A worthy
citizen in going home through Merchant Street between eight and nine
o'clock in the evening was approached from behind by a person who,
pressing his arm over his shoulder thrust a knife into his breast.
Luckily the knife encountered in its passage a thick pocket memorandum
book which it cut through, and but for which, he would have lost his
life. The intended assassin undoubtedly mistook him for another person
whom he somewhat resembled. A few days after a gentleman passing by the
Oriental Hotel heard the report of a pistol, and was sensible of the
passage of a ball through his hat in most uncomfortable proximity to his
head. A person immediately stepped up to him saying, "Excuse me, I
thought it was another man."
The ally of the people in times of difficulty and danger, the Press,
seemed subservient from choice to this vile domination, or overawed and
controlled by it. Experience had proved that its conductors could be
true, bold, effective only at the peril of their lives.
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