from and rely upon, in his attorney or 
 is counsel, up to a certain point, skill, re- 
 se^rch, and diligence in conducting his 
 cause, r.n ordinary familiarity with, and 
 ^'rasp and application of legal principles, 
 &c. ; and that, up to a certain point, he may 
 recover damages of his professional guide for 
 the latter's want of these qualities, or for his 
 negligence, carelessness, or abuse of his cause. 
 On the other hand, the lawyer's duty to his 
 client is proportionally prominent and well- 
 <letined, and accompanies the relationship 
 until dissolved, or until terminated by his 
 insanity, disbarrment, elevation to the bench, 
 or death. 
 
 But the highest duty of a lawyer is to the 
 State and to the public : like a judge, he is 
 an officer of tlio court, and his office is a pub- 
 lic trust. The lawyer luis entered into a 
 certain contract with society, and for the 
 construction of that trust, and for the speci- 
 fic enforcement of that contract, we nnist 
 turn tu the domain of ethics, rather than of 
 equity. Says Dr. Warren : ' The ethics of 
 the bar must always be a matter of infinite 
 concern to the community, whose best in- 
 terests are identified with its honour and in- 
 tegi'ity. Among tlie secret and internal 
 causes of the rapid decline and fall of the 
 Roman Kmpire, Giblwn did not hesitate to 
 reckon the decline and corruption of the bar. 
 The noble art which hud once been preserved 
 as the sacred inheritivnce of the patricians, 
 waf fallen into the hands of freedmen and 
 plebeians, who, with cunning rather than 
 with skill, exercised a sordid and pen'.iv?ious 
 ti-ade. 
 
 ' Careless of fame and of justice, they are 
 Jcscribed for the most part as ignorant and 
 
 rapacious guides, who conducted their clients 
 through a maze of expense, of delay, and of 
 disappointment, whence, after a tedious 
 series of years, they were at length dismissed, 
 when their patience and fortunes were al- 
 most exltausted. ' 
 
 The chiefest privilege with which the lawyer 
 is entrusted, overandabovehisfellow-citizens. 
 is that of receiving the confidential communi- 
 cations of his client, whose cause he is there- 
 after to espouse ; a privilege, indeed, sliared 
 in most communities, with the medical and 
 spiritual adviser, but with the difi'erence 
 that, while the lips of both are sealed, he 
 alone is the public advocate of the one who 
 has confessed to him, and must both receive 
 his confidence and defend him before the 
 law. The question then arises whether his 
 debt and duty as a citizen to the State whicli 
 protects him, that the guilty should be pun- 
 ished, should override nis duty as a lawyer 
 to his client, or vice versa. The question is 
 one which has induced much casuistry and 
 comment, but is to our thinking, one not 
 difficult of solution, thougHfin its discussion, 
 our citations of authority must necessarily 
 be rather to tlie essayist than to the l^ooks. 
 In his * Law Studies,' Dr. Warren (Chapter 
 IX, ' Ethics at the Bar '), draws the most ex- 
 treme case possible, namely, that of a mur- 
 derer who had confessed his crime to his 
 counsel. Such being the case, the author 
 reflects that a conscientious counsel would 
 remember that the law of the land, of which 
 he is the officer, has sealed his lips ; that his 
 evidence is not admissible at the trial. His 
 duty to the community is thus set at rest. 
 In such an extreme case — the author telb us 
 -^Mr. Baron Parke being appealed to, first 
 desired to be informed distinctly wliether 
 the prisoner insisted on counsel defending 
 liiin, and on hearing that he did, said ' that 
 the counsel was bound to do so, and to use 
 a' 1 fair arguments arising on the evidence, ' 
 and his own judgment he gives in these 
 words : ' A man of honour would either de- 
 cline to hold the brief,or reluctantly yielding 
 to importunity, distinctly apprise his client 
 that, under such circumstances, counsel could 
 do no more than see that the case was made 
 out by proper evidence, according to the pre- 
 scribed forms of law. ' 
 
 We incline to think a more strict interpre- 
 tation of tlie counsel's duty would discard 
 this alternative fonn. The ' man of honour, ' 
 who would ' decline to hold the brief, ' would 
 be, to ourthinking,like a surgeon who would 
 refuse to probe the wound of a suffering man, 
 or the physician who would refuse to allevi- 
 ate the agonies of a sick person, liccause liis 
 wound might have lieen incurred while break- 
 ing the law, or his disease the consociuunce 
 
06 
 
 ST. JUDE'S ASSISTANT. 
 
 of an immoral or lawless life. His plain duty 
 in the premises, it seems to us, would be U) 
 aid his client in obtaining a just and fiiir 
 trial, upon such evidence as the law makes 
 admissible, for and against him ; the counsel's 
 private and personal opinion not being called 
 for, nor his evi»lence allowed to be taken. 
 Indeed, in speaking of the same su})po8ed 
 case at another place. Dr. Warren himself 
 says : 
 
 ' Counsel would, in such a case, remind 
 the jury in cogent teiins that they were 
 sworn to give a true verdict accordina; to the 
 evidence, and according to nothing else. He 
 might urge by all fair arguments,for instance, 
 that the whole of the evidence might be 
 true, and yet not necessarily prove the 
 prisoner's guilt, at all events, witli req^uisite 
 clearness and certainty ; that links ni the 
 chain of proof were wanting which might 
 have been supplied ; that identity appeared 
 on the evidence as questionable ; that the 
 witnesses could not, from various causes, 
 be dependftd updB, judging from what had 
 been e icited ui open court. All this, how- 
 ever, would be done fairly by the conscien- 
 tious advocate, and under the terril)le re- 
 straint imposed by his own individual belief 
 in, if not knowledge of, the prisonere' 
 guilt. If a counsel, under such circum- 
 stances, could not go thus far, then advocacy 
 would be iVMuihilated, and the reign of 
 universal injustice and oppression com- 
 mence. ' 
 
 But let us pass, from the extreme case, to 
 one more frefjuent, namely, where a questicai 
 as to the client's guilt or innocence, under 
 the law, arises. For since the law, in de- 
 fining crimes, does make many distinctions 
 in grade and definition — as for instance, 
 whether homicide is murder or manslaugh- 
 ter, in first, second, or third degree —there 
 surely can be no moral obliquity in counsel's 
 endeavouring to secure to his client the 
 exact degree of punishment to which he may 
 be entitled, and no more ; or, if 
 there be a (piestion whether — from various 
 circumstaiuei not apparent to the commun- 
 ity, as, for instance, a long life-time of op- 
 prcsion, or mental or physical anguish or 
 incapacity — the prisoner be not accountable 
 for his act, it cannot be wrong for the 
 counsel to make sure that all these facts are 
 presented to the jury who are to judge of 
 the prisoner's responsibility. And we can- 
 not evade the rellection, that, even if these 
 circumstances do not exist, none the less 
 does the law give to the meanest criminal 
 the right to a fair hearing before his peers, 
 before she sutlers him to bear the conse- 
 quences of his wrongdoing. Says ' Doctor 
 and Student' (Chapter XLviii.) : 'For 
 
 thoueh 4ie (the prisoner) be a common 
 offender, or that he be guilty, yet he ouglit 
 to have that the law giveth him. And that 
 he shall have the effect of his pleas, and of 
 his maiiter entered after the form of the 
 law ; ani\ also, sometimes a man by ex- 
 amination and hj witness may appear guilty 
 that is not, and ni likewise there may lie a 
 vehement suspicion that he is guilty, and 
 yet he is not guilty, and therefore for such 
 suspicion of vehement presumptions, me- 
 thinketh a man mav not with conscience be 
 
 Eut from that which he ought to have by 
 kW.' 
 
 In such a case, the counsel, says Dr 
 Warren, ' must regard his own lips as those 
 of his client, and hold himself consequently 
 forbidtlen to utter his own individual 
 opinion or belief as to the justice of that 
 client's case. ' . . . ' Nor is this the 
 advocate to convert himself, from the 
 advocate, into the judge of his own client, 
 who has engaged his services as advocate 
 alone. By thus prematurely and gra- 
 tuitously expressing his own opinion aganist 
 the merits of his client's case, he is fore- 
 stalling and superseding the functions of the 
 very tribunal to which he is engaged to 
 appeal. '* 
 
 So long, then, as the law grants to call a 
 candid hearing and a suspension of judgment 
 until its conclusion, just so long, then, it 
 is the high trust and duty of counsel to see 
 that no clamour or coercion or tumult deprive 
 him of it. Even against the bench itself, if 
 necessary, must the counsel maintain this 
 justice. Lord Kiskinc left behind him noth- 
 ing that will live so I ig in the hearts of men 
 as his reply to Judge Buller, when, in plead- 
 ing an unpopular cause, the Court threatened 
 to commit him for contempt : ' Your lord- 
 ship must do as you see fit. I know my 
 duty as well as your lordship knows yours. 
 I shall not alter my course.' 
 
 Especially is it the trust and duty of the 
 counsel that he be not driven from his ad- 
 vocacy by public and newspaper clamour. 
 ' Trial by newspaper ' has come to be, in 
 these days, of no unfrequent occurrence. 
 Especially commendable seems to be the fol- 
 lowing retlections submitted in a lecture to 
 young lawyers by the member of the New 
 York bar in a late lecture to the graduating 
 class of law school : ' As to the cases you 
 should take, it is extremely difficult to bo 
 precise. Brougham said that the lawyer 
 must subordinate everything to the success 
 of his client. This is not true. Others say, 
 never take an unjust case. If you attempt 
 to adopt this rule, be careful you do not hang 
 
 *And to a like effect the reader will recall Dr. 
 Johnson's Dialogue with Boswcll. 
 
ST. JUDE'S ASSISTANT. 
 
 97 
 
 OUgllt 
 
 your client or deprive him of his fortune be- 
 fore the law has aone so through its recoff- 
 nized and official oracles. 'Whatever rule 
 
 ?'0u adopt, never allow yourself to be driven 
 rom your client's cause by popular outcry 
 and odium. Tl)iiB is the depth of professional 
 meanness and cowardice. But for the 
 courage of lawyers in liistorical trials of poli- 
 ticM significance, llnd the x>ersi8tenoe of law- 
 yc T9 in amending the law of libel, and 
 increasing the power and province of the jury 
 i II libel cases, there would not to-day exist 
 that freedom of criticism in the public press 
 of winch lawyers and judges are to-day 
 among the principal objects. ' 
 
 Nor is it always just in the counsel to de- 
 cline a case, since he may thereby do great 
 injustice. Says Mr. Reed : * The lawyer 
 must recollect that the more conscientious he 
 has been in his l)aek practice, the more will 
 his clients be disposed to acquiesce in his de- 
 cision. . . . And therefore, while we 
 are anxious, as we shouhl be, to avoid en- 
 couraging foolish litigation, we should be 
 careful, likewise, to avoid, by premature 
 <lecision, suffocating a good cause. We are 
 
 nei her jiidges nor arbiters We 
 
 should permit neither our needed promptness 
 and lirmneaa for what we deem the good 
 a client, tnisting and coii- 
 f some light which better 
 .ave discovered. ' 
 own gives a reminiscenca 
 ■ A young member of 
 the ^<ir, «^ho has since reached 
 some eminence, when applied to in a case 
 which was somewhat complicated and doubt- 
 ful, waited on the late Mr. Rawle, stated 
 the casfi, and remarked that he thought it a 
 bad one. 'You are,' said Mr. Rawle, 'a 
 presumptuous young man thus to venture 
 in the outset to determine what a court and 
 jury can only decide after heanng all the 
 testimony. ' And the more eminent counsel 
 become, the more injustice they might do to 
 a cause by declining it. * Chief Justice 
 Hale, ' we are told by Lord Campbell, ' be- 
 gan with tlie specious but impracticable rule 
 of never pleading, exceplTon the right side ; 
 which would make counsel decide without 
 knowing either facts or law, and m'ouM put 
 an end to the administration of justice. If 
 he auw .a call was unjusi,, he, for a great 
 while, 'rtjuld not meddle further in it but to 
 give his advice that it was so. If the par- 
 ties, after that, were to go on, they were to 
 seek another coausellor, for he would assist 
 nt»e in acts of injustice ; yet afterwards ho 
 abated much of the scrupulousity he had 
 about cases that appeared at first unjust. ' 
 
 Let, then, the lawyer remember that his 
 office and duty are a sacred trust, and, in 
 
 cause t 
 
 o 
 
 tiding' 
 
 
 attei 
 
 11 .ii'; 
 
 D( 
 
 ■ ,:.'Ull 
 
 as 
 
 M -- 
 
 the way of defence of his cii<mt^ right, who- 
 ever that client may be, mere popular 
 clamour and repute, which veers with every 
 wind, can be nothing to him. In honestly 
 securing to his client, from the public, the 
 hearing which the public itself has ordained 
 under the law that emanates from tliem, he 
 is saving them for themselves. No possible 
 case can arise upon which opinions may 
 not be expressed. If the case be reported t() 
 the public— either wholly or in part — be- 
 forehand, nothing is more certain than that 
 — from the fragment they may happen to 
 hear — some portion of that public will re- 
 ceive their own impressions, and form there- 
 from some judgment with which counsel, 
 on one side or the other, must find them- 
 selves opposed. In cases of great public in- 
 terest and moment, a counsel might find 
 whole communities, or even whole nations, 
 excited to frenzy against his client : but his 
 duty would be nevertheless clear and un- 
 mistakeable. Especially are eminent counsel 
 apt to suffer criticism when ap^waring as 
 counsel for prominent and powerful objects 
 of public outcry and censure. It is to be 
 remembered, however, that it is their inii- 
 nence and not their tastes or inclinations 
 which attracts large cases ; and that, too 
 often, it is the greatest criminals who i^a\'e 
 the means to employ the most valuable soi- 
 \ices. 
 
 If eminent counsel volunteored to protect, 
 what public opinion — from its own impres- 
 sions, received from gossip or common re- 
 port—pronounced to 1^ a fraud or villainy, 
 then, perhaps, some moral oblif^uity niigiit 
 be suspected w the act ; but so long as they 
 are counsel, practising at the Bar, and at tlie 
 service of those who pay their price, it is 
 hard to see how there can be. Un- 
 doubtedly, then, we say, Mr. Grea- 
 torex was right in holding it to be the duty 
 of the most eminent, none the less than of 
 the youngest and most obscure lawyer, while 
 he remains at the bar, to see that those who 
 come to him obtain at that bar the right 
 which the law gives to the meanest and 
 most tainted of her subjects. 'Toaflurd 
 even those whom impartial justice arrai -us 
 upon credible evidence a fair hearing, is the 
 first duty of our profession. ' This is tiie 
 lawyer's contract with the State. 
 
 Mr. (rreatorex. and his brother Ogdeii, 
 iiowever, did nOt spend much of their vi^l li- 
 able hour in discussing a lawyer's duty to 
 the State. When they parted; it vas 
 agi'eed that Mr. Oreatorex, instead of going 
 up to Fort Washington, should spend tUo 
 night at MalcoUn. 
 
§8 
 
 ST. JUDE'S ASSIST ^' 
 
 CHAPTER XXIU. 
 
 THE D0CT0B8 DISAUBKB. 
 
 Meantime Paul, after Mr. Ogden'a de- 
 parture, had been induced by his aunt to uo 
 to bed. And, indeed, he waa too greatly 
 debilitated in mind and body to properly be 
 anywhere else ; and when there, Mrs. Og- 
 den had nursed him as tenderly as if he were 
 not believed, on every hand, to be a mur- 
 derer. As to Mara, she had persisted, all 
 during the day, in remaining in her own 
 room. Tom, in a state of most abject des- 
 pair, had gone to town towards evening, 
 without having succeeded iu hearing a woril 
 from his mistress's lips. 
 
 So Mr. Greatorex dined alone with Mr. 
 and Mrs. Ogden, Miss Singleton and the 
 three boys having liad an earlier dinner by 
 themselves. 
 
 ' Well, mother, ' said Mr. Ogden, at din- 
 ner, where of course no other than the ab- 
 sorbing topic had been intvt>duced, ' you 
 have seen Paul all day. Let us know wliat 
 you think.' 
 
 'Think !' said she. 'Why, Percy he is mad 
 — that's all Poor Paul ! He was mad when 
 he left us — he is mad now. ' 
 
 After dinner, Mr. Greatorex and Mr. Og- 
 den entered, for an instant only, the cham- 
 ber where Paul lay in bed. 
 
 * Well, Paul, my boy,' said his uncle, as he 
 entered, * how are you ?' 
 
 ' I think, uncle, I'm pretty well used up, ' 
 said Paul. 
 
 Tl»e next ceremony — the introduction of 
 Mr. Greatorex — was a delicate matter ; but 
 Mr. Ogden did what was probably the best 
 thing to do under the circumstances. He 
 shut the door with a bang, and locked it. 
 * Of course you know, Paul, that it will be 
 necessary for you to answer proceedings of 
 some sort, in court,' he said bluntly; 
 ' and Mr. Greatorex will appear for you. 
 I don't know that you have ever met be- 
 fore. ' 
 
 Paul knew the eminent Mr. Greatorex 
 by name, as well as he knew the name 
 of the President of the United States. He 
 raised himself in bed, and said, simply, ' I 
 am glad to see Mr. Greatorex.' 
 
 ^Ir. Greatorux himself bowed, and took a 
 seat by the window. 
 
 There was a pause of some moment^), 
 when Paul lifted himself up again, and said, 
 ' Uncle, I know very well what Mr. G reat- 
 orex and yourself are here for. I appreciate 
 your'kindness, but I d<Hi't feel as if 1 could 
 accept it. I <1id shoot George Brand, if that 
 is what the trial will be about. I vowed 
 that I would have his life — and I kept my 
 
 VOW. Before I killed him, the tiuAigLt that ^) 
 he was living was driving me mad. When • 
 I saw his blood flow, I was a new man. I^ 
 did not flv from justice. I am here to meet, 
 it. I killed him — I killed him — and I am 
 satisfied. ' 
 
 As be spoke, he had raised himself to a sit- 
 ting posture, but now he sat l^ackwards upon 
 the bed. — 
 
 Mr. Greatorex and Mr. Ogden looked at 
 each other. ' He is matl — mother waa right 
 — he is mad — ' said Mr. Ogdeu, when the 
 two lawyers were alone. 
 
 Long into the night the two lawyers talk- 
 e<l together. Of course there must be a 
 trial — and of course the jury must Ix^ 
 -brought to acquit Paul. 
 
 ' I never san so strong a case, ' cried Mr. 
 Greatorex. ' Look at the evidence. What 
 is there against liim ? Simply nothing. A 
 man is found dead. He was engaged to be 
 married to a girl who had formerly oeeu en- 
 gaged to your nephew. What is tliere in 
 that ? Nothing. On that day your nephew 
 happened to call on Mr. Frear, an artist in 
 the Studio Buildings — ' 
 
 ' That's a weak point, ' interrupted Mr. 
 Ogden. ' Tom— Mr. Frear, I mean — waa a 
 total stranger to Paul. In abort, he never 
 saw Paul in his life until this morning.' 
 
 'Very well,' rejoined the other. 'Sup- 
 posing a man called upon a man he never 
 saw, and who never saw him, what jury is 
 going to find.in that,even a shadow of a sus- 
 picion that the one who made the call murdered 
 somebody else the same day ? Your nephew 
 goes down town in a atage, and buys a sham 
 passage to Europe, under an assumed nama^ 
 Prove it ! Why, after you prove it all, there 
 is nothing in the whole case which i» cno 
 half as strong for the prosecution as that 
 Boston case, the Abijah Ellis case, you re- 
 member. This man Fllis was a hard credi- 
 tor, and a man natited Lteavitt Alley owed 
 him two hundred dollars. One morning, . 
 some workmen near the gas works in Cam- 
 bridge discovered two barrels, containing a 
 nmtuated human body, floating in the Charles 
 river. They ^re packed with horse 
 manure and shavings, and in one of tliu bar- 
 rels was discovered a piece of brown papei- 
 bearing the name of one Schouler, a billiard 
 table manufacturer. It was discovered, upon 
 investigation, that this Leavitt AU^ was in 
 the habit of removing these shaving to his 
 stable. Following this clue, to this stable, 
 it waa found that a dry manure heap had re- 
 cently been disturbed, and blood was found 
 upon some boards near by. It appeared 
 that, on the previous morning, Alley ]ia<I 
 started from his stable with four barrels, and 
 a teamster, in jumping from the waggon, had 
 
ST. JUDE'S ASSISTANT, 
 
 £0 
 
 nn.^itaiue«l tlmt four of them were heavy. 
 Two of these barrels were not satisfactorily 
 accounted for, and a man testified to seeing 
 tlie team and barrels, with a man strongly 
 resembling Alley, upon the mill-dam, whence 
 they were supposed to have been thrown into 
 the river. Now, besides the fact that Alley 
 owed Ellis two hundred dollars, h« wa« 
 known to be in great need of money, and 
 Ellis was known to liave gone in search of 
 Alley on the probable night of the murder. 
 Alley was proven to ha-e purphased an axe 
 a short time before, but that axe could not 
 now be found, and Alley denied that it had 
 ever existed. Stains were found upon clothes 
 which were proven to have bden worn by 
 Alley, which experts pronounced to be 
 stains of human blood. A woman was found 
 who swore to ha\'ing heard strange noises, 
 like the noise of rolling barrels, on the night 
 f^ipposed to have been that of the miiriTur. 
 From the examination of the murdered man's 
 f t Jinach, experts pronounced that ttie murder 
 u.k-1 taken place on that night between tlie 
 liours of six and nine, and it appeare«l that 
 Alley had been possessed of plenty of money 
 after the disappearance of his supposed vic- 
 tim. Now, what circumstances are there 
 ajjainst your nephew to compare with these ? 
 Are there any stains of blood Aientioned as 
 having been found upon his clothes ? And 
 even if the presumption of his innocence 
 were questioned, could* we not easily explain 
 e .cry movement of his on the day of the 
 murder ? And yet, in the Alley case, under 
 all these telling circumstances agrinst the 
 prisoner, he was acquitted. Why, who is 
 to say that this Brand did not t&ke his own 
 life ? In France — and in many other coun- 
 tries — the proportion of suicides to liomicides 
 1! such as to raise the presumption — other 
 things being equal — that a violent death is 
 a death at one's own hand ; and in such 
 times as these, when men cannot pay their 
 board bills, when trade is exhausted, and 
 money not procurable, it might not be hard 
 to show from statistics that the same pro- 
 portion exists here. Then this e\'idence of 
 this man Core, that Brand told him that he 
 (Brand) had no money, goes to show that 
 Brand was in great need of funds ; and bein|; 
 engaged to be married to the daughter of a 
 rich uiiM — a condition in which, as you 
 know, a young man — to carry himself 
 through and keep up appearances, must 
 spend a good deal of money — who knows but 
 lie may be driven to desperation, and taken 
 his own life ? Let in, if you will, the evi- 
 <leuce that your nephew has confessed this 
 murder. Are not the books full of cases 
 where men have confessed to murders they 
 never committed ? All he had to do was to 
 
 read in the papers, and he, or any other 
 man, might pass a pretty strict examination 
 upon the modus operandi of the sliooting. 
 Ix)ok at the numbers of men who, at various 
 times, have confessed to murdering Dr. 
 Burdell in Bond street, and Mr. Nathan in 
 Twenty-third street. A man may seriously 
 believe himself guilty of a crime. Mental 
 aberration is the obvious origin of many 
 such self-regarding statements which turn 
 out to be utterl;^ untrue. Such ^ )n the 
 confessions of witchcraft in old times. Or 
 the person confessing may actually believe 
 in the truth of his own statements. Mr. 
 Best mentions, I believe, the case of a girl 
 who died in convulsions while her father was 
 chastising her very severely for theft ; and 
 he fully believed that she had died of the 
 beating, and so confessed to killing her, 
 whereas, it afterwards turned out, that the 
 girl had taken poison on finding hernelf de> 
 tected in the theft, and that she died of 
 the poison while l)eing beaten. Look at the 
 story of the little Hunchttack in the Arabian 
 Nights, and at Mr. Reade's story of Friar 
 Richard and Friar John ! In both those 
 stories a .corpse was conveyed secretly into 
 another man's apartment ; and while there, 
 an innocent man, mistaking it for a robber, 
 belaboured the dead body until he had killeil 
 it ; and so confessed to killing it when it 
 was found. 
 
 In November, 1580, a man was convicted 
 and executed in Paris, says Bonnier, in his 
 Traite ilea Preuves. I remember the very 
 page, 2.56, where he mentions the case — on 
 confessing to the murder of a widow who 
 was missing, but who, two years afterward, 
 appeared alive and well. And in England, 
 a woman, Joan Parry, was hung on con- 
 fessing to the murder of a man named Har- 
 rison, who was alive many years after her 
 execution. That's in Howell s State Trials, 
 page 1312. 
 
 And there is nothing simpler in my mind.* 
 
 *A8 these p xges are «oinj? thro.igh the press, 
 we find reported in the New York Times, of 
 July 27, a wonderful verification of Mr. 
 Greatorex's theory as to Hallucinatory Confes- 
 sion, ("harles Heyne, iv^ed 7, the son of Nicho- 
 las and Eliza Heyne, died May 31. 1876, and was 
 buried a day or twd afterward in Greenwood 
 Cemetery. The father keeps a- saloon at No. 39 
 Third-avenue, Nqw York City. The attending 
 physicians saw nothing remarkable in the case, 
 and unhesitatingly gave their certificate that 
 he died of nephritis, the result of scarlet fever. 
 Seventeen days afterward AuKU8t«is Kassen, a 
 servant in the Heyne family, accused herself of 
 poisoning the boy. She signed a circumstantial 
 statement, declaring that she had given the 
 child acid in milk to drink, as follows : 
 
 'I Augusta Kassen. of my own free will, 
 make the following statement : I am a servant 
 employed by Mr. Nicholas Heyne, at No. 39 
 Third-avenue. I have been with him a few 
 
IX) 
 
 ST. JUDE'S ASSISTANT. 
 
 Why, Ogden, I am as clear-heaclcdefl aa 
 most men, and yet I wouldn't swear posi- 
 tively to anytliinc, on the mere evidence of 
 my own senses ! Your nephew, yon say, has 
 l)eeu hvbouring under a melancholia that has 
 nniounted to a madness with him. I've no 
 doubt he was so dcliehted to hear that a 
 rivf»l of his had perished — and the delight is 
 natural enough, and masculine enough, I'm 
 sure — that he's the victim of an hallucina- 
 tion that he himself killed him ! In short, 
 confession or not, we'll acquit him trium- 
 phantly. And the sooner they indict him, 
 the better I'd be pleased, and the sooner he'll 
 be a free man ! ' 
 
 ' Can't we prove an alibi from 
 the testimony of the young lady, 
 who met him in a Sixth Avenue car going 
 up town ? In the testimony of the chamber- 
 maid, who found his bed at the club de- 
 ranged, as if Paul had turned in for an hour 
 or so to sleep oiT a little extra claret. I tell 
 you, Ogden, that'oiir only course is to throw 
 ourselves on the circumstantial nature of the 
 evidence, and force an acquittal, as we did 
 in tlie Folke's case. I know you've set on 
 the insanity defence ; but let's see if wo can 
 prove it. Moral insanity is only a name, 
 after all — a cut-and -dried defence, to enablo 
 juries to acquit, and where it wont do to 
 convict. For in8tance,it'8 come to be pretty 
 generally understood, that you can't. hang a 
 man for shooting the seducer of his wife, and 
 — 90 long as the law doesTi't niako seduction 
 
 days over a month. Mr. Heync's Itttlo boy 
 Charles was sick when I came to the bouse ; 
 he had scarlet fever and dropsy. I waited on 
 him several times, but did not hiive the vvholo 
 care of him. On the afternoon of the Monday 
 Pfevio\is to his death, about i o'clock, his sister 
 asked me to bring up a cup of milk for her little 
 brother Charley. I took up a mixture of acid 
 and milk, and Kave the mixture to the boy him- 
 self. He drank all the mixture except about a 
 quarter of a cup full. I gave the remainder of 
 the mixture to the cat. Charles threw up right 
 after drinking the mixture. I saw him about.') 
 o'clock the same afternoon, and he coniplained 
 of a pain in his stomach and head. I do not 
 know whether he vomited or had diarrhea. 1 
 only saw Charley twice after seeing him at 5 
 o'clock on the Monday afternoon on which I 
 gave him the mixture, and then only glanced at 
 him. He died on Wednesday following, but 
 what time I do not knovv. The acid I gave 
 Charley was what we clean boilers with I 
 knew the acid was poison, but did not expect it 
 would kill Charley, until I saw the cat.to which 
 I gave the rest of the mixture, die. The cat only 
 lived ten minutes after 1 gave her the mixture. 
 I never had any quarrel with the boy, nor with 
 Mr. and Mrs. He/ne, and why I gave the mix- 
 ture to Charley I do not know. After the cat 
 died I threw it in the ash-barrel, and when Mrs. 
 Hcyne asked me where the cat was I would not 
 tell her. The mixture I gave Charley was 
 three-quarters acid and one-quarcer milk, and 
 was given in an ordinary colVee-cup. 
 
 ArocsTA Kassex. 
 
 a crime, but a civil trespass, for which a 
 plaintiff can collect only money damage8,aud 
 to which na penalty is attached — I am ghtd 
 that it is so. So far t'^e intelligence of the 
 public has progressed ; but I doulit if they'n; 
 quite readv to announce tiiat a ni:ui can't bt» 
 hung for shooting his rival in a love affair, 
 or for shooting a man who becomes engaged 
 to a girl, who once was engaged to the shoot- 
 er. If they were once understood, it might 
 poHsibly come in time to be acquiesced in, 
 the same as the other rule ; but I duubt, in 
 this case, if we can force it. You see, this is 
 supposed to have been a particularly cold- 
 blooded affair, and people feel worked u|> 
 about it. The prosecution will have un- 
 limited money to spend on witnesses, and you 
 and I know the power of money welleuougli. 
 by experience. ' 
 
 ' We will establish his insanity, ' said Mr. 
 Ogden, ' principally from the ntter al>8ence, 
 on Paul's part, of any idea of responsibility, 
 oroftht ormity of his crime. Why, the 
 boy spe 1.8 of it as he would of buying a 
 horse, or of shooting awoodcock. It's what 
 the books call, I believe, " moral imbecility, ' 
 and tl ey all agree in classing it as a species 
 of ins .nity. It's the case of Romaino Dillon 
 over again. • Rouiaine Dillon,you remember, 
 shot a man dead, in the corridor of the 
 Clarendon Hotel, the other day — a man he 
 had never seen befoye in his life — simply 
 because the man looked at him. ' 
 
 ' Ah, yes ; but Romaine Dillon was mad at 
 the time, and every one had known him to 
 be so for years. His moral imbecility was 
 the result of a crazed brain — a symptom of 
 his disease, and not his disease itself. Heru 
 is a young man to the full aa rational as you 
 or I !' 
 
 Upon this confession Augusta was arrested 
 and conmiitted to the Tombs, and the body of 
 the dead child examined, and an inquest ' old 
 upon it by Coroner EickhofT, August K'^isec 
 w iiH present, under guard. Her rather pretty 
 taiic was bruised on both sides by striking her 
 head against the floor and wall of her cell while 
 in a fit. She is epileptic, and had three fits on 
 T'uesday night. Her eyes had the filmy, uncer- 
 tain expression characteristic of that diseasi-. 
 Kliza lleyne, mother of Charles Heyne, testifle I 
 to her that she had poisoned the boy several 
 days after his death. Dr. Maximilian G. Raelic. 
 of 12 East Tenth-street, testified that he had at - 
 tended Charley Heyne, who was suffering from 
 scarlet fever and its sequeiaj. That the cause 
 of death was "scarlet fever and nephritis," and 
 he had seen no reason since to change his 
 opinion. Dr. Stratford, who analyzed the 
 stomach and contents, testified that no acid was 
 found. The jury decided that death had resxdt- 
 ed from natural causes, thus acquitting Augusta 
 Kassen of her selt-indictment. 
 
 The physicians and others who heard the tes- 
 timony were convinced that Augusta had told 
 her story while labouring under insanity. 
 
'li&tMil 
 
 aitMW' 
 
 PPW?,' 
 
 ST. JUDE'S ASSISTANT. 
 
 101 
 
 * Well, I Ain convinced that ho is mad, for 
 all that, ' returned the other. 
 
 ' I have studied this cose of Paul's in every 
 light I could obtain. I have turaed it over 
 and over in iny mind, and I have arrived at 
 the conclusion that bis is the precise case 
 mentioned by Dr. Maudsley, whom I re- 
 gard as the greatest and safest living 
 authority on tliat sitbject. Here is 
 what he says,' And Mr. Oudon 
 nrococded to rend from a small volune 
 bound in red cloth: **'I proceed now to 
 couiiider another class of cases of homicidal 
 insanity — those in which there is a defiiiiie 
 delusion in the mind, and tlie crime is tlie 
 <lirect or indirect result of the delusion. 
 When a father believes that he has re- 
 ceived a command from heaven to slay his 
 son, and olicys it, thdro can be no nianuur of 
 <loubt of his ins<anity, and no one would 
 impute the deed to him as a crime ; it was 
 the direct, unqualified ofTspriag of the de- 
 lusion. Eveu lawyers admit readily that 
 this kind of .insanity excludes all responsi- 
 bility for actions which can be shown to be 
 in close relation to tlie particular delusion 
 under which the so-called monomoiiiic 
 labours ; the vital question for tliem, being 
 how far the delusion has atfucted the mind 
 of the agent at tlie time. No human 
 
 fiunishment, it is supposed, would restrain 
 iim from doing what, though legally criminal, 
 he believes it right to do. His knowledge of 
 right and wrong, in this resrard, is destroy- 
 ed by disease. But, if the delusion cannot 
 be shown to have influenced the act — if a 
 man have the maddest delusion which mad- 
 ness can imagine, and do a murder which 
 cannot be traced to its influence — then it is 
 declared that he ought not to be absolved 
 from culpability : that he ought to be held 
 justly responsible in all other instances. 
 Hoffbauer proposed that, in order to answer 
 the question of responsibility in regard to 
 the acts of insane persons, " the dominant 
 impression in which their delusion consists 
 should be regarded, not as an error, but as 
 truth " : in other words, their actions ought 
 to be considered rf they had been committed 
 under the circumstances under which the 
 individual believed himself to act. If the 
 imaginary circumstances make no change as 
 to the imputability of the crime, then they 
 oaght to have no effect on the case under 
 consideration. If they 
 culpability, they ought 
 in the supposed instance, 
 assumed to have a dual 
 an insane personality ; and, accordingly as 
 he acts in the former or the latter capacity, 
 is to be condemned as a criminal o acquitted 
 OS a madman."' 
 
 lessen or destroy 
 
 to have that etfect 
 
 The man is to be 
 
 Vicing — a sane and 
 
 ' It seems to me, ' continued Mr, Ogdon, 
 * that that is just Paul's case, and that, ac- 
 cordingly as we find him to have been acting 
 in ids sane or insane personality, we must 
 jud'ge him guilty or not guilty. In his sane 
 personality, he certainly wo :\ld not inunlor 
 a nian~-tiuit is, judging fr«>in Ids tostu, 
 education, habits of life, social relations, etc. 
 If he shot the curate, he must have shot him 
 i I his insane personality, and that p' r« 
 soaality we can readily prove from otiior acts 
 of his. "^ 
 
 The fact of hia elaborate plans to mislead 
 pursuit, KO far from being incompatible with 
 uisanity, is actually a usual and concomitant 
 symptom j^ and here is a precedent. Mr. 
 Ogden read again from Dr. Maud- 
 sley : "A man named John Billman, who 
 had been tried for murder in Philadelphia, 
 and fonnd to be so liopelessly insane that 
 the prosecution itself had asked for an ac- 
 quittal on that ground, waa discovered to 
 have strangled nis father in bed, and then, 
 by a rapid ride by midnic^ht, and a feigned 
 sleep in a chamber unto which he had 
 clambered by a window, actually succeeded 
 in establishing an alibi that acquitted him 
 of the murder ; thereby evincing not only 
 a sense of guilt, but an appreciation of the 
 OJiisequenccs of exposure ; and yet he was 
 insane." Or, again, what Dr. Maudsley doen 
 not say, Paul might have killed the man 
 while insane and planned the snbset^uent 
 manoeuvere while sane. ' 
 
 ' I still doubt, ' said Mr. Greatorex, ' not 
 your theory, but our ability to establish the 
 insanity, in Paul's case, so clearly as to get 
 our ve tlict. Yon see, in this case, there's 
 a good deal of public feeling. If we went 
 beiore the Commissioners of Lunacy and 
 induced them to take the case from the 
 courts, and send Paul to an asylum at once, 
 then there would be such a cry at once 
 about influence, that the Commissioners— 
 who are but men, after all — would back 
 down. I doubt the strength of your evi- 
 dence. It wouldn't do for you and your 
 wife to be the only witnesses to his insanity. 
 Of course there are the doctor's. We could, 
 undoubtedly, fined half a hundred of the 
 most eminent physicians in New York to 
 swear that the prisoner's as mad as a March 
 hare, fpr the asking ; but then, the pro- 
 secution can get half a hundred more to 
 swear that he's sane. There's nothing 
 doctors enjoy more than calling each other 
 fools, on the witness stand. And then the 
 jury will have to toas up for it. Look at 
 the Wharton trial in Baltimore. Mrs. 
 Wharton's lawyers got as lauiy doctors as 
 they want, to swiear that the di>ad man 
 died of cerebro-spinal meningitis — and, when 
 
102 
 
 ST. JUDE'S ASSISTANT. 
 
 the «luctui-u who loiuul the poison in the 
 stomavh are put on the stand, the cross-ex- 
 aniinatiun sets thein to analyzing milk 
 punuh and lemonade, and the jury are ol>- 
 liKeil to toHs up a cent t«> see if the prisoner 
 is (jTuilty or not. Seriously, Ogdun, j 
 wuiudn't shut up a dog, over night, on the 
 testimony of medical experts. Why, look 
 at the' Fow Ikes case I Of course, Fowlkes 
 shot Frisk, but Fowlkes is acquitted be- 
 uiuse half a d^n doctors testified that 
 the surguuna who treated him, probed his 
 wound too deeply. So he goes free be(iaube 
 Frisk hail surgical attendance. If no sur- 
 geons liad been called in, these same experts 
 would have sworn that the wound might 
 not luive necessarily been fatal ; and tlieu 
 lie would have gone free, because Frisk 
 hdilii't have surgical attendance. I know 
 the value of ex^)ert testimony as a last re- 
 sort, but in this case, where he had a de- 
 fouce, I thiuk we'd better rely upon it, aud 
 lot the tloctors alone. ' 
 
 Mr. Ogden was not quite convinced, but 
 he had great confidence in his 
 brother Ciroatorex, aud, moreover, 
 iiad resolved to tiike no direction of the case. 
 And 80 it was all but settled that the gene- 
 ral issue should be fought out step by step 
 before the jury. 
 
 But both Mr. Greatorex and Mr. Ogden 
 were premature. 
 
 The next morning, on rising, the house- 
 hold were confronted by the iuteiligeiice 
 tliat Paul hod disappeared in tlie night, and 
 left no clue of hia wnereabouts. It seemed, 
 too, as if revelations were . never to e. .1 in 
 tliis family. For the news of Paul's depar- 
 ture was supplemented by the tidings that 
 the door of Mara's chaml)er was wide open, 
 and that she, too, had fled. This was the 
 morning of the day upon which the Grand 
 Jury of New York County found a true bill 
 of indictment against PauI Ogden for the 
 murder of George Brand, 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 MR. STIU.SBUaOEK IS DISFIBTilED. 
 
 Mr. Strasburger may never have been 
 one's l)eau ideal of a companion, but of late 
 even his familiar, Jimraerson, complains that 
 he is the poorest sort of company. He is 
 moody, surly, aad pre-occupied. The fact 
 is, he is getung along in years, aird begins to 
 take disappointments pretty heavily ; and 
 the atrocions conduct of the New York 
 IleraUl, in taking the St. Jude's murder 
 case, which he was slowly and surely woi'k- 
 iug up, line upon line, and piece upon piece, 
 out CO. his hauda, and jumping at the conclu- 
 
 sion to which he was wearily and lal)oriously 
 progressing, was telling upon his philoso- 
 
 Shical and discriminating mind. In -^iiort, 
 Ir. Strasburger was completely dcm' dized. 
 His occuiwtion was gone. The great case of 
 his life had been stolen from him by a news- 
 paper, and a page in his ledger was destin.d 
 never to be posted. But the Jlirald had 
 done more than take away tiie case ; 
 it had taken away thiiiiy tho-.isand dollars. 
 Everybody, that is, evervlwdy who hod con- 
 sidered the matter, had felt that the thirty 
 thousand dollars reward, which had been 
 oflerud for detection of the St. Jude's mur- 
 derer, was surely coming to Mr. Strasburger. 
 Now, as to whether he was entitled to any 
 portion of it, as to whether the Hcrnld was 
 entitled to it, or its reporter or reporters, or 
 anybody else, why Mr. Strasburger was still 
 clear-lieaded enough to recognize in that, a 
 question sufiicientlv tangled to exhaust the 
 thirty thousand dollars themselves vcir 
 readily, once the solution were so intmsteu. 
 But if the Herald really hail jumped at the 
 name oi the murderer from overhearing the 
 st-ancu in Mr. Gloster's room, that seance 
 having been brought about and paid for by 
 Mr. Strasburger — then, thought that gentle- 
 man, the Herald ought to recognize his 
 claims. 
 
 It was really too bad ! The cliain had 
 almost reachea completion — even to the 
 salesman in Park & Tilford's who had sold 
 the oranges to the blonde-haired young man 
 — to the very number of the non-detonator 
 with which Paul had fired the fatal shot. 
 Mr. Strasburger had received his evidence, 
 and was marching onward to his trinmph. 
 Ami now, the Herald liad knocked every- 
 thing in the head — that is to soy, it had 
 knocked Mr. Straslnirgftr in the head, by 
 actually putting its finger on the murderer 
 after whom he was still groping. 
 
 At all events, just now the very n&me of 
 St. Jude's was nauseating to Mr. Strasburg- 
 er, and he even was desperately indifferent 
 as to whether Paul Ogden were or were not 
 hanged. 
 
 To tell the truth, one or two private 
 matters were just now intruding upon Mr. 
 Strasburger's overtaxed brain, and one or 
 two phantoms of his own raising were 
 sharing his pillow of nights. One of these 
 phantoms took the unkempt form of Job 
 Pierce. Job, we have seen, had sworn to 
 take Mr. Strasburger's life. Through some 
 mistake, he had oeen set at liberty in the 
 teeth of the district attorney's stipulation, 
 and Mr. Strasburger's valuable life was un- 
 doubtedly, therefore, more or less in 
 jeopardv. Although he liad rarely ever 
 shown fear, however much, at times, he may 
 
ST. JUDP/S ASSISTANT. 
 
 103 
 
 have felt it, Mr. Straaburger, ihe detective, 
 really did fear Job Pierce in his heart, and, 
 bad any observer been present when he aat 
 late in his office of nignts, he would have 
 notioed that the detective'b arm-chair was 
 habitually drawn nearer than eaer to the 
 little ivory kaot) i<. the table, wliose pressure 
 •ummoned Doyle. The second personal 
 matter which troubled Mr. Strasburger, was 
 the story of Mara O^den, of which he had 
 first hewd certain particulars from garrulous 
 Mrs. Melden, an«l of which, possibly, he had 
 read certain mysterious elalrarations in the 
 newspapers. The larceny of Mara's diamond 
 engagement ring, seem^ .. somehow, in Mr. 
 StrasDurger'u mind, to cuu. ' her with Job 
 Pierce and witii himself. He had 
 determined, therefore, to use hia 
 influence to aecure the ring, as a meauB 
 for securing an mterview with Mara. 
 
 When property is stolen in New 
 York, the police force, and its pe- 
 ooliar nature . with thieves, can pretty 
 mrely conclude through whose hands that 
 property is lil^ely to pass, and, as a rule, 
 can recover it. There is a well authenti- 
 cated story of a certain Judge whose pocket 
 was relieved upon a street car of a valuable 
 watch. On mentioning his loss to Police 
 Superintendent Jourdan, that gentlemanly 
 official remarked, ' Oh, they didn't know it 
 wa" you, Judge, or they never would have 
 taken it from you. I'll send it up to you 
 to-morrow ! ' and, sure enough, on the 
 morrow tiie Judge received his watch. So 
 Mr. Strasburger determined to secure the 
 ring without delay. 
 
 We haVe had occasion to mention Mr. 
 Blau of Baxter Street. Now, Mr. Blau, in 
 addition to his functions of ancillary to the 
 Jimmerson Establishment, was proprietor of 
 a ' Road Outfitting Estalilishment, ' (which 
 is nothing more or less than a tramp's 
 fiiriishing store) — on that savoury thorough- 
 fare — a place where the pedestrians, of 
 w^om small villages at this time stood in so 
 much dread, purchased coats sufBciently 
 misshapen, ana hats sufficiently battered, 
 for their purpose. Mr. Blau dealt, besides, 
 in various minor articles for the use of these 
 gentlemen x>f the highway. Shaving 
 materials for the tramps who shaved, he 
 condensed into the dimensions of a vest 
 pocket ; gridirons, or toasting forks for 
 tramps who broiled or toasted the products 
 of the field, to which they helped them- 
 selves, he furnished in all sizes ; skeleton 
 padlock keys, by which th^ tramps picked 
 the locks of freight cars by night— when 
 they wished to ride— all these, and a hun- 
 dred other thing)!, Mr. Blau kept on hand. 
 Of cocrse Mr. Blau was a ' fence, ' that is, a 
 
 receiver of stolon goods. All t!iu tr.ul«tsnien 
 on Baxter Strcot are * fences;' as is well un- 
 derstood. To Mr. Blau, tlierufore — huing a 
 ser^'ioeable person for the duty of disuovor- 
 ing it — was confided the task of seuurin^^^ 
 Mara's engagement ring. 
 
 It was while Mr. Stnuiburger was engaged 
 in plans for the return of the ring — which hit 
 was BO confident of receiving — {personally to 
 Mara — that he heard, in one breath, of thu 
 return of Paul Ogden, and of his elopunient 
 with no less a companion than Mara huruulf. 
 Here was the very opportunity he sought. 
 Detectives, of course, would be put on the 
 fugitives' track. Ordinarily, it would have 
 seemed like sacrilege to set the eminent Mr. 
 Strasburger — who was only employed on 
 capital cases, and only on the most vftal and 
 important of those — at following a runaway 
 couple across the country. But he had hm 
 own object now. He lost no time in securing; 
 an interview with Mr. Ogden. 
 
 Mr. Ogden, of course, desiring nothing 
 more than that the runaways should be re- 
 turned to him with as little publicity as 
 possible, was well pleased to intrust their 
 re-capture to so shrewd and discreet a person 
 as Mr. Strasburger. 
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 TU£ FUCITIVBS. 
 
 Mara had forgotten her plighted troth to 
 Tom, and had, indeed, followed Paul, Her 
 faith had been no faith, anl her truth no 
 truth. Nor was there anything extraordin- 
 ary in the matter. Women so leave men 
 every day, and the thing surprises nobody. 
 When men who have plighted their vows, 
 leave the women who have received them, we 
 talk of dishonour, of deceit, and of disgrace. 
 But when women break theii vows to men, 
 nobody seems to have expected anything 
 else. 'O, she's jilted him,' we laugh. No« 
 body thinks for a moment of blaming the 
 women. Our only comment is to laugh at 
 the men. The word ' honour' is never on<:3 
 mentioned in the case. And isn't this all just 
 as it should be ? The gender of the word, 
 honour, is masculine. And, after all, who 
 can blame the women ? Marriage is the 
 knell of their reign. The woman who walks 
 a queen over prostrate hearts, who is flatter- 
 ed, worshipped, adored — who kills with her 
 frown and revives with her smile — this 
 woman knows, that, no sooner shall she 
 choose one from her thousand, or hundred, 
 or dozen slaves, to be her lord, than her 
 power over all is gone. She is a queen no 
 longer— not even a queen of slaves. Man-iage 
 is the grave of her ambition, of her con- 
 
10* 
 
 ST. JUDE'S ASSISTANT. 
 
 quests, of her honours, of her spoils, of her 
 homage, even if, happily, it be not the ^ave 
 of her love. She must thenceforth either 
 become the shapeless mother of her lord's 
 children, and the upper slave of his house- 
 liold, or lose among women that which she 
 had already lost among men — her place. 
 Who can blame her ? Where she nmst barter 
 80 much pride for so much pain, who can 
 say that even honour should hold her to her 
 word? 
 
 So, indeed, it had be with Mara. Be- 
 trothed to Tom, she hau not yet made up 
 'her mind to give up her beauty, her place in 
 the ball-room and in society, and settle down 
 into a commonplace breeder of Tom's sin- 
 ner'.. She had felt herself, doubtless, grow- 
 ing mcye and more isolated in Tom's com- 
 pany— or rather, wo should say, less and less 
 sought for — out of it. But she had never 
 quite made up her mind to be his wife, and 
 to yield to him, and him alone, her whole 
 heart and person. 
 
 When a woman is engaged, as a rule men 
 leave her. Accustomed to feel the want, as 
 most women do, of men's society, she is 
 driven to the socioty of htr bctrotlied, and 
 if he does not disgust her, she gets to long 
 for the reality-.-f yr that for which an en- 
 gagement is only an apology — for marriage. 
 An engagement, therefore, is a good thing ; 
 far it is bound to do either one or the other 
 — either to disgust the girl in timt, and be- 
 fore it is too late, or to infatuate her judici- 
 ously. And in time, no doubt, Mara would 
 have been ready to marry Tom had not Paul 
 appeared. But when he did appear — he, the 
 man of whom she had dreamed in her slum- 
 ber, and seen in the night watches — he, the 
 great first love of her warm, passionate heart 
 — she thought of nothing more. She was 
 his slave. She asked no troth — no faith — 
 no wedding ring — nothing but his strong 
 arms to fold her, and his rough lips to press 
 her own. And so she followed him, happier 
 to be his creature — if he willed it so— tluxn 
 to be the wife of the man who loved her 
 better than his own life ! 
 
 And is there anything improbable, or un- 
 usual in her conduct, reader ? Not at all. 
 Did not Constance do the 
 
 ,iij 
 
 same — forf eiti ng 
 
 n *~to be his slave 
 
 All here, and all beyond Uie gravel' 
 
 Do not women every day leave men who 
 worship them, in purity and honesty, for 
 libertines, who value them only as play- 
 things? Yes, and they will until the end of 
 time, and nothing will stop them. So we 
 might as well make the best of it. Women 
 are the only created things that don't know 
 — and what's more, that don't care to know 
 
 — their own friends. Talk of love — passion 
 the devotion, the worship and homage of a 
 life. What do they care ? Bah ! the extr.i 
 curl of an eighth of an inch on the end of a 
 moustache, or a handful of extra padding i i 
 a dress coat, will outweigh all that witli :\ 
 woman, a thousand times ! ^ 
 
 While Mr. Ogden and Mr. Greatorex wer- 
 discussing, well into the small hours, at 
 Malcolm, the defence to be opposed to Paul's 
 
 Erosecution,Paul himself had noiselessly left 
 is bed, dressin;::; himself, packed his valise, 
 and met Mara on the landing of the stairway 
 outside his door. She had her own small 
 satchel in one hand and a strapped shawl in 
 the other. They had found no difficulty in 
 leaving the house, or in taking many of thi; 
 owl trains that run drovers and market nioii 
 into New York, where they had Vjreakfastcd 
 at an obscure hotel on West Street, M'hicli 
 was open at that hour, thence being ilriven 
 to the Grand Central Station, in time for the 
 early Montreal Express. 
 
 Paul had spent the first twenty years or 90 
 of his life in more or less desultoiy travel, 
 until it might almost be said that he knew 
 every route on two continents by heart. 
 Moreover, mad as his uncle might believe 
 him, he had a strong method in his mad- 
 ness, and was well aware that he 
 was.M'hile breaking one law, fleeing from the 
 consequence of of another previously broken. 
 Pursuing, then, his own pohoy at Albany, Paul 
 and Mara left the Montreal train and took thu 
 Western Railway (as it is called in Boston, or the 
 Boston and Albany as it is known in New York 
 State), first purchasing tickets at the Albany 
 station, only for as far as Springfield. .At 
 Springfield he had time, wliile the traia 
 stopped, to procure tickets for Boston : and 
 this plan of purchasing no through ticket , 
 but of misleading pursuit, by setting it 
 adrift in as many towns and termini as pos- 
 sible, he in fact, steadi'y pursued. At Bo. - 
 ton the fugitives took supper at the Revere 
 House. They were thence driven to the 
 Eastern Railway Station, whence they em- 
 barked on the night express for Portland, 
 arriving at that lovely city early the next 
 morning. 
 
 From Portland there are two frequental 
 rotates to Halifax, one by steamer direct, a 
 trip which occupies about eighteen hours, 
 and the other by rail, via Bangor, St. John'.s, 
 New Brunswick, and steamer across the Bay 
 of Fundy to Bigby, and so to Windsor and 
 Halifax. Of course i'aul was aware that, iu 
 these telegrapljic days, his pursuit had al- 
 ready commenced. In truth, at the very in- 
 stant that he arrived at Portland, the fact of 
 his having purchased tickets from Albany to 
 Spriuglield, and actually diverted himself 
 
ST. JUDE'S ASSISTANT. 
 
 la*^ 
 
 jfrom his course to Montreal, had just been 
 <1eveloped, although not until ever]' hotel in 
 Mjutreal had ) e ;n ransacked, and the tele- 
 ^■aph between tliat city and New York been 
 111 requisition for at least twelve hours. It 
 being, therefore, Paul's policy, whenever' 
 pursuing one route, to suggest that he had 
 taken another, he accordingly secured tickets 
 to Halifax by steamer, from thence^ by rail 
 to Pictou, and thence, by steamer agam, to 
 Quebec and the Saguenay — at that time a 
 .route, as now — a favourite with tourists. 
 Having procured two through tickets for 
 this trip, he look the rail for 13angor. Now 
 from Bangor, there stretches a long strag- 
 gling line of railway, known by the ambitious 
 ■ title of ' The European ami North American 
 Railway.' This European and North Ameri- 
 can Railway, however, being named on that 
 lucus a non lucendo principle not uncommon 
 in the United States, it is perhaps unneces- 
 sary to say, il does not connect those two 
 continents. What it does do, is to struggle 
 through a seemingly interminable pine forest, 
 with saw-mills for stivtions, and black bears 
 and wild deer for residents, until it termi- 
 nates at nowhere ; that is to say, at a point 
 opposite the town of St. John's in New 
 Brunswick — a town containing nothing in 
 particular except an excellent hotel, the 
 victoria, a ramshackle and a precarious 
 steamer, which runs or rather rattles across 
 the Bay of Fundy into the Gu)'' of Digby, 
 And so through that strait, to t!.3 village of 
 AnnapoUs, Nova Seotia. From Annapolis 
 the tourist proceeds through the Acadian 
 country, made poetic by Longfellow, and 
 sacred forever to the shades and sorrows of 
 Evangeline ; in sight of the angry Blomedon, 
 along the edge of the Basin of Minas (now 
 prosified into 'Mine's Bay,') and actucilly 
 through the sweet little village of Grand 
 Pre itself. The very locomotive en- 
 j^nes that drag one aro named, from the 
 poem, ' Evangeline,^ and ' Gabriel, ' and 
 ' Basil ;' allxjit they only succeed in 
 •Iragtjing him to the forsaken little town of 
 Windsor, or thence, for two hours or so 
 jnore, to where the dirty garrison town of 
 Halifax guards, with its citjidiel, the Atlan- 
 tic Ocean from rapine and plunder. 
 
 Perhaps there is no locality on the western 
 continent so strongly suggestive of England, 
 as the Province of ifova lacotia. Especially 
 does it remindoae of Englandin the conserva- 
 tive deliberation observed by the inhabitants 
 in their lives and daily avocations, so notice- 
 Ably in contrast to that hurry and bust^o 
 which distingulsk citizens of the Unit d 
 States. Napoleon the Great was tlie fiibc 
 European who ever mastered a knowledge of 
 the value of time ; but Napoleon is dead.and 
 
 since him few Europeans have absorbed this 
 comprehension. And, as in England and on 
 the continent, so, as a rule, in her Majesty's 
 possessions on this side of the Atlantic, but 
 chiefly in Nova Scotia, one sees people mov- 
 ing leisurely and philosophically along, as if 
 every day they lived was a part and parcel 
 of their lives, to be enjoyed or lost. And 
 we are not to be understood as saying that 
 they are wrong. 
 
 Now Paul happened to know that when a 
 Nova Scotian starts to go by rail from Anna- 
 polis to Halifax, he stops over at \\'indsi)r, 
 to break the journey, and to put up for tlic 
 night. This, indeed, is actually the same 
 thing as stopping at Poughkeepsie to Ijreak 
 the journey between Albany and New York; 
 but what wouldbe absurdest in one of us. un- 
 der given circumstances, is to do precisely 
 the thing you may count upon an English- 
 man doing under those i(tentical circum- 
 stances. Paul, therefore, calculated that his 
 presence in Windsor would attract very little 
 attention from the villagers, while the in.'^i^- 
 niiicance of the village itself, would make it 
 one of the places in the world to /Inch his 
 pursuers would turn their scrutiny. 
 
 In all this proceeding, Paul was acting the 
 part of a liliertiue, and he knew it. He 
 cared for Mara, indeed, but it was for her 
 youth and beauty, for herself. He had 
 counted upon the enjoyment of her society 
 for afm-tnii/ht, as we shall presently see. 
 Beyond that, he had no plans, either for him- 
 self or for her — for this world or the next. 
 The jackals of justice were on his track — and 
 he was ready for them. But he would elude 
 them as long as possible. He would fool 
 them to the top of their bent. They would 
 come up With him at last, but only when he 
 was beyond their reach. 
 
 As for Mara, she was in heaven. The 
 dieam of her life, Paul's love, was hers in its 
 fulness. If she could, she would not havt 
 looked beyond the bliss of the present, wiiicu 
 w".s wholly hers, witli the Future which god 
 or devil might be brewing for her ips. She 
 was perfectly satisfied witli, and happy in 
 her Present. Paul was hers alone, anil, ivs 
 the old Bohemian life of her girlhood — the 
 Bohemia she had sucked in with her mo- 
 ther's milk — came back to her, she welcom- 
 ed it with Jhe zest <Sf old-time acquaintance- 
 ship. 
 
 Paul, for a madman and a murderer, we 
 must admit, had laid his plans well. At 
 Portland he had purchased nis ticket for 
 Augusta ; pt Augusta for Bangor, and at 
 Rangor f 't. John's. At St. John's he 
 hadliroken t!>e scent by water — that is to 
 say, he had waited until the boat had left 
 the dock and Avas well on to the bay, before 
 
106 
 
 ST. JUDE'S ASSISTANT. 
 
 buying his ticket for Annapolis, and then 
 had asked Mara to present herself at the 
 office, and herself go through the formalities 
 of the purchase. At Annapolis, he had 
 bought tickets through to Halifax. At 
 Halifarx, as we have seen, he mightbealready 
 expected by steamer ; but suffice it .to say, 
 at Halifax he never intended to appear at all. 
 
 But unfortunately for the fugitives, if 
 Paul was shrewd, Mr. Strasburger was 
 shrewder. It will be remembered that he 
 had once before followed in Paul's footsteps 
 on paper. He felt, therefore, all the more 
 master of his prey, and familiar with his 
 subterfuges, now that he was following 
 them with actual pursuit. In the ruse of 
 purchasing tickets to Montreal, embarking 
 upon a through train for that city, to sub- 
 sequently abandon it for an utterly different 
 destination, he saw but a repetition of the 
 old games he knew so well. So knowing his 
 opponent's game, and his opponent's style of 
 playing it, he had nothing to do but to 
 watch and be wary. 
 
 And, wise as Paul was, his wisdom, after 
 all, was only the wisdom of the fox when 
 chased by hounds, or the door-step pilferer 
 when chased by a patrolman. It was 
 only a clumsy expedient this doubliag on 
 one's track. 
 
 Mr. Strasburger felt sure that Paul 
 would do one of twothini^s ; either that he 
 would re-appear in New \ ork, or, crossing 
 the borders, take refuge in the dominions of 
 her recent majesty the E.npress of India. 
 In either case he was a prisoner, and his in- 
 carceration only a question of time. 
 Leaving his subordinates to scrutinize every 
 railway station and steamship landing by 
 which an entrance to the city could be effect- 
 ed, Mr. Strasburger went himself, with only 
 Doyle as an escort, to scour Canada and the 
 Provinces. 
 
 CHAPTER XXVI. 
 
 MORE sao. '■. • 
 
 ■■■< ,i'ts: 
 
 The little hotel in Wind or, called the 
 Alexandra, is a quite unpretentious brick 
 building, opening erectly from the street. 
 On the ground floor is a dining-room and a 
 cosy parlour, while the second storey is divid- 
 ed into guest rooms, ample in size, but few 
 in number. Directly in the rear, but a few 
 feet distant, runs the track of the Windsor 
 and Annapolis railway, by which the fugitives 
 had come from Annapolis. Paul and Mara 
 occupied a rear room in the second storey, 
 whose two windows looking out over the 
 railway track, commanded a straggling little 
 morsel of the town, and some patches of 
 iireen field beyond. 
 
 One afternoon, Paul had been away longer 
 than usual, and Mara was growing ennuied 
 and impatient. She had read all her novels 
 and filled out all her fancy work, and there 
 was nothing more to do. She was wonder- 
 ing how she should manage to survive until 
 Paul came, when she remembered that, ia 
 one of her windows, a previous occupant had 
 left a small box of geranium ; and so Mara, 
 { for want of something else to do, determlneil 
 ! to water this poor, lonesome plant, and took 
 a water-decanter from the taole and opened 
 the window to do so. Just at that momeirt 
 tlie noon train from Annapolis, slowing up 
 for Windsor station, passed by, and Mara 
 raised her eyes. It was an ordinary train of 
 three rather seedy coaches, each with more 
 room than passengers inside. She stood 
 there, however, but an instant, for presently 
 Paul entered the apartment, when Mara 
 slammed the window and ran ^ kiss him. 
 
 But Paul pushed away her arms, and did 
 not retui-n her kisses, as was his wont. 
 
 ' Paul, Paul, what is the matter ? ' she 
 cried ; and she now noticed for the first time 
 that his face was very white. 
 
 He did not speak, but passed, alhiost stag- 
 gered, to the sofa, and sat down heavily up- 
 on it. 
 
 Mara rushed up to him, and sitting at his 
 aide, put her small hand on his brow. 
 
 ' Paul ! Paul I what is the matter? ' she 
 said again. 
 
 ' Mara, ' he said, as if not heeding the 
 question, 'I hope you never speak out loud 
 in this room. ' 
 
 ' Why, Paul ? ' 
 
 ' Because, ' said Paul, • the walla of this 
 are double, and between them men are se- 
 creted night and day. They live there, and 
 eat tliere, and sleep there — there are six, and 
 two of them are always listening to what we 
 are saying ! Listen ! ' 
 
 Mara threw her arms around Paul's neck. 
 ' Paul ! Paul !' cried she, ' what is the mat- 
 ter ? You are not well !' 
 
 And, indeed, his eyes were rolling wildly,^ 
 and his breath came and went fitfully. Mara 
 tore oi^eu his collar, opened his shirt and 
 bared his breast. Then she placed her 
 hand again upon his brow. It was as hot as 
 fire. 
 
 ' Mara,' said he, 'do yon remember the 
 little shop on the RueChoiseul? It's a 
 little poison shop. The fellow who keeps it 
 is a friend of mine. I used to call him 
 Ligny. "Ligny," said I to him, one day, 
 " you've all sorts of poison here?" "Yes,, 
 Monsieur," says he — " all sorts — instantan- 
 eous—three hours — twelve hours — two days 
 — two months — two years ; anything you re- 
 quire." " Ligny, " says I, "can you giva 
 
 \ 
 
ST, JUDE'S ASSISTANT. 
 
 107 
 
 me a poison tbat will work in a month ?" 
 "AVithout doubt, Monsieur," says lie. 
 '* Li^y, " says I — stop ! don't you hear the 
 men m the waY ? I must Speak lower. ' 
 
 ' " Ligny, " says I, " give me a poison that 
 will work in one month. Mind now, it must 
 make nie stone dead in one month. " '* Come 
 in three ilays, Monsieur," says Ligny, "and 
 Monsieur shall have what he wishes. Only, 
 if Monsieur pleases, he must bring one thou- 
 sand francs. "Too much," says I. "I 
 will gfve you eight hundi#;d." Well, Mara 
 — Oh, how I sliall cheat those men in the 
 wall ! — Do you know mv month is up to- 
 day ?' 
 
 ' What are you saying, Paul ? Are you 
 drean»ing? Oh, Paul, Pai«l^! don't you 
 know me, my darling?' And the great drops 
 stood in Mara's eyes, for Paul no longer re- 
 garded her. 
 
 ' Ah, my brave Ligny, ' Paul went on, 
 * you are prompt — you are reliable. Just to 
 think. I took your little drops at Bingen, 
 and here they set me fi'ee in this room — 
 from the men in the wall. ' 
 
 At this moment there was a rap on the 
 door. 
 
 ' Do you hear them ?* cried Paul. ' Did I 
 not tell you they were there ? Let them 
 in ! Let tliem in ! Open the wall, and let 
 them iu !' 
 
 Now, when Paul had entered the room a 
 few minutes before, he had left the door un- 
 locked, and there was hardly a pause be- 
 tween the knock, which had only been given 
 as a sort of announcement, and the openinc 
 of the door. Mr. Stnisburger now appeared, 
 followed closely by Mr. Doyle, just in time 
 to see Paul fall back upon the sofa, 
 Mara, kneeling at his side, trying to 
 his head upon the pillow. 
 
 But the detective did not hesitate, 
 proachiiig Paul's prostrate form, with 
 one keen glance at Mara, who seemed 
 conscious of the intrusion, he said, 
 raised voice, ' Mr. Paul Ogden, I arrest you 
 for the murder of George Brand, in the 
 city of New York, two years and nine months 
 ago.' 
 
 Then he nodded to Doyle, who had drawn 
 a pair of handcuffs from beneath his coat, 
 and -now advanced to place them on Pauls 
 wrists. 
 
 The touch of the cold iron awakened Paul 
 from the paralysis that was steahng over 
 liini. He drew himself up violently, brusli- 
 ing Mara aside, and starin:^' at her pur- 
 suers. ' Too late, too late I' he laughed, 
 ' too late ! I don't need them ! I killed 
 him — thank God ! I killed him. I put 
 out Ills damned black eyes. My God I 
 Olive'— 
 
 and 
 raise 
 
 An- 
 
 only 
 
 un- 
 
 in a 
 
 And so, with the name of his God and 
 the girl he had loved better th.-xn life, or 
 home, or hope, last upon liis lips, he fell 
 back upon tlie sofa — and all was over. His 
 head dropped, his eyes glared for an ins'a it 
 and Lhen their light went out forever. 
 
 Yes, all was over. He had given up the 
 trouble ghost that life had been to him. 
 Tnere lay the pale clay in which that 
 mysterious breath we call Life had quick- 
 ened, and moved, and sufTered, and gone 
 out 1 The tragedy was over. All was 
 peace at last, in that bosom, where bad 
 spirits had fought together, where love had 
 madaened to misery and crime, and whose 
 mortal agony death alone had quenched. 
 
 There are many ways of looking at sui- 
 cide. Many say that, since life is a mere 
 voluntary gift to man from his Creator — 
 not delivered as the result of any contract 
 on the part of the creature, that he will 
 retain it until it is called for, not even de- 
 manded or asked or sought by the creatuie 
 — he breaks no law and ruptures no con- 
 tract by refusing longer to be a trustee for 
 the thing he must one day or other surrend- 
 er, and by abruptly returning his life to its 
 giver. Still others urge, that, as it is no 
 sin to call in a physician to relieve one of an 
 unendurable disease sent by Providence, 
 neither is it sin to call in Death, the great- 
 est of Physicians, to relieve one of a life lie- 
 come — through poverty, or sin, or pain — 
 unendurable and insupportable. To the 
 argument of the gift, it is answered that one 
 cannot misuse even a gift, if one deter- 
 mine to return it : that, unless he can give 
 it back precisely as he received it, he can- 
 not give it back at all ; and that as one can- 
 not return to his Maker that unblemished, 
 pure and innocent life he received, he can- 
 not return it at all. To the other ar^'ii- 
 ment there are two answers. Thely-st an- 
 swer is the Sixth Commandment, the other 
 is the grand answer of the Stoic : Man, 
 said the Stoic, * is a sentinel at his post. 
 The storms may come, the rain may dash, 
 the winds beat upon the man, the enemy 
 may harass him and make him afraid. But, 
 whatever discomfort or peril surround him, 
 he is still a sentinel at his post, and he can- 
 not go until relieved. He is a soldier wiio 
 cannot move without orders. ' 
 
 And so it is we talk of honour, but lion- 
 our is only duty — obedience to aiithoritv • 
 and whJitevcr mere piiysical or moral cour- 
 age there may be m the act of suicide, 
 doubtless the grand answer of the Stoic is 
 the offset to it all. iStill we must remember 
 tliat there was a time when suicide was a 
 seed of the Church — although it has since 
 been called martyrdom — and — although in. 
 
■103 
 
 ST. JUDE'S ASSISTANT. 
 
 these tlays, the wretch who, to save those 
 dear and near to him the burden of 
 his support, or the shame of his 
 lixecution, lays violent hands on himself, 
 metes no praise at our lips — M-e are told in 
 Holy Writ that * greater love hath no man 
 thiin this, that a man lay down his life ior his 
 fr.end.' 
 
 But, at any rate, right or wrong, Paul 
 Ogdeu had a second time taken life, and he 
 h;id left his post. Mr. Oj,'deu and Mr. 
 (ircatorex need deliberAte no longer as to 
 his defence, for he had gone to a Bar at 
 which they did not practise, and where they 
 sliould stand, not as counsel, but in the dock 
 with him. 
 
 Ah, well, it matters very little. We die 
 when our knell sounds — whose ever the 
 hand that strikes the blow. As for the 
 •load man, he had worked out his destiny. 
 His hour had come, and his shades had re- 
 leased him from tlie burden of life, as they 
 will rel.aae us from ours, reader, when we 
 shall have done that whicli — from before 
 tlie foundation of the world — it was appoint- 
 ed us to do. 
 
 There is in the gallery of the Belvidere, at 
 Vieniiii, a picture painted by Giorgione. A 
 yciuiig man in tl»e flush and exuberance of 
 lii*; manhood, ci owned with vine-leaves, lifts 
 to his lips, which are wreathed in smiles, a 
 glittering goblet. Behind his figure, glow- 
 ing with "all the power of the Venetiivn 
 peiicil at its best, we gradually discern in 
 the dim and misty backgronnil tlie shadowy 
 outlines of a dark and evil face, glowing 
 witli concentrated passion, and the gleam of 
 a dagger raised ni act to strike. And so, 
 behind each one of us stands Fate — inexor- 
 able, resistless, impLicable. If it is written 
 tiiat we die by the dagger, that dagger is 
 ivlready drawn — or if it be that a thunder- 
 bolt sj^all overtake us, that bolt is in wait- 
 iag, ready for its spring. Until that, the 
 i.ppointed hour comes, as it is written in the 
 Apocalypse, shall men seek death and shall 
 n t tind it, and shall desire to die and death 
 shall flee from them. For until our hour 
 shall come, shall the book of our life be 
 closed. 
 
 Let us not ascribe to Olive, poor simple 
 child, the blood of the two strong men who 
 have died for her. Two strong men the less 
 wore in the world : that was the net result 
 of her striving to be a, missionary and a 
 teacher of God's truth, and to do some good 
 in the world ! It was better for them, 
 cloubtless. Better out of such a world as 
 this than in it. Perliaps that is good work 
 she had done — who can tell ? 
 
 There is something in the presence of the 
 hi^t great potentate that no other presence 
 
 can bring. The room is full of a great 
 mystery, an awful unknown, that awes all 
 living things to silence. 
 
 The child we raise to look for the last 
 time upon its mother's face, does not know 
 what death is. Neither do we. We know 
 around the faintest star what larger worlds 
 than ours are k-olliug : we understand the 
 hiitory of the azoic rocks, and the swarming 
 F<ystems of palentologic life ; but we don't 
 know that. 
 
 .A.nd before this awful mystery even 
 the majesty of ^he law stood frozen into 
 marble. The two stern men stood still and 
 motionless. Mr. Strasburger bowed his un- 
 covered head, and even his brutal attend- 
 ant took his hat from off his beetled brows. 
 The chilled form of the man they had come 
 so far to seek was within their reach now, 
 but they cared not to touch it. Justice con- 
 fronted its prey, but did not secure it. Paul 
 Ogden had owed a great debt to justice, but 
 he had owed a still greater elsewhere ; 
 and in paying the greater, there was no 
 remnant for the lesser creditor. 
 
 Upon her knees, beside the ^ dead man, 
 Mara knelt, but her breast was on his breast 
 - -against his dead heart her living heait was 
 beating, loud and fast — and from her living 
 face, upon his dead face her hot tears were 
 falling. And there let us leave her, for who 
 shall disturb the vigil of the broken-hearted 
 over the dead^ Alone with her sin ; but 
 alone, too, with her love, which was greater 
 than her sin. As perfect love casteth out 
 fear, so let us hope — in her — that perfect 
 love hath cast out sin. Surely the angels in 
 heaven look tenderly down upon the sins of 
 too much love. For is it not love that 
 heaven is built of ? Surely no hand of man 
 can cast a stone at her. Will any hand of 
 woman ? Let us leave her there, alone with 
 her love, with her siu, and — greatest of all 
 — like the woman in the gospel, alone with 
 her Saviour, 
 
 CHAPTER XXVII. 
 
 THE SHADOW OF THE GIBBET. 
 
 Again Mr. Strasburger sits in his ropm at 
 Headquarters, with the knob at his elbow, 
 and again it is midnight. Ten daysliave 
 elapsed since his appearance at Windsor. 
 Mara is at Malcolm once more — over the 
 grave of the suicide the sun has risen and set 
 seven times ; and, altogether, our Mr. 
 Strasburger is in a happier frame of mind 
 than he has been for many months past. In 
 his first pursuit of Paul he had been outrun; 
 in his second he had lost no time. If he had 
 
ST. JUDE'S ASSISTANT. 
 
 109' 
 
 not bagged liis bird, at least he had been in 
 at the 'leuth. 
 
 All Paul's finesse and forethought had 
 amounted to nothing, in his second race with 
 justice, as in his fiiHt. Indeed, it may well 
 bo questioned, in these days of steam and 
 electricity, whether a crime whose object 
 can only be obtained by success m eluding 
 justice, pays nobody, except policemen. It 
 18 surely very little worth the while of an 
 able-bodied man, to whom modei 
 appliances and inventions afford so 
 many channels of success, to deliberately 
 jirray against his mere human strength all 
 thefie engines— in the hands of tJiat greatest 
 engine of all — the Law. 
 
 We have seen that Mr. Strasburger had 
 assigned to himself the tracking of Paul in 
 the Queen's Domiaions. Now the Queen's 
 Dominions on this North American continent 
 consist principally in swamps, forests, dreary 
 wastes of badly cleared or burnt over 
 couutiy, and log shanties. With the ex- 
 ception of five towns — Montreal, Halifax, 
 St. Johns, Toronto, Quebec, or at the most 
 say seven (to include Ottawa and Hamilton) 
 — the gallow or a state prison would be 
 delightful alternatives to her Majesty's 
 Dominions ; and very little scrutiny, be- 
 yond those town, was necessary in hunting 
 up fugitives. 
 
 After Montreal had been pretty thoroua[h- 
 ly ransacked by Mr. Strasburger's direc- 
 tions, he had comprehended at once the 
 devious route by which tho culprits were 
 undertaking to reach the Jjorder, and had 
 found no difficulty in tracing them as far as 
 Portland. Here he had been misleil by the 
 false scent, and gone to Halifax by steamer ; 
 tio that, while Paul and Mara were living 
 in retirement at Windsor, their pursuers 
 were actually in consultatioh with the Hali- 
 fax police. 
 
 There are two ' best ' hotels in Halifax, 
 and at whichevpr a <;uest puts up, he will 
 devoutly regret he hadnot chosfu the other. 
 At one of these — we will forbear mentioning 
 either — Mr. Strasburger had, however, re- 
 ceived a telegram — in cipher — stating that 
 another telegram awaited liim at the other. 
 On opening the latter telegram — which was 
 also m cipher — he learned that Paul and 
 Mara liacl been traced to Bangor in Maine, 
 and, therefore, had not gone to Halifax at 
 all. Cursing Paul for a troublesome bird, 
 Mr. Strasburger ha<l abandoned the search 
 in Halifax before it was well underway, had 
 takcm a ticket back to Portland by rail, and 
 
 f)assed directly under Paul's wndow at his 
 lotol in Windsor. Arrived at St. John's, he 
 found further telegrams whicli crtnvinced 
 iiim that the fugitives were or had been in 
 
 that town, and he and Doyle, assisted as 
 before by tb.e authorities, gave St. John's a^ 
 pretty thoiough overhauhng. The Di*l)y 
 steamer happening to be in port, however, 
 Mr. Strasburger Tiad ascertained from her 
 clerk that, on a certain day, a very slight, 
 dark-eyed and dark-complexioned girl, 
 stylishly dressed, had purchased two tickets 
 for Halifax on board ; and, certain that the 
 girl was Mara heraelf, and cursing his own 
 stupidity, but Ixjginning to admire Paul as 
 a puiyer of nerve and spirit, whose game 
 even lie (Mr. Strasbuige^) liad not fully 
 appreciated, he set out again for H'-li^^x 
 detonnined, this time, to scour it frr m cell, r 
 to citadel. 
 
 Tlie run to Digby, on tY a rattling 
 little pepper-box of a steainboac had been 
 particularly stupid to Mr. Strasburger — 
 being altogether through a thick fog. Be- 
 sides, Doyle was no company to speak of, and 
 Mr. Strasburger had been lonely. On taking 
 the train at Annapolis, he had doubled him- 
 self up on a seat on the left hand side of the 
 car, and gone pretty soundly to sleep. \\'hile 
 asleep, Mr. Straslnirger had a dream, which 
 was partlyaretrospection and partly a vi^jion. 
 His thoughts, in slioil;, had travelled back to 
 a period some twenty years before — when a 
 young man and very poor — in a garret rooii", 
 in a poverty-stricken tenement quarter of 
 New York city, he had lived witii a dark- 
 eyed, brown-cheeked gypsey girl, the only 
 love that had ever come to hi^ solitary life. 
 He saw the garret very plainly ; he remem- 
 bered the sliabby furniture and the one small 
 window, with its box of geranium, which 
 Celie used to watch and water so carefully. 
 
 As is not altogether unusual in dreams, 
 this vision seemed to mix itself up with a 
 consciousness that he was dreaming while on 
 a train of cars, rushing to his destinatirn. 
 So mixed up was this consciousness and t'.iis 
 vision, that, all at once, he dreamed tliat 
 Celie passed out of the garret window, over 
 the roof of the house, and over the train of 
 cars in which he was travelling, and floated 
 in the air, just in front and above the engine, 
 which was dragging the train. He watched 
 lier for a long time, floating along, just ahead 
 of the engine, with her eyes tixed on his own, 
 until, all at once, she seemed to leave the 
 track and pass into a window of a house near 
 it, where sne seemed again to be watering a 
 geranium in a box.' 
 
 Just then the wheels of the car in which 
 he was dreaming, caught the break, and be- 
 gan to rumble over a long wooden bridge, 
 which hapjfcned to be just out of the station 
 of Windsor. The clnnge in the din of the 
 wheels awoke him ; and he was rulibing his 
 eyes and looking out of the car window,. 
 
110 
 
 ST. JUDE'S ASSISTANT. 
 
 when, all of a sudden, the girl of liis dream 
 was actually looking at him, out of a win- 
 .<low, M'here she was watering a box of ger- 
 manium. He was wide awake, this time, at 
 • any. rate ; there was no clairvoyance about 
 tins vision. Mr. Strasburger could dream 
 •when he had nothing else to do, but when 
 lie war? awake, he never dreamed ; and, con- 
 "vinced that he had seen Mara Ogden, and 
 tliat he would surely find Paul at her side, 
 he alighted with the callow Doyle at his 
 lieels, at Windsor Station, and let the train 
 .,go on to Halifax without him. And so it is 
 with all detective pursuits. Veterans will 
 assure you that in their profession, as in 
 levery other, success is the reward of labour ; 
 that no search yet was ever successful 
 through tlie mere performance of certtiin 
 foreseen steps ; but that, on the contrary, 
 the foreseen steps are relied upon, invariably, 
 :to develope other and surer clues. 
 
 So confident was Mr. Strasburger, that, 
 
 'before leaving the station, he telegraphed to 
 
 Mr. Ogden that the fugitives were found, 
 
 and would be detained at Windsor, until his 
 
 arrival. 
 
 Mr. Ogden had arrived soon after the tra- 
 gedy with which we are already familiar, and 
 iiiid brought back to Malcolm, in silence and 
 disgrace, his adopted daughter and tlie body 
 - of her paramour, his nephew. 
 
 On this particular evening, Mr. Strasburger, 
 as we have said, sits alone, as usual. But 
 he has just done something very unusual 
 'with him. He has just finished writing — 
 for the first time in his life — a long letter. 
 He has just taken from his vest pocket the 
 plain gohl ring which we have seen him 
 ol)tain from Jimmerson the pawnbroker ; 
 folded it up in the letter he has written, and 
 is looking about for an envelope. He does 
 not find one on his table or in his portfolio, 
 but he knows where there are some, so he 
 Jays the letter in which the ring is contained 
 upon the table, and rises to go to the op- 
 posite side of the room, where a case of 
 pigeon holes stands against the wall. In so 
 doing he must pass beyond reach of theknob 
 whose pressure summons Doyle. We have 
 seen tliat the detective has grown very 
 cautious of late. He is getting old— and, <is 
 one grows older, one does not grow bolder. 
 (Jertain signs in the air, certain omens there 
 have been of late for Mr. Strasburger, and 
 the man who has caused the gibbet to bear 
 such ample fruit, sometimes himself feels 
 as if the shadow of that one-limbed tree 
 hovered over himself continually. 
 
 To-night, in particular, he seetns restless 
 and disconcerted. Tlie loneliness of his 
 room — so grateful to him of old — seems to 
 oppress him. He is of half a min' to press 
 
 the knob and summon Doyle, if oiily for 
 company. If there were a fire in the g/ato, 
 now Mr. Strasburger thin ts, the room would 
 be less lonely ; a fire he had always found as 
 good as a friend, in a room at night. But 
 although autumn is wanint;, it is not yet 
 C3ol enough for fires. Bah ! how sru.bre the 
 room is ! How quiet everything is about ! If 
 houses are ever haunted, what a place for a 
 haunt this Headquarters wouki be ! Not 
 one, but five thousand ghosts might come 
 out of those small rooms, and out of 
 tiiat small court-yard, and from under that 
 pile of rusty iron in the «orner ! If the 
 original of every photograph in those big 
 albums of tlie Rogues' Gallery down stairs, 
 could only join in the dance, what a ghostly 
 dance it would be. The ghosts, at least, 
 would not be lonely ghosts. There would 
 be a whole household of ghosts, and the 
 more the mex'rier ! 
 
 When Mr. Strasburger sits at his table, as 
 he has been sitting to-niglit, he does not use 
 gas. He prefers the light of a German 
 student lamp. But German student lamps, 
 although they light up pleasantly the page 
 upon which we write, or from which we reaid 
 make the rest of the room very gloomy. 
 Moreover, these German lamps throw sha- 
 dows. It so happened, that early in the 
 evening Mr. StrasDurger had sent to the 
 restaurant across tlie street for a quart of 
 ale. This ale had been brought to him in a 
 very old and celebr . >".d pitcher, which be- 
 longed to Headquai JiTB, having been known 
 there, as well as any other habitue, for a 
 dozen years. This pitcher was of pewter, 
 and of a peculiar make. It had possibly 
 been captured from some law-breaker — per- 
 haps it was a Deodand — at any rate it was 
 tall and slim; and had a sort of 
 triangular handle, shaped like the two 
 upper strokes of a letter Z, thus : 
 7, but the lower stroke had been snapped off, 
 and so from the top of the pitcher, at pre- 
 sent, there stood out only the horizontal 
 arm. Now, this pitcher happened to stand 
 on a thick blank book just beyond the stu- 
 dent lamp, on Mr. Strasburger's table ; and 
 its elongated shadow (whiclii rested on the 
 pigeon-hole case to whiclr^r. Strasburger 
 had just proceeded,) in which the arm was 
 exaggerated and the body of the pitcher nar- 
 rowed — took a form strangely like a gal- 
 lows. Even Mr. Strasburger shuddered a 
 little as he looked at it. He feels a pre- 
 monition of something fatal this evening, so 
 he secures the envelopes he wants, and 
 turns to replace himself at his chair by the 
 knob. 
 
 Ah ! Mr. Strasburger you have strayed too 
 far away from that knob 1 For, as you 
 
ST. JUDE'S ASSISTANT. 
 
 Ill 
 
 tnrii, from out beneath the shadow of that 
 gallows a man's fonn is seen to j^Iide. The 
 man holds in his hand a long thin ntrip ut 
 steel, like tixe blade of a sword cane ; and, 
 Avith this knife, this man darts a blow at ^f r. 
 SStrasburger's back, an<l it enters Letwe* u 
 the shoulder blades in a downward direc- 
 tion. When the detective 's body was found 
 lying on its face next morning, it was dis- 
 ijovered that a lirk hnd entered his heart 
 •from behind, and, that abruit two inches of 
 its point had broken off aid remained in the 
 wound. The remainder was found, coloured 
 with blood, on the caqiet where it had l>een 
 t'lrown. It is the fatal peculiarity of these 
 dirk wounds, that they bleed inwardly — so 
 that nothing else in the room, except the 
 ■dirk, was bloody. Before the man who had 
 thrust the dirk withdrew from the room, he' 
 possessed himself of the letter the detective 
 had written in his last hours, in which the 
 plain gold ring liP ; been folded. He took 
 'nothing else, howe\ '>r, but stole safely away. 
 
 CHAPTER XXVUI. 
 
 ■MR. STIUgBURGEB's LAST LETTER. 
 
 That — in 'his life — Mr. Strasburger's 
 ■epistolary efforts were few and far from 
 '.jiilliant, we have ha<l several occasions, in 
 the progress oftthis history, to feel convinced. 
 On that last night of his life, he surprised 
 Jiiiiist'lf, and exceeded the best his friends 
 •could have expected. This we are enabled 
 to judge competently, for the identical 
 letter we have. seen him engaged in writing, 
 in the solitude of his own chambisr, and in 
 ■which we have seen him enclose a plain 
 gold ring, 'foand its way mysteriously, that 
 same night, to Mr. Ogden's office in .Tauncey 
 ■Court. At least Mr. Ogden discovered it 
 there, on the table of his own personal inner 
 offlce, the next morning ; possessing him- 
 self oi its contents thereafter, while as yet 
 unaware that its wnter was lying stark and 
 oold, at Headquarters. When Mr. Ogden 
 opened it, however, he discovered, not the 
 plain gold ring which Mr. Strasburger had 
 enclosed to him, but a slight hoop cf gold, 
 upon which was set a white diamond. If 
 Mr. Ogden had not at once recognized it as 
 Mara's engagement ring, the inscription 
 'T. F. to M. 0., December 6th, 18— ,' 
 would have indentified it. This pheno- 
 menon we will allow the letter itself to ex- 
 plain. It ran as follows : 
 
 Headquarters. 
 ' Mr. Ogdes — 
 
 Sir : I feel it my duty to write you this 
 vloiig letter. I write it, iust d of telUug 
 
 you its contents by word of mouth, Icoause 
 first, I might not easilj' find you dis- 
 engaged long enough to 1. sar it all. And 
 secondly, and I must admit principally, 
 because it is well that you should have a 
 statement signed bv my name (and sworn to 
 if you wish), to tfie facts contained 1)elow. 
 These facts concern one who is at present an 
 inmat/e of your family ; and to narrate them. 
 I must go back twenty-one years or so, 
 and trouble you with a part of the story of 
 my own life. 
 
 ' Twenty-one years ago, I, John Stras,- 
 burger, at that ♦'ime in no employment or 
 hope of employm n\t, but twenty-one years 
 old, and in the vigo;:v of youth, was living 
 in a garret on what i:< now known as East 
 Broadway, in thia city. I had no money to 
 speak of, and sometimes was very much 
 
 Sressed for food. Many a night in those 
 ays I have gone hungry to bed and fallen 
 asleep, wondering wiiere my breakfast was 
 coming from, the next morning. One of 
 these hungi-y nights of mine, I met a friend 
 who gave me a tioket to the old Bowery Theatre 
 and thinking that, could I manage to 1.)ecome 
 interested in the play, I might forget the 
 pangs of hunger, I tiglitened my ve«t strap, 
 buttoned my coat around me, and found a 
 seat in the pit, ((uite near the stage. I don't 
 remember the play, but toward tlie close, in 
 the midst of a ballet, I discovered suddenly 
 that one of the girls composing it had her 
 eyes fixed upon my face. Pretending not to 
 notice her gaze I watched her under the rim 
 of my hat. Slie never took her eyes off me. 
 So at last I looked full at her; She nodded, 
 and made signs that I should see her again 
 that evening. Wlien she came on again, the 
 last time that evening, she managed to throw 
 me a scrap of paper, which told me that im- 
 n>ediately after slie went off", and before the 
 end of that evening's performance, she would 
 be at the stage door. There I hurrietl r.ud 
 mtt her. I recall vividly the grasp she gave 
 my liand, and my surprise when, iii.stfad of 
 relaxing it, she raised it to her lips. Isot to 
 weary you witli details, I will only say that 
 I was too faint to respond to her caresses ; 
 but upon telling her that I was starving, she 
 bade me follow her to hei* lodgings. She 
 lived in a garret as well as I — but in her gar- 
 ret she found me food. 
 
 'The friendship we made that night ended 
 only with her life. We lived together in 
 good fortune and bad — sometimes luxurious- 
 ly, but more frecjuently in the most rigid 
 economy, according as her engagements were 
 many or few, for hve years. 
 
 ' The girl's name was Celie, and she was a 
 married woman. Her husband was a rough 
 giant of a man, as hairy as an Esau, while she 
 
112 
 
 ST. JUDE'S ASSISTANT. 
 
 was sleiuler and delicate. As I go on with 
 this letter, yoU will see why it is not neces- 
 sary foi- me to dcFcribe her further. Her 
 husband's name wis Job Pierce. He was a 
 dort of outlaw or tramp, who did no work, 
 but lived by small tl'fts in M'inter and by 
 tramping, begginj,', and pilfering in summer. 
 Celie had been married to him Imt a few 
 months, when, finding that he could not or 
 would ifot support her in .any honest way, she 
 had left him, and by means of her pretty face 
 and supple figure, ol)tained a position as cory- 
 pliee or fimirante on the old Bowery stage 
 wliere I had seen her. Her husband soon 
 found her out, however, and though unable 
 to force her to live with him, often visited 
 her and succeeded in extorting money from 
 her slender stock. This Job Pierce, upon 
 dirsoovering his wife's attachment to and re- 
 1 itiqjis with me, I need not say, was no friend 
 of mino ; and he kept us in a continual ter- 
 ror. As to me, he absolutely flogged my 
 fo jtsteps. I never stirretl into the streets at 
 niglit l)ut I would see his haggard face at a 
 o' iiier. But, though he wonld present him- 
 self to me almost daily, and threaten to take 
 ni}' life, he never attempted it. In fact, 
 liis policy seemed to be to keep me in a con- 
 stant dread, rather than to kill me outright. 
 But I need never speak — nor did I to Celie 
 during tlie wliile we lived together — of my 
 own fear. It was enough that Celie herself 
 pjiHsed a miserable existence on his ac- 
 count. Wlienever he could beg or steal 
 money enough to get into a theatre where 
 slie was performing, he wouJd manage that 
 she should see him ; and once she actually 
 lost her engagement by twice fainiing away 
 in tlie midst of her parts, at sight of him, on 
 a single evening. I was powerless in the 
 matter, and soon came to be as abjectly his 
 slave as was Celie herself. I began, as well 
 as Celie, to give him small sums of money, 
 and once having l)egun, tliere was of course, 
 no limit to his demands, either in frequency 
 or amount. 
 
 ' I cannot say that I ever loved Celie with 
 t'.e passion she never ceased to show for me; 
 \int .slio was the only person who ever, in the 
 ouiso of njy life, seemed to care for me ; 
 and when she difed — after litjing delivered of 
 a <huighter, I resolved that if ever, in the 
 course of my life, I should accumulate any 
 ■wealth, it should belong to that child ; and 
 tliat at least, as long as I lived, whether I 
 did or not, Celie's only representative on 
 earth should want for nothing. I would 
 make tliis recompense, at least, to the girl 
 who liad given up everything— even her 
 virtue — for love of me. 
 
 When Celie first came to me, she wore on 
 tlie ring finger of her left hand, a heavy g(jld 
 
 wedding-ring. The first night I ever saw 
 her, she had put this on my finger instead, 
 and, to tho day of her death, I wore it there. 
 After Celie's death, I found an old /oman 
 who lived ut a little village — half country, 
 and half suburb of a city — to take the child ; 
 she to furnish it such nursing as it required, 
 and to continue to keep it for me. Tiie 
 place she lived in has since been called Rose- 
 ville, and is now, I believe, apart of the city 
 of Newark, New Jersey. This old woman 
 had two other children, of about the same 
 age as Celie's child, and partly to indentify 
 her, in case anything should happen to me, 
 1 hung Celie's weddmg-ring around itp little 
 neck. I then made my will, in which I 
 stated simply that it is my wish that the 
 child should become my sole representativf-, 
 "and inherit everything of which I should die 
 possessed. 
 
 • About this time — or it was, I tliink, 
 al)out two years after the child's birtli — (I 
 liad called it Celie, after its mother) I beojiine 
 a patrolman in the Metropolitan police ; 
 from which position I have been steadily 
 promoted — and at this moment, I believe 
 myself to have accumulated, from salary, 
 rewards, and perquisites, about fifty or sixty 
 thousand dollars. I have never altered my 
 will, nor do I intend to, as I shall never 
 marry. And at my death, I ask you, as a 
 favour to which I am unentitled at your 
 bands — but as a favour which, I think, in 
 view of the circumstances, you will do me 
 — to see that the child, Celie — or, I belie^e, 
 she bears another name now — comes into 
 possession of her own. 
 
 ' thi one of my visits to the child, aft r 
 it had Iwen placed in charge of the old 
 woman in Roseville, as I left the cottagu, 
 I stumbled upon a man wlio was partially 
 concealed among some shrubbery near the 
 door. It was Job Pierce, who had traeUed 
 me, and, as I infer, discovered the 
 object of my visits; From that monuiit 
 something told me that he would eventually 
 steal the child, in order to regain over mo 
 the influence which he had lost ; for siuci' 
 Celie's death, he had never approached me 
 with accustomed demands for money. I 
 would have delivered him to the police if ho 
 had. But I was right in my supposition 
 that he would begin to play another game. 
 The next time I went to Roseville, to sc^ the 
 child, it had disappeared. In short, it had 
 been stolen, and I Knew who stole it. I had 
 no clue to work upon ; and although I set the 
 Jersey police to work, and supervised their 
 work myself, we never got upon the track 
 for a mouth. As nobody can possibly km.w 
 better than yourself, there is no hxilitv in 
 the country so infested with trampj as that 
 
 ( 
 
ST. JTTPE'S ASSISTANl. 
 
 Hi 
 
 d, aft.M- 
 the oil I 
 cotta>,'i', 
 Mirtially 
 lear the 
 tracked 
 ed the 
 monuiit 
 entually 
 over II 10 
 'or sinco 
 ,ched iiu' 
 oney. 1 
 lice if ho 
 )positi<iii 
 er gaino. 
 
 sc" tho 
 t, it had 
 
 I had 
 
 1 set the 
 jed their 
 he track 
 ly kiitiw 
 
 ■)(' ility ill 
 as that 
 
 tract spreading beyond Newark, New Jersoy 
 — north, south and east — as far na the moun- 
 tains. It is a tract especially propitious foi 
 the operations of small pilferers, beggars, 
 and the large clasf of ragamiirtiiis who live 
 by frightening women. The reason, of 
 course, is, that it is covered with residences 
 of well-to-do and even opulent New Yorkei-s 
 — men who spend the day in town, leaving, 
 in most instances, their houses in charge of 
 the female portion of the househohl — most 
 of these houses V>eing of frame, with windows 
 easily accessible from the ground. Besides, 
 the country ia cut up by iiuiumerable rail- 
 ways, affording direct avenues for them to 
 walk from place to place ; and at night, by 
 concealing themselves in freight or open coal 
 cars — being entirely inilitferent as to the 
 particular neighbourhood in which they shall 
 tind themselves next morning — they are apt, 
 as a rule, to travel very cheaply. There are 
 two kinds of tramps in this country — one 
 the tramp who tramps by himself, or in 
 droves of men, and the other the tramp who 
 takes his family. This last is a compara- 
 tively well-to-do tramp, and often owns a 
 horse and waggon, which he covers with 
 cloth, and in whic he sleeps. He usually 
 has one or more children, besides a v. ..lau 
 to cook his meals along with him. In the 
 parlance of this section, these latter tramps, 
 men, womenandchildren,arecalled 'gypsies. " 
 ' AH over this tract, npon the outskirts 
 of which Roseville is, we searched carefully ; 
 and especially among these " gypsies," who 
 always travel with cliildren. But we never 
 found the child, or any reliable information 
 concenting it. At last I gave \vp all imiiie- 
 <liate hope of find it at all, but turned my 
 attention to my business in the city. I 
 never had much of a clue to my child, ex- 
 cept the gold ring ; but now I had that 
 alone. I felt pretty sure that Job Pierce, 
 some day. when he wanted a meal, would 
 dispose ot that ring ; and so I had my lines 
 arranged at every pawnshop in the city, to 
 catch him in that way. The most wonder- 
 ful thing to me was that Job Pierce should 
 not have approached me, or communicated 
 with me in some way, with the view of obtain- 
 ing many for the child. As he did not, I be- 
 gan tosuspectthat lie had other motivesin de- 
 taining it, thani had given him credit for, and 
 that he, believing that I loved the child, was 
 revenging himself upon me for its mother. 
 But, at any rate, not a trace of hii*' did I 
 obtain. I Years passed on, and the episode 
 liad passed out of my life — when, one day, 
 very recently, since I have been employed in 
 the Brand nmrder case, in fact — I hapijened 
 to be in the Tombs, and recofriiized my old 
 enemy, Job Pierce, among the prisons i\:i. I 
 
 believe he would have murdered me on the 
 spot, if a turnkey had not driven him 
 away. 
 
 • l^pon leaving the Tombs, I proceeded at 
 once to the district-attorney, and asked, as 
 an especial i.i our to mu, that Job Pierce 
 should not, in any event, be set at liberty 
 without consulting me — for once there, I felt 
 he was safe until T could t'etermine what use 
 to make of him ; and, to tell the truth, at 
 that very moment, the Brand murder affair 
 had become so absorbing, that 1 could find 
 thought for little else. Through some mis« 
 take, however, in spite of the stipulation 1 
 obtained from the district-attorney, he was 
 set a large ; and the very first thing he did, 
 upon obtaining his liberty, was to pav/n hin 
 wife's weddiny-ring — the ring you find en 
 closed in this letter. 
 
 In the course of my investigations concern- 
 ing the unfortunate circumstances of the 
 nmrder of Greorge Brand, the young minis- 
 ter, and of your nephew's confession and 
 tlight, of course I could not have well avoid- 
 ed becoming aware of the existence of the 
 young lady in your household, known aa 
 Mara Ogden, and of the circumstances at- 
 tending her a<loption into your family. But, 
 in reality, I first leai'iicd them long before 
 the prominent part she took in association 
 with your nephew's last hours ; and my dis- ■ 
 covery of his hiding-place at Windsor, was 
 owing to no shrewdness of my own, but 
 entirely to my conviction that your adopted 
 daughter, Mara Ogden, was no other than 
 my natural child. This statement may seem 
 inexplicable to you, l)ut I will explain by 
 giving — as I have endeavoured to do solely 
 in this letter — the simple facts. 
 
 ' One day, when I was travelling by rail 
 from St. John's to Halifax, in Nova Scotia, 
 in search of your nephew, as the train ap- 
 proached the town of AVindsor, I happened 
 to look out of the car window, and I saw 
 what I at first thought v/as a dream ; in 
 fact I had Ijeen asleep, and dreaming, for 
 some distance — having lost much sleep the 
 night before — and my dreams had been ol 
 the companion of my youth, Celic. As the 
 train neared the town, 1 awoke ; and when, 
 as I say, I looked out of the window, who 
 should I see but Celie herself — in the flesh 
 — standing at an open window, watering 
 some flowers in a box. If the event had 
 not proved that giil to be Mara Ogden, 
 your ailo))ted d.augiiter, I should have 
 thought I was becoming a poet or a dreamer 
 in my old age. I need not tell you more 
 than to say that I stopped at Windsor, found 
 the house where I had seen the girl, and, as 
 you know, came upon the fugitives. 
 
 ' Mr, Ogden, your adopted daughter is my 
 
114 
 
 ST. JUDE'S ASSISTANT. 
 
 natural child. I leave this fact to be acted 
 upon aH yuu tliink proper. lam aware that 
 hur happiness cannot be better preserved 
 than by leaving her in ignorance of this 
 truth. Her social position would sink by 
 my contact, aa it was created by youra. 
 So far, then, as to any word from my lips, 
 ■he shall know nothing. As I said before — 
 the facts are in your hands. This is all I 
 have to say. 
 
 John Stbahburobr. ' 
 
 Immediately )>elow this signature, there 
 appeared in tite sprawling hand of an ignor- 
 ant person, tiie following : 
 
 •MiSTEK ()(iDEN — 
 
 I hev red tiiis, and tliis is truth — every 
 word of it — an what's more its the last time 
 as him ill ever have chance to say it. He is 
 gone to hell now. I got into your house 
 and stole his brat's diamond ring. But axin 
 your pardon, I give it back to you in ex- 
 change for the gold un as was my wife's 
 weddin ring. I guv it to lier : an I 
 think — tholain'tno lawyer— as its mine 
 anyhow. 
 
 Job Pikroe.' 
 
 Mr. Ogden read this dual communica- 
 tion, and pondered much. But lie did very 
 little office work that day, and took ua early 
 train home to Maleolir. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIX. 
 
 "'J'^lp QUID KIT DKNIQUB? 
 
 I It is customary, at tlie close of a book, 
 for its author to express the hope that its 
 readers may find, in its penisal, ut least 
 half the enjoyment it lias afforded him to 
 write it — to say that the task has been a 
 pleasant one, that he has fallen in love 
 with his own heroine, admires his hero, and, 
 generally, feels very much at a loss as to 
 how he sha41 exist withoiit the company 
 of his own characters. We who have writ- 
 ten this history, unfortunately, leave with 
 no such happy thoughts, with no such 
 fond regrets. Our story was one we did not 
 core to tell ; and, iiaving told it, we are 
 glad tx) be rid of the job. Our characters 
 are horribly vulgar, and distasteful to us ; 
 but there they were — yn could not make or 
 unmake — it was out of onr power to turn 
 one black hair white, or one white hair 
 black. 
 
 With the exception of Mrs. Ogden and 
 Olive, and Miss Singleton, not one of them 
 is worth mentioning — they are all sordid. 
 
 sellish, evw when tliuy arc not actually iui' 
 mural and criminal people. 
 
 How muob nicer it would have been foi 
 us, dear lady readers, and how much yoi' 
 would have enjoyed our* chronicle, if — in 
 stead of tolling of all this solHshness, an«l 
 sin, and greed, and crime, we luid sat down, 
 like Achilles, among tlie serving women, and 
 given you a delightiul series of cc^nversations ! 
 Ahout how Mara iiad dresses cut a la (Ja- 
 brielle, with skirts soufl'uiit, li.-ilf fitting with 
 small pliase ilounces, curHage crossed witli a 
 folded Bcarf of brown batiste, surmounted 
 with a lightly drawii pafT twice the deptli of 
 the flounces ; and how Mrs. Ogden preferred 
 gauze de chambcry with overdress of tissu 
 de neige, with plaiting of tuile or crepe liase, 
 four inches wiffe ; and how Miss Singleton 
 settled the question by deciding in favour of 
 plain ciel Hamburg embroideries, en dem 
 train, of cardinal colour, and all such lovely 
 tilings ; and al>out public balls at the Aca- 
 demy, and private balls at Helmonico's, and 
 card receptions and kettle-chums, and (above 
 all) weddmgs, and what tliey all wore, and 
 who danced with who, ami whether it was 
 the third or fourth time actually, that Miss 
 Bourgeois (that brazen tiling — you know,) 
 has worn that ecrue dress of hers ! 
 
 Or, why shouM it not have Ijeen our Jot to 
 have written to you of rocks and treei, and 
 mountains and valleys, and catarnct^ and 
 sunsets ! Of magnificent, and grand, and 
 gorgeous, and sublime, and— in short, of 
 lovely scenery ! Beshrew tlie fate that has 
 driven us, instead, to soil our pagoa with 
 pawnbrokers, and tramps, and actually with 
 murderers ! There is only one unfashion- 
 able consolation left us. We are forced to 
 reflect that it is the disagreeable people who 
 prosper in this life ; it is the noisy creditor 
 who gets his nu ney. 
 
 Paul Ogden — who, as we have already 
 drawn from the preceding pages, while so- 
 journing in Europe, iiad never ceased to feel 
 in peril of justice, and to he prepared for the 
 time of its overtakiiig him — had procured a 
 subtle poison, so skilfully prepared, that 
 upon l>eing received into the stomach, it 
 would take effect in a month's time. We 
 have seen that, upon learning from an old 
 copy of the New York Herald, one evening, 
 at Bingen on the Riiine, that he was known 
 to be the perpetrator of the St. Jude's 
 murder ; and knowing, from the date of the 
 newspaper, that his pursuers could not b« 
 far away, he had swallowed the potion, and 
 almost immediately started for America. 
 His history, after arriving there, we have 
 followed, step by step. 
 
 When Paul's will was opened — the wiU 
 which our readers may remember his havina 
 
^^ n^rrnfi . fjiiyif '-y^^ 
 
 ST. JUDE'S ASSISTANT. 
 
 Ill 
 
 iU 
 
 IB 
 
 luft with Ilia uiicle un his departure for 
 Kuroi)e, bouu ufter tlie atTair of tho Brau<l 
 :uuraer — it was found, that, with the excep- 
 tion of certain tritling lu^acieH, lie i<ad left to 
 Mun\ hia entire fortune, which amounted to 
 )Oinething in the neigebourhood of one 
 hundred thousand dollars. Now, when our 
 old frientl Isabella — through the ef- 
 forts of Mr. Ogden— had found herself 
 lU possession of a property of about fifty 
 thousand dollars a year, in the zeal of her 
 gratitude, miic had made a will dividing that 
 • iroperty at her death between Mara and Mr. 
 Of, ten's three boys. Jsabella dul not, in 
 (act, die for some years after Mara's shocking' 
 inisbehavionr, but, wlietlier or not IsabelLi 
 forgave her. that good spinster certainly 
 uover altered her will ; and when she finally 
 laid aside the burdens of her single blessod- 
 aess, Mara took one-fourth of her property. 
 So, at the date our history closes, Mara 
 found herself possessed, in her own right, of 
 between th ^u and four hundred thousand 
 dollars, besides al>out forty thousaiul, to 
 ivhich she was entitled under Mr. John 
 ritrasburger's will, tlid she choose to claim 
 it ; and we may 1)e sure that she did chojse. 
 As for Tom Frear, he went back to his 
 lonesome studio, No. 39, and laboured along, 
 i saddened, solitary man. Women he never 
 wen c near. No beauty, or worth, or sweet- 
 aeas could daz/le him. He felt that towards 
 women, at least, his duty had been done, 
 and he avoided them. But one day, in his 
 studio, he came across the little picture of 
 ' 'J'iie Rainbow,' over wiiich he had wasted 
 so many by-gone hours when he had been 
 betrothed to her, it had seemed too poor a 
 l^ift for his queen's acceptance ; and so he 
 had put it aside and forgot it. Tears 
 stood in his honest eyes as he drew it into 
 the light. He thought of the dreams he had 
 dreamed while he painted it — dreams whose 
 realiziition to him had seemed the sweetest 
 fate that time could bring. Helas ! those 
 ilreams had come true — that fate t me had 
 lirought to him — and how little was it all? 
 His apples had been ashes ! He had served 
 leven years for Rachel, and she had turned 
 out to be only Leah I 
 
 Then he tried to shake it off and not to 
 car», • Not to care ! ' Ah, who can do 
 that? If we only could, how happy we 
 might be, sometimes ! The man who really 
 — in his heart of hearts — 'don't care,' is 
 master of the situation in love affairs. But 
 Tom, unfortunately, did care. After all 
 Mara's »iu and disgrace, Tom was not so 
 sure that he loved her more than ever. And 
 when a man is not sure whether he loves or 
 Qot, M'e may safely say he loves very much. 
 And let us believe that he was riclit. Love 
 
 is as blind to moral laws as it is to facti. 
 The trouble was, that Tom did care very 
 much indeed — and he nhed many manly tears 
 over his picture of the ' Rainbow. ' 
 
 But one ilay, he mustered courage and 
 sent it to Mara. At least it would get it oat 
 of the way. he tiiought ; so he packed it up, 
 and packed it off to her. It was not long 
 before the post brought him a note in tho 
 well-known hand. It contained only the 
 words, 'Thank you,' and a sprig of rose- 
 mary ; which, as everybody knows, raeaos 
 Remembrance. Tom looked long, and 
 nmscd nmch upon that sprig of rosemary. 
 
 ' Wcr Kum erstc mal liebt sel's auch ghickloss, 
 istelnGott, - 
 Aber wcr /.um zwcitc mal (fluckloss libet, ist 
 oin Narr,' 
 
 he pondered : 
 Ah, well I Love rubs the world around : 
 
 ' Und was fur die erdc das himmel's blau, 
 
 Und was fur die blumender melde tau. 
 
 Das ist fur die mcnschen die Liobel ' 
 
 Like the lady with the ' primrose face' in 
 Lord Lytton's pretty poem, she was not dead, 
 and she wan not wed — and old things were 
 best — and Mara, for her part, ftlt that love 
 must cling where it can, an<l that one isn't 
 loved every day. And so very quietly, one 
 evening, in the Chapel of little St. Jude's, 
 under a wreath of pansies, they — Tom and 
 Mara — were married. 
 
 They live in a natty little cottage at Mal- 
 oolm, not far from Mr. Ogdcn's villa (which 
 that gentleman never again abandoned for 
 the noxious city), and, as time rolls on, and 
 buries scandals, fand efipecially as Mr. and 
 Mrs. Frear are well-to-do) — the neighbours 
 all call on them, as if nothing had ever hap* 
 penetl. And we are not so sure that you, 
 reader, and I, would not do the same. Ac- 
 cording to the laws of the State of New York 
 (which is a sort of Scotch law, by the way) 
 Mara was the wife of Paul Ogden, and thi re- 
 fore a wi ioM when Tom married her ; and 
 surely marrying a widow is only a question 
 of taste ! 
 
 And were Tom and Mara happy ? Do you 
 ask, reader? Doubtless. As happy as you 
 are. Perhaps not that paroxysm, that epi- 
 lepsy of haitpiness of which wc may hav( 
 dreamed. But this is rare. If fate reserves 
 this sort of happiness only for its prime fa- 
 vourites, even tney, in this world of com- 
 pensation, pay for it elsewhere. But that 
 moderate long ran of average happiness 
 which comes to most of us, they douotless 
 did enjoy. Let us, at any rate, so hope. 
 
 Mrs. Ogden did not long survive her nephew 
 I'aul. Poor little woman ! Her heart was 
 
116 
 
 ST. JUDEX ASSISTAXr 
 
 the groatent part of her ; and the excitement 
 of those fcAi-tiil (IttVB, hoginning with the 
 item in the HeraU{, and ending witl> the 
 suicide, had been heavy days for her. Her 
 death bed waa more of a triumph than a 
 death-scene. It waa like the sniling into 
 port of some grnn<l Rcaward coming Rliip ; 
 which, passing bravely through all atorma 
 and penis — its full duty done, its full end 
 accomplished — came home to furl its sails. 
 A woman, a wife, aud a mother, she rests in 
 the testimony of a good conBcienco— the good 
 fight fought, the faith kept --and behind her, 
 «<» long OS the world lasts, sliall rise up sons 
 and daughters to call her blessed. 
 
 Tlie Strasburger murder had been traced 
 to Job Pierce, partly by Mr. Ogden's letter, 
 snd, no less, by the statement of Jimmerson 
 k Co., pawnbrokers. But it appeared that 
 Pieroe, after leaving the letter on Mr. Og- 
 den's table, had managed to stow himself 
 away upon a ship bound for Europe, and 
 was, some weeks after, setailriftin Rnglaml. 
 [n that country he was apprehended for ex- 
 tradition on complaint of the American gov- 
 ernment, and lay for several months in New- 
 gate. But, pending his delivery to the Ameri- 
 can government, it happened that some 
 shrewd lawyers, who were retained for a 
 rich American culprit — that is to say, one 
 who, having embezzled some millions, was 
 rich enough to retain the most eminent 
 talent in England — found a flaw in the ex- 
 tradition treaty. And by their petitions 
 and representations to Parliament, that 
 body was induced to refuse any further de- 
 livery of criminals to the United States 
 government, under the (treaty, unless the 
 United States government, on receipt of the 
 criminals, would stipulate that they should 
 be .tried only for the crime for which they 
 were extradited. (The shrewd lawyers 
 aforesaid, having discovered, that, other- 
 wise, political cnmiaals, for whom England 
 prides herself on being an asylum, might be 
 extradited for pretended offences, in order to 
 be secured for State purposes.) 
 
 The United States government, not see- 
 ing its way to this impudent demand, inti- 
 mated its preference for the letter of the 
 treaty, and so Job Pierce, and a host of 
 otlier American felons, were set at large ; 
 and Mr. Strasburger'a blood, to this day, is 
 crying out for ve''.geance, and attracting no 
 response. 
 
 For the 'thirty thousand dollars which 
 St. Jiide's Parish had offered as a premium 
 for the apprehension of the murder of the 
 late Reverend George Brand, there were 
 many claimants ; of which, however, the 
 Herald was not one. Nor, we may be very 
 sure, did Mara, as Mr. StrasbiurserV only 
 
 living )>lood repreHentativti put in any 
 claim, We may htivte 1)rit'Hy, however, 
 that, after much arbitration, and discussion, 
 and nnich threatening of law-suits, a simi of 
 twenty-two thousand dollars was paid 
 oyer to the Police Department, in consiiiera- 
 tion of a full release from everybo<ly, of all 
 claims, from the beginning of the world to 
 the day of payment, to St. Jude's Parish. 
 This cheque was sent, endorsed by the 
 proper persons, to 1)C cashed V)y the hands 
 of i)oyle — the claimants waiting at Head- 
 quarters to be paid in full. Hut after wait- 
 ing several jiours, they Anally dispersed, it 
 having been found that Doyle, on receiving 
 tlie money, h.id decamped for parts un- 
 known. And he never came back. ^ 
 
 Mr. Oj,'den who has hmg since retired 
 from active practice, nmi devoted himself ex- 
 clusively to those wines jind grapes whioli so 
 long claimed his divided services, still al- 
 lows his name to remain in gilt letters on 
 the glass doors at .laiincey Court. Only, 
 aliovethe simple name of ' Mr. Percival Og- 
 dei'.' appears the legend, 'Ogden, Cambrefl- 
 i"M Ogden, ' the last memV^er of that firm 
 beiii no less tlian Mr. Percivul Ogden, Jr., 
 wiio 18 managing pnrtner of tlie firm. 
 
 "'he Srrthonrd still wields its rod over 
 the public, and Mr. Prideaux is still an old, 
 young bachelor, with his jaunty dress, 
 his Malacca cane, his light kids, and a 
 carnation in his buttonhole. As to noes)*, 
 he is still triumphant ; and all the verses 
 we now have m these United States are 
 ground or woven, or turned, at the Amity 
 works, by one toothless old lady. 
 
 Our friend, Mrs. Melden, found, some- 
 where in the vicinity of one of her resting- 
 f daces, a wretched man, who wrote stories 
 or the Sunday papers. Him she had, at last 
 accounts, elevated to the position of her 
 Number 4 : and him she is swiftly and sure- 
 ly talking into an early grave. He takes a 
 weak sort of revenge, however, by witing 
 her into his stories. But she never recog- 
 nizes herself in the viragos and Amazons he 
 puts into his page. Nor, probably, if she 
 ever read these pages, will she find herself 
 set down here. 
 
 Dr. Forsyth, it will be remembered, had 
 consented to Mr. Oloster operating upon his 
 patient Olive, — believing that — if successful 
 — success would establish a fact in which he 
 implicitly believed ; namely, that Olive's 
 mind was only dormant from a shock, and 
 not wholly gone and obliterated. Nor can 
 it be doubted that, from that moment, 
 Olive's mental symptoms had steadily im- 
 proved. She began to be sensible of ideas 
 and intuitions again ; and Dr. Forsyth, 
 (whoM labourious volume on the Material of 
 
 [ 
 
ST. JUDE'S ASSISTANT. 
 
 in 
 
 Vfind appeared about this time, and made a 
 palpablu HuiiHution in the thiiikiMg world, ) 
 wnB mor« than happy. Of course we never 
 read the Doctor'H learned work. Life is not 
 long enough, by Home years, to ask that, 
 fcnilwe reflect with uu.dncitB upon the miner- 
 kble conipoHiturs and proof-readers who were 
 obliged to peruse it. But t)ie old Doctor 
 regards it with pride as the crowning fruit 
 of a useful life ; and let us not be unjust. 
 Doubtless in the panopticon Mercantile 
 Library it may bo (leinanded by the young 
 lady subHcrilHsr, and brou(,'ht to her by the 
 gentlemanly young man. But, as that valu- 
 able institution furnishes no spinster clerks 
 to wait upon its niiiHCuline suuscribers, we 
 oannot r< ad the book, an' we dnred. 
 
 No sermons are preached in little St. 
 Jude'a. 'There is,' says Mr. Troilope-iu 
 words we cannot Instter, and therefore quote 
 — ' perluips no greater hardsiiip, at present, 
 inflicted upon mankind, in civdizcl and free 
 countries, than the necessity of listening to 
 sermons. No one but a preaching clergy- 
 man has, in these realms, the power of com- 
 pelling an audience to sit silent and be 
 tormented. No one but a preaching clergy- 
 man revels in platitudes, truism, and un- 
 truism, and yet receives as his undisputed 
 privilege, the same respectful demeanour as 
 though words of impassioned eloquence or 
 persuasive logic fell from his lips. Let a 
 professor of law or physic find his place in a 
 tecture-room, and there pour forth jejune 
 words and empty phrases, and he will pour 
 them forth to empty Ijenc'ues. Let a barris- 
 ter attempt to talk without talking well, 
 and he will talk but seldom. A jtdge's 
 charge need be listened to but 'ly the jury, 
 prisoner ai.d jailer ; a member of parliament 
 
 can b« oonghed down or counted out. Town 
 uounsellera can be tabooed. But no one can 
 rid himself of the preaching clergyman. 
 Ue is th9 L .-e of the age— the old man 
 whom the ainboba cannot shako of) 
 — the nightmare that disturbs oui 
 Sunday rest, tiie incubus that overloads oui 
 religion and makes God's service distasteful 
 We are not forced into church. No ; but 
 we desire more than that. We desire not to 
 be forced to stay away. We desire— nay, 
 we are resolute enough to enjoy the comfort 
 of public worship, but we desire also thai 
 we may do ao without an amount of tedium 
 that ordinary human nature cannot endur* 
 with patience ; and that we may be able to 
 leave the houae of God without that anxious 
 longing for escape which is the common con- 
 Be(|uence of common sermons. 
 
 Since we cannot, wh n persecuted, like 
 that discriminating King ./ehoiakim, when 
 his chaplain Jehudi had droned away to a 
 suflicient length, reach forward antl cut a 
 preacher's manuscript with our penknives, 
 and cast it into the tire— by way of slight 
 compensation for the misery we ourselves 
 have sufl'ered — we may be permitted to re- 
 echo the words of Mr. Trollope. 
 
 Much of our own way of^ thinking are 
 they in the chapel of little St. Jude's. Pfcill 
 are the hours said in its dim aisle, and still 
 —in communion with Him who heedeth not 
 the device of man, and with all holy things 
 — we may kneel, uninterrupted by any 
 human ' view* ' or iuterpetrationa— and 
 feel— 
 
 ' With faces aslant. 
 The silence t« consecrate more thiin the chant F