43

MONDAY, THE CONFESSOR.

In a Brand New Suit of Clothes He Takes a Train for Kansas...

Monday McFarland, the famed confessor, has temporarily, at least, shaken the dust of Lincoln from his feet and has gone to White Cloud, Kansas, to relate to his poor old black mother the narrow chance he ran of having his swarthy neck stretched. He was arrayed in a new suit of clothes and had a little pocket money, both of which were furnished him by his attorneys, who place an exorbitant estimate upon their client as an example of what wonderful effects may be secured from a strict application of the abstract principles of law.

There is a rich field open for this young man. The Sheedy case has attracted attention from the reading public from New York to San Francisco, and it is suspected that there is at least one young man in a foreign land who has kept himself posted upon its progress. People all over the United States would doubtless drop a dime in the slot to see the darkey who had four times confessed to having committed a brutal murder, and who had been convicted of falsehood by an incredulous jury. He ought to go into the musee business.

At an early hour yesterday forenoon McFarfand was observed walking along P street in the direction of the Burlington depot carrying a satchel in his left hand, while his right grasped the handle of a basket filled with rare flowers. The ebony hued barber ended his way to the depot unmindful of the hundreds of eyes that followed him on his way. His face wore the same satisfied grin that has haunted it ever since the moment the jury had declared him a free man. Arriving at the station McFarland purchased a ticket for Atchison and in a short time he was on his way southward from the scene of trouble.

In Memoriam.

"Death rides on every passing breeze. He lurks in every flower."