ow--Joe Wilkes and his unique
Proposal--Gloomy Prospects--The face at the cell-window._

There is not a pleasanter place in the world for a summer residence than
Blackwell's Island! The chief edifices are substantial, and the grounds are
laid out with exceeding care. The water-scape is delightfully invigorating,
and the sojourners at this watering-place are not of that transient class
which one finds at Nahant, Newport, and other pet resorts. Indeed, it is
usual to spend from six to eight months on the "Island," and one has the
advantage of contracting friendships which are not severed at the first
approach of the "cold term"--for the particulars of which "cold term," see
that funny old _savant_ of Brooklyn Heights, who has a facetious way of
telling us that it has been raining, after the shower is over.--Bless him!

Such institutions as "Blackwell's Island" are godsends to the _literati_. A
poor devil of an author, who has a refined taste for suburban air, but
whose finances preclude his dreaming of Nahant, has only to mix himself up
in a street fight, or some other interesting city episode, to be entitled
to a country-seat at the expense of his grateful admirers! Owing to a
little oversight on his part, the author of this veracious history took a
passage for "Blackwell's Island" a trifle earlier in the season than he had
anticipated; and it is at that delightful region these pages are indited.

But the Tombs--heaven save us from that!

There are many pleasanter places in New-York than the Tombs; for that
clumsy piece of Egyptian architecture--its dingy marble walls, its
nail-studded doors and sickening atmosphere--is uncommonly disagreeable as
a dwelling. Many startling tragedies have been enacted there--scenes of
eternal farewells and lawful murders. I could not count on my fingers the
number of men who have entered its iron gates full of life, and come out
cold, still and dreadful!

It was here that Mortimer was brought.

Within, all was sombre and repulsive. Without, there was hum of voices, and
the frosty rails which ran in front of the prison creaked dismally as the
heavy freight cars passed over them; but these sounds of life were not
heard inside.

The cell of Mortimer and its occupants, the morning after his arrest,
presented a scene of gloomy picturesqueness.

Through a grated window, some six feet from the stone floor, a strip of
sunshine came and went, falling on Mortimer, who leaned thoughtful