at the prison in Charlestown, and I was the only person of his acquaintance, who went to see him during his long imprisonment. I also, by his request, sent him the New York _Evangelist_ and _Observer_, and other New York papers. The kind Superintendent of the Prison often wrote me, that the boy was popular with the officers of the Prison, and also with the prisoners in the Sunday school, and prayer meetings, and in the debating Society of the captives, and was a leader in all the religious and musical and literary exercises of the prison. His time expired, and he came to New York, and immediately flew to me. I gave him money, and he soon ascertained in what part of the country his aunt was engaged in her profession of theatricals, and he soon found her, and became an actor, although he had promised his Grandmother on her dying bed that he would never be an actor. He subsequently performed in this city, at Burton’s in Chamber street, and Burton discharged him and leveled a revolver at his head, for a suspected intimacy with an actress. He went to Providence, where we saw him perform at the Theatre in Westminster street. The New York _Police Gazette_ attacked him and exposed his antecedents, whose publication he assured me Burton obtained and paid for, to injure him and drive him from this section of the country, and I told him he had no right to cast affectionate glances at Burton’s actress; that Burton was justified in his revenges even unto death, and I advised him to leave New England and the central States, and he did, and got married, and had children, and I recently saw his affable and accomplished aunt, who told me that her nephew had risen to the summit of his profession, and that he was a good husband and father, and that he was rapidly accumulating a splendid fortune. And now, dear reader, you may enjoy this exciting and truthful narrative, but I do not. And I will tell you the reason why. This boy has become a valuable member of society, and entertains multitudes of his species, and excites their mirth and grateful sadness, and arouses their hatred of dishonor and oppression, and is, like every meritorious actor, an honor and a benefactor of his race. And hence it is most acutely painful to array his past sad career before his vision and the world. And yet I had to disclose his melancholy story, in order to expose the rascality of the officials of this Metropolis. And here again I am in sack cloth. For Judge Russell is the ardent friend of James Gordon Bennett, who has clung to me in days of illness and penury and gloom, when I often expected to drop dead in the streets of New York. And then again, Wm. Curtis Noyes married the favorite daughter of Superintendent Frederick A. Tallmadge, and Mr. Noyes has been like a brother to me, and has loaned me money to buy bread and shoes during my recent pecuniary calamities, when nearly every being on the face of God’s earth refused to loan me a farthing