Year: 1870

The night editorship of morning
daily brings with it some strange expert
ences. The first reading of unpublished
news-often of character that requires
the exercise of the utmost discreetness in
presenting it to the public, or perhaps in
refusing to present it-has an excitement
OF lis own. We shall never forget the
exact appearance of the piece of paper
on which was written the first midnight
dispatch announcing the assassination of
President Lincoln. 1t is startling enough
to read such news in print, where black
lines and great headings prepare you for
it; but to come upon it in an ordinary
manuscript, among items of daily tele-
graph gossip, produces peculiar sensa-
ton. The Chicago Times tells the fol-
lowing pathetic story of a suppressed dis
patch:


A little before twelve o'clock on Thurs
day night, while the night editor of the
Times was engaged in the reading and
preparation of the numerous telegraphic
messages which were to appear in the
next mornings issue, he was visited by
young man of twenty-five or twenty six
years, evidently person in a situation
above the middle walks of life, accom-
panied by an elderly gentleman-a rela-
tive, or an intimate friend-aEd from the
shadow that passed over their counte-
nances it was apparent that their errand
was painful one. Hesitatingly, anx-
iously, and in a subdued tone, the young
man inquired if any news had been re-
ceived of murder committed at Troy,
n. Y, during the day. Being answered
negatively, he then explained that he
had been inform ed in brief dispatch
that his brother, living in that city, had
been shot and killed, and that he was
anxious to obtain additional particulars,
with a lingering hope that the message
he had received was some horrid mistake.
He was asked to wait until the next dis
patches arrived, and told they would
probably contain information of the af-
fair. He took seat and anxiously
awaited some minutes the arrival of the
messenger, the silence being only broken
by an occasional sigh or groan, as the
dread reality, or some tender recollection
of boyhood's days, when he and the
brother he mourned were playmates,
came over him, escaped him. Itwas Bit
ter enough, and it was plain that his
quiet demeanor was only the result of a
powerful effort at self-control. The mes
senger came, the looked-for dispatch was
found. 1t was not mere confirmation
of the terrible news he had received.
Terrible as that had been, the reality was
worse, infinitely worse His brother hal
not been murdered, but was himself a
murderer, and in the agonies of his re-
morse had committed suicide. Some
time previous he had killed his father-in
law, with whom he had quarrel. He
does not seem to have been accused or
even suspected of the crime, but con-
science had done its work, and he con-
fessed his guilt and then took his own
life. The grief of the brother when this
intelligence was read to him was terrible.



He became fairly transformed, frenzied
with grief. "My God, my God, why did
he do it !" burst from him again, as he
paced the room. He finally became suf-
ficiently calm to ask that the dispatch be
suppressed, which was cheerfully acceded
TO, the other morning papers doing the
same.