“I will here remark, that while the morphia will give most instant relief in sciatica, it seldom performs a perfect cure. But in both cases I knew it would serve my purpose. As soon as ‘Cap’ was safe, I called in his companions, who appeared still more amazed than at first. They held their faces to his to see that he breathed, and would shake their heads and go out. I told them that I should have to remain with the man five or six hours. At this announcement one of the company got furious, and said, ‘It’s all a trick to save his neck from the halter,’ and concluded by saying at the top of his voice, ‘Come to the tree, to the tree!’ The men all left the room, assembled in the yard, and had a consultation. It was now after eleven o’clock, and as they had a large flask of brandy with them they appeared to keep themselves well-filled, from the manner in which the room kept scented up. At this juncture one of the company, a tall, red-haired man, whose face was completely covered with beard, entered the room, took his seat at the table, drew out of his pocket a revolver, laid it on the table, and began to fill his mouth with tobacco. The men outside mounted their horses and rode away, one of whom distinctly shouted, ‘Remember, four o’clock.’ I continued to visit one and then the other of the invalids, feeling their pulse, and otherwise showing my interest in their recovery. “The brandy appeared to have as salutary effect on the man at the table as the morphia had on the sick, for he was fast asleep in a few minutes. The only impediment in the way of my escape now was a large dog, which it was difficult to keep from me when I first came to the house, and was now barking, snapping, and growling, as if he had been trained to it. “Many modes of escape suggested themselves to me while the time was thus passing, the most favored of which was to seize the revolver, rush out of the house, and run my chance with the dog. However, before I could put any of these suggestions into practice, the woman went out, called ‘Lion, Lion,’ and returned, followed by the dog, which she made lie down by her as she reseated herself. In a low whisper, this woman, whose fate deserves to be a better one, said,--‘They are going to hang you at four o’clock; now is your time to go.’ The clock was just striking two when I arose, and with a grateful look, left the house. Taking the road that I had come, and following it down, I found my hat, and after walking some distance out of the way by mistake, I reached the station, and took the morning train for Cincinnati.” I cannot conclude this sketch of our author’s life without alluding to an incident which occurred at Aurora, my native town, on a visit to that place in the winter of 1844. Dr. Brown was advertised to speak in the old church, which he found filled to overflowing, with an audience made up mostly of men who had previously determined that the meeting should not be held.