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Updated: June 29, 2025
He served three years in the Seventh Minnesota and after the war was foreman of the Pioneer. M.J. Clum is one of the oldest printers in St. Paul. He was born in Rensselar county, New York, in 1832, and came to St. Paul in 1853. He learned his trade in Troy, and worked with John M. Francis, late minister to Greece, and also with C.L. McArthur, editor of the Northern Budget. Mr.
He had done the greatest thing a man can do, had offered his life for his friends. It is pleasant to know that this sacrifice was averted. A quarter of a minute or so before the second and terrible explosion, Devanny and his men came staggering from the building. Then it was that Merron fell, and McArthur checked his fight to save him. He had waited for them, he had stood the great test.
Only McArthur, and David, and the moon saw Rosalind spring to her seat on Golightly's back. Only the moon saw her with flushed cheeks and beating heart riding for life through the trees of the forest. If only she could get clear of the first two or three miles, she was safe to reach her destination in time.
At half-past eight o'clock the division moved; McArthur with two of his regiments, the Ninth and Twelfth Illinois, went to support Stuart's brigade at its isolated camp at the extreme left of the National line, having sent the Thirteenth Missouri to Sherman, and left the Fourteenth Missouri and Eighty-first Ohio to guard the bridge over Snake Creek, on the Crump's Landing road.
Reader! if you have a heart in the right place it will be needless for us to dwell upon the feelings of that old slave, as she drags her infirm body to the shambles of the extremely kind vender of people. ON his return from the theatre, Mr. McArthur finds his daughter, Maria, waiting him in great anxiety.
We hitched up in the morning and drove into the Fort, where we were very kindly treated by the commanding officer, whose name, I think, was McArthur. He tendered us a large room with tables, pen and ink, paper and "envelope paper," where we wrote the first letters home from Nebraska, which, I believe, were all received with much joy.
The highlight of his lecture, when he awes his audience, is when he whips out his proof: a blood smear on a slide genuine Venusian blood, an affidavit from his landlady stating he wasn't home on three occasions, and a photo of a Venusian walking in Los Angeles' McArthur Park. The mere fact that the Venusian looks like any Joe Doakes walking down the street is a picayunish point.
In the following year by invitation of the French Missionary Society he visited Paris, and while there addressed a meeting of 4000 Sunday-school children. On the 20th of December, 1878, he received the freedom of the City of London, and somewhat over two years later was the guest of the then Lord Mayor, Alderman, now Sir William, McArthur, for several days, a banquet being given in his honour.
McArthur took a silver dollar from his pocket and said: 'Hard, I believe I could lay this dollar on that stump over there and come back here in a year and find it there. Old Charley turned around, his wrinkled face twisted into a grin. 'No, he said, 'no find him nex' year. Mr. Slade he get him nex' morning.
And now, reader, turn with us to another scene of hope and anxiety. The steamer which bears Tom to Charleston is off Cape Romaine. He has already heard of the fate of the old man McArthur. But, he asks himself, may not truth and justice yet triumph?
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