A COMMON INCIDENT SHORTLY TOLD.
THE dead body of Mr. Lawrence M'Fadden, whose heart was strong with
love of southern democracy, lies upon two pine-boards, ghastly and
unshrouded, in a wretched slave-pen. Romescos, surrounded by
admiring friends, has found his way to the gaol, where, as is the
custom, he has delivered himself up to its keeper. He has spent a
good night in that ancient establishment, and on the following
morning finds his friends vastly increased. They have viewed him as
rather desperate now and then; but, knowing he is brave withal, have
"come to the rescue" on the present occasion. These frequent visits
he receives with wonderful coolness and deference, their meats and
drinks (so amply furnished to make his stay comfortable) being a
great Godsend to the gaoler, who, while they last, will spread a
princely table.
Brien Moon, Esq.-better known as the good-natured coroner-has placed
a negro watchman over the body of the deceased, on which he proposes
to hold one of those curious ceremonies called inquests. Brien Moon,
Esq. is particularly fond of the ludicrous, is ever ready to
appreciate a good joke, and well known for his happy mode of
disposing of dead dogs and cats, which, with anonymous letters, are
in great numbers entrusted to his care by certain waggish gentlemen,
who desire he will "hold an inquest over the deceased, and not
forget the fees." It is said-the aristocracy, however, look upon the
charge with contempt-that Brien Moon, Esq. makes a small per centage
by selling those canine remains to the governor of the workhouse,
which very humane gentleman pays from his own pocket the means of
transferring them into giblet-pies for the inmates. It may be all
scandal about Mr. Moon making so large an amount from his office;
but it is nevertheless true that sad disclosures have of late been
made concerning the internal affairs of the workhouse.
The hour of twelve has arrived; and since eight in the morning Mr.
Moon's time has been consumed in preliminaries necessary to the
organisation of a coroner's jury. The reader we know will excuse our
not entering into the minuti of the organisation. Eleven jurors
have answered the summons, but a twelfth seems difficult to procure.
John, the good Coroner's negro servant, has provided a sufficiency
of brandy and cigars, which, since the hour of eleven, have been
discussed without stint. The only objection our worthy disposer of
the dead has to this is, that some of his jurors, becoming very
mellow, may turn the inquest into a farce, with himself playing the
low-comedy part. The dead body, which lies covered with a sheet, is
fast becoming enveloped in smoke, while no one seems to have a
passing thought for it. Colonel Tom Edon,--who, they say, is not
colonel of any regiment, but has merely received the title from the
known fact of his being a hogdriver, which honourable profession is
distinguished by its colonels proceeding to market mounted, while
the captains walk,--merely wonders how much bad whiskey the dead 'un
consumed while he lived.
"This won't do!" exclaims Brien Moon, Esq., and proceeds to the door
in the hope of catching something to make his mournful number
complete. He happens upon Mr. Jonas Academy, an honest cracker, from
Christ's parish, who visits the city on a little business. Jonas is
a person of great originality, is enclosed in loosely-setting
homespun, has a woe-begone countenance, and wears a large-brimmed
felt hat. He is just the person to make the number complete, and is
led in, unconscious of the object for which he finds himself a
captive. Mr. Brien Moon now becomes wondrous grave, mounts a barrel
at the head of the corpse, orders the negro to uncover the body, and
hopes gentlemen will take seats on the benches he has provided for
them, while he proceeds to administer the oath. Three or four yet
retain their cigars: he hopes gentlemen will suspend their smoking
during the inquest. Suddenly it is found that seven out of the
twelve can neither read nor write; and Mr. Jonas Academy makes known
the sad fact that he does not comprehend the nature of an oath,
never having taken such an article in his life. Five of the
gentlemen, who can read and write, are from New England; while Mr.
Jonas Academy declares poor folks in Christ's parish are not fools,
troubled with reading and writing knowledge. He has been told they
have a thing called a college at Columbia; but only haristocrats get
any good of it. In answer to a question from Mr. Moon, he is happy
to state that their parish is not pestered with a schoolmaster.
"Yes, they killed the one we had more nor two years ago, thank Good!
Han't bin trubl'd with one o' the critters since" he adds, with
unmoved nerves. The Coroner suggests that in a matter of expediency
like the present it may be well to explain the nature of an oath;
and, seeing that a man may not read and write, and yet comprehend
its sacredness, perhaps it would be as well to forego the letter of
the law. "Six used to do for this sort of a jury, but now law must
have twelve," says Mr. Moon. Numerous voices assent to this, and Mr.
Moon commences what he calls "an halucidation of the nature of an
oath." The jurors receive this with great satisfaction, take the
oath according to his directions, and after listening to the
statement of two competent witnesses, who know but very little about
the affair, are ready to render a verdict,--"that M'Fadden, the
deceased, came to his death by a stab in the left breast, inflicted
by a sharp instrument in the hand or hands of Anthony Romescos,
during an affray commonly called a rencontre, regarding which there
are many extenuating circumstances." To this verdict Mr. Moon
forthwith bows assent, directs the removal of the body, and invites
the gentlemen jurors to join him in another drink, which he does in
compliment to their distinguished services. The dead body will be
removed to the receiving vault, and Mr. Moon dismisses his jurors
with many bows and thanks; and nothing more.