Criminal Reminiscences and Detective Sketches

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G. W. Carleton, 1878 - Detectives - 324 pages
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Page 278 - Many unthinking people have come to believe that there is something mysterious, wonderful and awful about the detective. All my life, and in every manner in my power, I have endeavored to break down this popular superstition, but it would seem that it could not be done.
Page 46 - there was only one thing to do and that was to proceed in the discussion of the treaty by way of amendment and reservation.
Page 57 - ... it wore The semblance of a face endeared By ties that he should know no more — The ties of mother and of son ; No stronger bonds on earth are riven : Perhaps it was that same dear one, That beckoned her lost child to heaven. And recollection, sad but sweet, Stole o'er his senses like a thief; And he, unconscious of the cheat, Forgot his shame, forgot his grief. His thoughts were far away from here, 'Mid scenes where once he used to roam ; With friends and kindred, fond and dear, Within his...
Page 303 - When he returned he called me up one evening and said that he had been thinking the matter over and had come to the conclusion that I was right and that we would have to follow our full-value assessment.
Page 59 - Dim grew the little star's bright beam, A dark cloud o'er the heavens crept — The captive started — 'twas no dream, And then he turned aside and wept. 'Twas his first crime, and guilt and fear Had pressed him deeply, darkly down, No^penitential tear could cheer, No grief his crying conscience drown.
Page 63 - From lips that all-unconscious spoke. I saw the secret of his heart By slow and sure degrees unfold, As night by night, and part by part, His sad and cruel tale was told. The slave of men,* who bought and sold Their brother felons for a price, Whose creed is gain, whose god is gold, Whose virtue is another's vice ; Who live by crime, and rave and storm At those who hate their hellish lust, Curse God, religion and reform, And all that makes men good and just. Who seemed to think him born to be The...
Page 55 - Since, piece by piece, and stone by stone, They wrought me in this dismal cell. Through storm and calm, and sun and rain, Six thousand years since I had birth, On yonder hill-side I have lain, Soft in thy bosom, Mother Earth. But rude men sought my resting-place, And with a sudden, fearful shock, They tore me from thy strong embrace, The wreck of a once mighty rock. They formed me in this living grave, A thing abhorred, a loathsome den : Here am I now, man's wretched slave, To guard and grind his...
Page 68 - He laughed to think how many times He sinned unpunished, and uncaught, What nameless and unnumbered crimes That " red right hand " of his had wrought. He laughed when he remembered how His wrongs were soothed in human woes ; And he but one lone captive now, To his ten thousand, thousand foes. He cursed the faithless hopes that first His too confiding heart beguiled ; He cursed his innocence, he cursed The dreams that mocked him when a child. He cursed his lonely prison den, And death, hell, and the...
Page 62 - With sunken eyes and hollow cheeks ; His haggard face and matted hair With dungeon dirt and damp defiled ; The hate, the anguish and despair, Seen in his glances fierce and wild. The muttered curses, deep and long, That bubbled up at every breath, All told a tale of ruthless wrong, Of smothered ire, revenge and death. Again he knelt, but not in prayer, And called on God, but not for grace; But with blasphemous oaths to swear Undying vengeance on his race. Calmly he laid him down, as lies The weary...
Page 64 - Or, half unconscious, sat and moped Upon the cold and slimy ground. He spoke, with agonizing cries, Of tortures pen can ne'er depict, That none but demons could devise, And none but hell's foul fiends inflict ; Now writhing as in mortal pangs, Now gasping hurriedly for breath, Now trembling like the wretch that hangs Suspended o'er the brink of death.

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