Page:New-York Organ (June 19, 1852).pdf/2

402 a fair share of custom. His mildness and civility, together with the perfect propriety of his conduct, were gradually overcoming prejudice and winning confidence. People said; “As to the unfavorable reports of Mr. Johnson’s character, we must suspend judgment; we believed them at first, certainly, but now we have our doubts. Besides, his articles are, at least, as reasonable in price, and certainly much better in quality, than those of many dealers in town.”

In pursuance of the resolution I had formed, I called, a day or two after the ball, on Mr. Johnson, and sat for nearly two hours with him—fascinated at once by his singularly pleasant and gentle manners, by his great intelligence, and by the extraordinary extent and variety of his information. There was, even in the tones of his voice, a charm that I found exercising a powerful influence over me.

I frequently repeated my calls, and after each interview, became more and more satisfied that Johnson had been grievously wronged. Under this impression, I took every opportunity of expressing amongst my friends and acquaintances my strong doubts of the truth of the reports. To my great gratification, I found almost everybody, although they had no such opportunities of correcting their opinions, willing to believe that he had been unjustly dealt by.

By and by Mr. Johnson and I became so intimate, and I so assured of his innocence as regarded the special accusations which scandal had circulated against him, that I ventured one day to mention them to him. He said calmly, “My dear sir, I knew from the very first of the circulation of these rumors; but, excepting one letter to Mr. Manson, I have never made any attempt to meet them with a denial, being certain that my own conduct would be their only effectual refutation. Since you have adverted to the subject as a friend, I will explain all to you. As is often the case, these reports are not altogether creatures of any one’s imagination, but have a certain basis in fact, though not as applicable to me.” He then proceeded to show—proving at the same time the truth of what he said by various documents—that the forgery of which he had been accused, instead of being committed by him, had been committed upon him; and this by a nephew of his own, whom he had forborne to prosecute, although his loss by the act had exceeded $10,000. As to the desertion of wife and children, he also satisfied me, first, that he had never been married at all, nor ever had had any children; next, that the family alluded to was the widow and children of his brother, whom he was now supporting and had supported for many years. He showed me a number of letters from the widow, who resided in England, and several from her elder children, whom he was educating; all of which were filled with expressions of the warmest love and gratitude.

A letter which he next produced, and which he had but a day or two before received from the rector of Combermeath, his native parish, was written in an affectionate strain, and bore, in an incidental way, the strongest testimony to his moral and religious character.

“Now,” said he, laughing, “we come to the last remaining charge—my fraudulent bankruptcy. Well, it is true, perfectly true, that I did stop payment about fifteen years since; chiefly in consequence of the forgery on me by my nephew, and partly in consequence of large losses otherwise. But success in business enabled me at a subsequent period to pay all my creditors in full, including interest. Of the satisfaction of my creditors with my conduct on the occasion of which I speak, I have evidence inscribed, not indeed on a tablet of brass, but on a vessel or rather utensil of silver, which I will show you.”

Having said this, he rose, went to a corner of the shop, and drew a bell-pull. His sister—there being an internal communication between the shop and the house which was above—answered the summons.

“Izzy dear,” said Johnson, “will you be so kind as to bring down the salver which was presented to me by my good friends at Combermeath?”

Miss Johnson quickly appeared with a large, massive and richly ornamented piece of plate, which her brother desired her to put into my hands; directing my attention, at the same time, to an inscription in the centre. This inscription I read, and found it to be a flattering testimonial, from Mr. Johnson’s creditors, to the excellence of his character, and expressing their deep sense of his rare integrity, as exemplified in the circumstance of his having paid in full, and with interest, the several sums he owed them, after he had been legally discharged of the same.

Dear reader, the man of whom I have been speaking—the man who was so slandered and traduced when he first came amongst us—who was called everything that was bad—who was shunned and despised—is now first magistrate of H, and has long been esteemed, as he indeed is, one of the worthiest men in the county.

In our recent notice of Robespierre, it was mentioned that, at the period of his capture in the Hotel de Ville, he was shot in the jaw by a pistol fired by one of the gendarmes. Various correspondents point to the discrepancy between this account and that given by Thiers, and some other authorities, who represent that Robespierre fired the pistol himself, in the attempt to commit self-destruction. In our account of the affair, we have preferred holding to Lamartine (History of the Girondists), not only in consequence of his being the latest and most graphic authority on the subject, but because his statement seems to be verified by the appearance of the half-signed document which it was our fortune to see in Paris in 1849.

The following is Lamartine’s statement:—“The door soon yielded to the blows given by the soldiers with the but-end of their muskets, amid the cries of ‘Down with the Tyrant!’ ‘Which is he?’ inquired the soldiers; but Leonard Bourdon durst not meet the look of his fallen enemy. Standing a little behind the men, and hidden by the body of a gendarme, named Meda; with his right hand he seized the arm of the gendarme who held a pistol, and pointing with his left hand to the person to be aimed at, he directed the muzzle of the weapon towards Robespierre, exclaiming: ‘That is the man.’ The man fired, and the head of Robespierre dropped on the table, deluging with blood the proclamation he had not finished signing.” Next morning, adds this authority, Leonard Bourdon “presented the gendarme who had fired at Robespierre to the notice of the Convention.” Further: on Robespierre being searched while he lay on the table, a brace of loaded pistols were found in his pocket. “These pistols, shut up in their cases still loaded, abundantly testify that Robespierre did not shoot himself.” Accepting these as the true particulars of the incident, Robespierre cannot properly be charged with an attempt at suicide.

In the article referred to, the name Barras was accidentally substituted for Henriot, in connection with the insurrectionary movement for rescuing Robespierre. Barras led the troops of the Convention.

A correspondent asks us to state what was the actual number of persons slaughtered by the guillotine, and otherwise, during the progress of the Revolution. The question cannot be satisfactorily answered. Allison (vol. iv. p. 289) presents a list, which shows the number to have been 1,027,106; but this enumeration does not comprehend the massacres at Versailles, the prisons of Paris, and some other places. A million and a half would be a safe calculation. One thing is certain, that from the 2d of September 1792, to the 25th of October 1795, a space of little more than three years, 18,613 perished by the guillotine. Strangely enough, the chief destruction of life was among the humbler classes of society, those who mainly promoted the revolution; and still more strange, the greater number of victims were murdered by the verdicts of juries—a striking example of that general subserviency which has since become the most significant defect in the French character.—Chamber’s Journal.

—The great tree of life is laden with the hopes, fears, joys and sorrows of mortality. From infancy to manhood the progress is smooth and delightful. The sunshine of the moral world dances through the leaves with a gladdening radiance, and its shadows, when cast, serve only to render the returning brightness brighter still to the joyous hearts beneath its branches. The throbbing pulses of youths and maidens beat with as glad a response, and the laugh of childhood rings as cheerily as if the whistle of that remorseless scythe were not evermore heard beneath, sweeping to their eternal rest those who, having run their course, have dropped from the tree, ripe for the harvest. But he who reaps them knows no rest. Above and all around is life—busy, active, wondrous, mysterious life; below, at the end and at the beginning of all, is death—unwearied, ever toiling death. 

“There is nothing like an obliging disposition,” I thought to myself one day when travelling by railway from Boston to Worcester, seeing a gentleman putting himself to considerable trouble to land another gentleman, who had fallen asleep at his destination.

“Passengers for Needham!” cried out the conductor. “The train steps but one minute.”

“Hallo!” exclaimed a young man in spectacles, at the same time seizing an old gentleman by the shoulders who was sleeping very soundly, “here’s Captain Holmes, fast asleep, and this is Needham, where he lives. Come, get up, Captain Holmes, here you are.”

The gentleman got upon his feet and began to rub his eyes, but the young man forced him along to the door of the carriage, and gently assisted him to alight. Whizz went the steam, and we began to fly again, and the obliging young man took his seat again, and said with a good deal of satisfaction to somebody near him, “Well, if it hadn’t been for me Captain Holmes would have missed his home finely. But here, he has left his bundle,” and the young man picked up a paper parcel and threw it out of the window, and directly discovered another bundle in a handkerchief, which he also throw out. “Well,” he said again, “if it hadn’t been for me Captain Holmes would have missed his bundles finely.”

When we stopped at the next station a lady began to rummage under the seat where Captain Holmes had been sitting, and exclaimed in great alarm—

“I can’t find my bundle.”

“Was it done up in a sheet of brown paper?” I asked.

“Yes, it was, to be sure,” said the lady.

“Then,” said I, “that young man yonder threw it out of the window at the last station.”

This led to a scene between the obliging young man and the old lady, which ended in the former taking the address of the latter, and promising to return the package in a few days, provided he should find it.

“Well,” said the obliging young man, “catch me doing a good-natured thing again. What can I do for that old woman if I should not find her bundle?”

Whizz went the steam, ding, ding, went the bell, the dust flew, the sparks flew, and away we flew, as they say, like lightning, until we arrived at the next station—I forget the name, but it would be of no consequence if I could remember it—when an old gentleman started up and began to poke under the seat where Captain Holmes had sat.

“What are you looking for?” I inquired.

“Looking for?” said the old gentleman, “why, for my bundle of clothes.”

“Was it tied up in a yellow pocket-handkerchief?” I asked.

“Yes, and nothing else,” said the old man.

“Goodness!” exclaimed the obliging young man, “I threw it out of the carriage at Needham; I thought it belonged to Captain Holmes.”

“Captain Holmes!” exclaimed the old fellow, with a look of despair, “who is Captain Holmes? That bundle contained all my clean clothes, that I was to wear at my son’s wedding to-morrow morning. Oh dear! oh dear! what can I do?”

Nothing could be done, but to give his address to the obliging young man as before, and console himself with a promise that the bundle should be returned to him, provided it was ever found. The obliging young man was now in despair and made another solemn vow that he would never attempt to oblige a man again. The next station was his destination, and as he went towards the door of the carriage he saw a silver-headed cane, which he took hold of, and read the inscription on it, “Moses Holmes, East Needham.”

“Well,” again exclaimed the obliging young man, “if here isn’t Captain Holmes’ cane!”

“Yes,” said a gentleman who got in at the last station, “and the old fellow is lame, too. He will miss his stick.”

“Do you know him?” inquired the obliging young gentleman.

“Know him? I should think so,” replied the gentleman, “he is my uncle.”

“And does he live at East Needham?” asked the obliging young gentleman.

“Of course he does; he never lived anywhere else.”

“Well, if that don’t beat everything,” said the obliging young gentleman, “and I put him out at Needham, just five miles the other side of his home.—”— [sic]New-York Journal of Commerce.  ☞Some bitter cynic, twenty years since, thus descanted on the precocity of youth in his time:—We have philosophers not yet breached; and young ladies giving lessons in chemistry to their dolls. You will hear a young gentleman of seven summers instruct his grandmother how to suck eggs. The lesson will be to this effect. “You see, grandmamma, in order to suck, or rather to exhaust the contents of this egg, it is necessary to make an incision at the apex, with a corresponding aperture at the base.” “Bless us,” cries granny, “when I was a gal, we only made a hole at each end.” 

We select the following from the Editor’s “Gossip” in the June number of the Knickerbocker:

 —“A strong man will carry me over the mountains.” These were almost the last words of a dear little boy, just five years and seven months old, who died a few weeks ago in the city of Boston. About the middle of the night in which he died, he saw something beautiful which he could not very well understand. He was much delighted with the vision, and his parents assured him that God had given him a glimpse of heaven. But they soon perceived that the vision was somewhat marred by the appearance of mountains which he saw before him. Almost in a moment, however, after they were discovered, he exclaimed, “A strong man will carry me over the mountains!” Thus at once did the eye of faith rest upon One that is mighty to save; and thus it will ever be with those who put their trust in the Lord. He then called the family around him, and asked each one to give him a kiss. He also entreated his father and mother to “go up with him.”

—“How do you do?” “Do what?” “How do you find yourself?” “I never lose myself.” “How do you feel?” “Pretty smooth, I suppose, but you can feel me and see.” “Good morning, Mr. Smith.” “I think it’s rather a bad one—very wet and nasty.”