The daily phoenix. [volume] (Columbia, S.C.) 1865-1878, 1867-06-15
AGI5GEJEa - N ~
cttRtsTMASAT' THE BANK
CONCLUDED.


A visit to the Old Baily awaited
me on my recovery. / had taken my
aim SO we'll that Blinking Bill, as
he was called by the fraternity, from
q peculiarly of vision, never blinked
again in this world. Cole and Lang
ston had both been committed for
trial. Cole had been traced to u
coffee house where he had been left
on the morning of Christmas day,
and where on the day following the
police found him drugged and stupe-
fed. What [ had learnt from his
wife, and the mans own manner
when 1 relieved him, convinced me
that he had been guilty of nothing
beyond indiscretion, but the police
were suspicious that he had some
share in the planning of the bur-
glary. It was difficult to learn why,
as they mostly contented themselves,
when asked, with shaking their heads
and looking wise. i felt sure, how
ever, that if Cole had had hand in
the robbery it would not. have been
attempted when anybody but he
himself was on the premises. It was
clear to me that Langston, who only
knew the arrangements as they ex-
listed when he left, to be changed,
as I have said, shortly afterwards,
had misled "Blinking Bill" who,
truting to Langston's recent know
ledge, had omitted .the precautions
usual with that astute burglar, of
whose cunning the police spoke with
unfeigned admiration. Had the ar
rangements not been changed, the
two men could have robbed the bank
at their ease, having secured the
absence of Cole.
ALI this was stated before the grand
jury, who threw out the bill against
Cole. Langston, ON being found
guilty, threw at me big stone, which
he had managed to conceal some way.
It missed me, but, L am sorry to say,
hit the crier of the court rather
sharply. Langston was transported |
for life, and in q penal settlement
found that it was not too late to
mend. He became the author of
little volume of poems of O highly de-
votional cast, of which he sent me a
copy, with his forgiveness. Some
time after, 1 received from him
letter, written under the auspices of
q chaplain, in which he hoped 1
might yet be reclaimed from my
worldly course, although he express
ed, without ambiguity, his fear that
I was too far gone.
I got this letter at the city, and
after glancing through it, thrust it
impatiently into my pocket. That
evening was at home; it was just
after dinner, and Julia was making
me cup of coffee-I could never
beat any one else to make it. I put
n cigar in my mouth, and pulled from
my pocket piece of paper to light
up. 1t was the letter had received
that morning.
'By-the-by, Julia, L said, 81 have
to show you-a letter from
L smoothed it out and passed it
over to her in exchange for the cup
which she handed me. I stopped TO
the fire, lit my cigar, and, with nv
feet on the fender, smoked away
"Did you read the postsclipt?"
asked Julia.
"Well, no, love, 1 can't say that I
did; but why? A woman's postscript,
l know, is generally the most impor
tant part of the letter, but"
'Don't laugh" she broke in: "look
here. The wretch!"
L turned round in surprise: her
lace had grown pale, and her brows
We're knitted with anger. She was
right; the postscript was everything.
Should l get my release" he wrote,
Il hope to return to England, and |
assist III the work of your reclama-
tlon. His release! Well, he got it
but not in the sense in which he used
the words-he died two years after
the date of his letter to me.