The Sun. — 1864-08-08 (London, England)

TOY AND GRIEF.  I stretched my hands towards him, and met once more his loving, laughing eyes. Once more and only once. Next I saw him him in his coffin, white and stark with death.  How that deed was done, I learnt at once, and will tell By whom and why it was done, I have given my life to learn, The evidence laid before the coroner was a cloud and fog of mystery. For days and days my mother lay insensible. Then, for weeks and weeks, she would leap from her bed in fits of terror, stare, and shriek and faint. As for the servants, they knew very little, but imagined a great deal, The only other witnesees were a medical man, a shoemaker, and two London policemen. The servants said that, between one and two in the morning, a clear, wild shriek rang through the house. Large as the building was, this shriek unrepeated awoke nearly all but me. Rushing anyhow forth, they hurried and huddled together at the head of the great staircase, doubting what to do. Some said the cry came one way, some another. Meanwhile Ann Maples, who slept with me in an inner room at the end of a little passage, in the courage of terror went straight to her master and mistress. There, by the light of a dim night-lamp, used to visit me, she saw my mother upright in the bed, and pointing towards my father's breast. My father lay quite still; the bed-clothes were smooth upon him. My mother did not speak. Ann Maples took the lamp, and looked in her master's face. His eyes were open, wide open as in amazement, but the surprise was death. One arm was stiff around his wife, the other lam upon the pillow. As she described it in West -country phrase, "he looked all frore." The woman rushed from the room, and screamed along the passage. The servants ran to her, flurried and haggard, each afraid to be left behind. None except the butler dared to enter. Whispering and trembling they peered in after him, all ready to run away. Thomas Henwood loved his master dearly, being his foster-brother. He at once removed the bed-clothes, and found the fatal wound. So strongly and truly was it dealt that it pierced the centre of my dear father's heart, One spot of blood and a small three-cornered hole was all that could be seen. The surgeon, who came soon after, said that the weapon must have been a very keen and finelytempered dagger, probably of foreign make. The murderer must have been quite cool, and well acquainted with the human frame. Death followed the blow on the instant, without a motion or a groan. In my mother's left hand strongly clutched was a lock of long, black, shining hair. A curl very like it, but rather finer, lay on my father's bosom. In the room were no signs of disorder, no marks of forcible entrance. Is not this enough and more than enough to justify our assertion respecting Clara Vaughan. The terrible event naturally makes a lasting impression upon the loving and sensitive child. Henceforth, she devotes herself to the dreadful task of discovering the murderer of her father. The later portions of the work are inferior to the commencement. So high a pitch of interest could hardly be sustained, and a melodramatic narrative of the Corsican Vendetta is brought in as a supplementary matter of excitement. In relating some of her life's adventures, Clara forgets her moody vengeance and assumes a sprightly tone, more especially in regard to some favourite newly-found friends, Conrad und Isola, and their dog Guidice, or Judy. In respect to this quadruped, indeed, she becomes quite ridiculous, and even disgusting ; for example, here is an incredible story.  A