Sacramento daily record-union. [volume] (Sacramento [Calif.]) 1875-1891, 1881-08-06

Who else could have got the keys into his
possession? Did he not commence by rob-
bing the widow in concert with his para.
mour? From robbery to murder is but a
step. Besides, did not the accusing shred
OF that torn necktiespeakt rumpet-tongued?
To crown his misfortunes, the cabinet
maker had antecedents. He was the asso-
ciate OF burglars. Finally, he was unable
to give any satisfactory account OF how his
time had been employed at the fatal hour.
,, Thus the last frail plank OF safety fell from
under his feet. 1t was useless for him to
make denial, or protest his innocence.
Everything went against him. There was
not single valid plea in his favor.
He was tried at the Old Bailey, con.
demned to death, and strung up by the
neck IN the raw OF a winters morning,
within the precincts of Newgate. Judge,
nous that for once Scotland Yard had
had been vindicated and foul assassin
made a condign example OF, as warning to
the tribe of III doors. The public conscience
was tranquil on his head. There was but
one obscure point in the whole business.
What had become OF the widows money !!
1t was obvious that the scoundrel, Wig
gins, had hidden it in some well chosen
spot. That the money had been taken by
him was unquestionable, for was not rob-
berry the motive of his crime
1t was universally admitted that never,
in the annals of turpitude, had murder
been brought mqse providentially home to
the Cain who had imbrued his hand in the
blood of an undefending fellow-crea:ure.
".
The consciousness of good action, they
say, brings balm and peace to the soul !;
but few thinkers have the hardwood to
maintain that IMMUNITY for a bad action
can also carry happiness in its train. New
ertheless, it is true, Jonathan Smith was
happy. He had the full enjoyment of his
double murder, and tasted of the fruits OF
his criminality in the most urdisturbed
ease. He felt neither remorse nor terror.
The only sentiment which chafed him, and
which swelled by degrees, was an over.
towering pride. An artistic pride,
above all. The very perfection of
his work, and the sense that he was in
accessible to attack, caused him to forget
every moral consideration. In that
reflection alone, his THIRST for the senti.
ment of superiority found wherewith to
slake ltselt-even to drunkenness. But,
apart from that, he was as before-a weak,
mediocre, justly unknown man. In vain
he tried to force the gates OF fame with his
stolen money bags. Literature would
recognize himself, but not his writings. He
contributes generously to the Newspaper
Press Fund, the Newsvenders' Benevolent
Fund /; he gave suppers and drinks to the
hangers on of third-class journals; he
wrote drama. which was produced at the
East-end and damned he started a maya
zine, which died after the first number of
plethora of his own prose he feasted Grub
street, but the British public could not
hearken to him but to laugh at him. His
articles, tales, rhymes, and plays were uni
formly stamped with the trademark OF in
capacity. Under the pseudonym of Horatlo
Primrose he was known to men in the
world of letters as an amateur who had
more bullion than brains. But that stern,
unbribabie public made a mockery of his
money, and refused to give him credit for
an ounce of talent. He stood convicted of
mental imbecility.
Notwithstanding, he often said to
himself, with flash in his eye, notwith.
standing, if only wished If / were to
recount my masterpiece-for masterpiece
it was There can be no doubt about that.
Horatio Primrose is an ASIDE it so but
Jonathan Smith is a man of genius. All
the same, it is bitterly notifying to think
that an act so admirably conceived, so
powerfully carried out, so neat and suc-
cessful in all it's details, should be. con-
demned to everlasting oblivion. All that
day had the true inspiration; that day
my breast heaved under the diuinus dftatas
of brightest malice. | have done but one
great thing in my life. Why did perform
instead of writing it ! If had written it,
| should be celebrated. | should have but
one tale to point to but everybody would
read it, for it would be unique of its kind.
/ have accomplished a masterpiece of
crime"
In the long run this idea assumed the
force of an hallucination. For two years
he fought against it. He was devoured,
first, by the regret not to have conceived
fiction instead of having done an action as
it were fiction.
twas not the demon of perversity which
RucuSo w dNOW VIGIL SiihiCo, 90
in Edgar Poe's tales, which haunted him
it was purely passion for literary renown,
a craving for reputation, sort of prurigo
of glory.
Like to a subtle counselor who demol.
ishes objection after objection, and brings
captious arguments into play, his fixed
idea pursued him with thousand ques-
tionings
"Why should you not write the truth
What do you fear? Horatio Primrose is
sheltered from the law. The crime is
stale. Every has forgotten it. The
author of it is buried in quicklime under
an unchiseled hagstone. You will be
thought merely to have woven an artistic
narrative out of few columns of police
intelligence. You can put in it all your
dimly Swallowed thoughts all the grudges
that drove you to murder, all the shrewd.
ness and address you brought into exercise
to compass it, all the circumstances that
were furnished like gifts by that most
marvellous of inventors whom fools nick
name Chance. You alone are in the secret,
and none can guess that you sought out
your plot in the actual. They will only
discover in your story the opulenee OF
rare imagination. And then you will
be the man you wish to be, the great
writer who reveals himself late, but by
stroke of undeniable genius. You will
enjoy your crime as malefactor never en-
joyed his. You will reap from it not only
gold, but laurels. And who knows? After
this victory, when you shall have
name, you will cause them to read your
other works, and compel them to reverse
the unjust opinions they have passed upon
you. On the highway of fame it is only
the first stage which is planted with thorns.
Have pluck, man Summon to your aid
but 1.-THE of that marvellous temerity you
had one day in your existence. Recollect
how it succeeded. 1t must command sue
cess again. Take opportunity by the top
knot. The ball is at your foot again kick
it ! You cannot conceal from yourself that
the job was splendidly done. Chronicle
it as it happened, without fear or equivo-
cation, prouly, in its majestic horror. And
if you have any faith in me you will do
the brave thing the narrative, not
with pseudonym that looks like your