The Monitor. [volume] (Woodstown, N.J.) 1884-1892, 1886-08-20

J wash TIL lHth-iiftJphA tiN bGfAtHf III
of ever having been that-bHt / did have
my beer three times a day, and it was my
beer that them fellows doctored the night
of the fraeas. The druggist might tell you
what it was they put III, but all l know
about the matter is that, though ! am usn-
ally as wakeful as a cat. they let them
selves into my room, and stole my keys, and
| didn't know nothing bout it till next
morning Wien all was over, and the poor
fellow was deader nor a fish. Yes, ! viii
call him a poor fellow, and as for his
richly deserving such Il fate, that's all
bosh. It Was whisky that done i'll
said so from the very first going of. When
he was brought to the Jail he was 50
drunk he couldn't stand on his feet, and it
was not until next morning that / could
make him understand what the row was
about, and then / never did see a man so
took aback. | couldn't convince him till
| showed him the whole thing in print.
Terrible Shooting Affray-Quarrel over a
game of cards, ending in mufder-both
disputants under the influence of liquor
and the rest of it, my Lord, how he did
wilt down down as he read the account.
lie was sober enough then, you bet. He
told me that when he woke up that
morning he had no more knowledge of
having used his pistol than-tlian nothing.
The last thing le could remember the
evening before was going into Foster
saloon with Pierson and "a lot OF other fell
lows, and Pierson standing treat all
around. He didn't know no more about
sitting down to poker, and Pierson crssin'
him for cheating than if ne hadn't been
there. 4 liked Pierson best of TIE whole
lay out, he said, and | don't believe it
was me that fired that shot.
You got the credit of it, anyway, says
|, and if Foster hadn't been so near by,
you would have never been brought here
alive. P~ierson, as you know, was cap'n
of the Washington Warriors, and fully
halt of his old company live in and around
this town. Ii amt as though. you had
dropped some no count fellow what
wouldn't have been missed.
I suppose I'll swing for it, says he;
and | don't much care. There amt much
difference to me now between this world
and hell.
I 'spect it will only be Imprisonment foI
life,' says /. | didn't 'spect no such thing,
Judge Martin being Persons uncle, but |
wanted to raise the poor fellow $ spirits. |
thought he would ask for whisky, and !
was going 10 stretch a point and give il TO
him, knowing how hard it must be To stop
off short after the tear he had been on.
But he didn't seem to think about any
thing to drink, and he scarcely touched
what we gave him to eat. He was so tore
up in mind about what he had done that
he couldn't think of nothing else. My
wife went to see him. and, just like It wo-
man, she hadn't talked to him ten minutes
before she was all on his side, though
when she heard of Persons being killed,
the first thing she said was,-'The scoun-
drel that shot him ought to be lynchedD !
reminded her of this when she came ont of
the prisoners cell, and then she said she
meant the scoundrel who sold the whisky
to the poor fellow that done the shooting.
Knowing that everybody knew Judge
Martin was Persons uncle, | naturally
supposed the law would be allowed to take
its course, and it never entered my head
there was any occasion for extra vigilance
that night. Ii my wife had stayed at bone
things might have turned out different, but
she went off with the children to spend the
night at her mothers. | thought my beer
didn'tt taste the same as usual, and noticed
that Foster had sent ms a mighty liberal
quantity for the money. But I drank it
all the same because | don't like to let any
thing be wasted. When ! woke up the
next morning my keys was missing. bat
the prisoners were all in theiT cells-all ex-
cept the man | am telling about, and |
wasn't long III finding him, poor fellow,
for he WAS swinging from the lowest limb
of that big clancy tree back of the Jail.
The lynchers had done their work mighty
quietly, for none of the other prisoners
knew what was going on. My wite
bahooed like a baby, and said it was all
my fault. but the people generally seemed
10 be of a different notion, leastways ! was
kept in my place till | give it up OF my own
accord, | had children growing up, you
see, and I'd rather not have EN- 50 close by
q jail. as there are sights and sounds they
had better not be familiar with. There
amt been a case of l%ynching here, though,
since that poor fellow was slung up, well
nigh on to ten years ago. The Jail has
been worked on for one thing, and the peo-
pie has more confidence in it; and then,
there is another district attorney. The
last one never convicted any body, so it
was said. except an innocent man occasion
ally, and may be another reason is that |
swore off from beer drinking after the
night that poor fellow was sent up the
spout, and | snoozed through it all like an
old clam. H-Glafa Marshall IN Christian
at Work.
The September number Of Dsmo9ests
-Mtgaziae is repletc with interesting and
Instructive reading. Among the articles
worthy Of note are Thirty Years in Jour
nalism, by Jenny June. The War Of the
Rum power on the People, by W. Jcnn-
ings Demorest; "Four Friends ina phae-
tom MADAME La Fayette: Her Hero
Husband and Her Home; and "A Night
/ Refuge in Paris" Mrs. ltart's serial in