With bitter sarcasm she invited one to enter and “bring a brush and see if he could find in that house one crumb of bread!” She told them exactly “how many weeks a man could live upon a kit of tools pawned one by one;” she reviled them as “thieves” for stealing her husband’s “great thoughts and ideas of acting;” jeered at them for “cowards,” that they had not “dared to stab him,” though they had “dogged his steps with evil intent many a dark night;” hailed them as “hypocrites,” because they hid their joy and, pretending grief, came here and offered “decent burial”--and as they slowly withdrew, she stood upon her doorstep and called after them: “Hypocrites! hypocrites! You starved him to slow death--and he was broken-hearted!” The word seemed to catch her own ear. She paused--slowly she repeated, “broken-hearted!” Then suddenly she caught the clue--flung her gaunt arms wide--she lifted her tortured eyes to the sky, and with a burst of bitter triumph, cried: “But a broken and contrite heart, O God, shalt Thou not despise!” And hearing that splendid declaration--that so thrills with hope!--those who had all unintentionally worked her woe, bowed their heads and breathed a quick--Amen! John Hickey: Coachman John Hickey: Coachman “This is to certify that the bearer, John Hickey, five years in my employ, is as honest a man as ever strode a horse. “(Signed), MCDOWELL, General.” The bearer, John Hickey, stood tall, straight and uncovered before me, while I read the above recommendation. There were several others, but I never looked at them. I knew something of “McDowell, General,” in California, and I was persuaded that a man who served him for five years possessed something more than “honesty” in the outfit of his virtues.