MR. WM. LAWSON'S ESCAPADE. -- A high-minded public-spirited citizen is Amos STECK.  Nature intended him to be a guardian (angel) of the public peace, but he has mostly allowed himself to run to seed in other less important and useful avocations.  He is, or rather was, when his eyes were good, a diligent reader of newspapers, and announcement of burglaries in different localities, continued week after week, filled him with indignant surprise.  They finally aroused in his valorous breast a determination to make captive with his own spear and shield one of more of the scoundrels who had thus far robbed and ravished with impunity.  He went into training to tone up his flabby muscles, and improved so rapidly that after being tightly girthed he could raise 150 pounds weight with comparative ease; he considered himself in good fighting trim and more than a match for any ferocious burglar.  One dark eventful night about a week ago, the long-sought opportunity occurred; and without even apprising his family, or making his will, he recklessly rushed forth "with a heart for every fate."  Having provided himself with a dark lantern, attired in a pair of pants and white shirt, he started out -- not as Diogenes did, in search of an honest man -- but eager to impound a live burglar.  While leisurely strolling on his beat up and down Camp Street, he suddenly saw a strange looking man striding along the side walk.  He hailed him.  The man, without noticing the call, hurried on.  This in itself was a very suspicious circumstance, but Amos thought he would try moral suasion before proceeding to extremities, and yelled at him again.  There was no reply.  Amos now felt sure of his man, and, creeping carefully behind him, resolutely grasped him by the shoulder.
Now the party seized was no less a personage than Mr. LAWSON, owner of the Swansea Works, [formerly of Blennerhasset, Cumberland], who can't hear a sound of less dimensions than the roar of a twenty-pound cannon with any degree of distinctness.  He too had been regaling himself with pleasant yarns about burglars, and the moment he felt the hand on his shoulder he knew it was that of a bloody garrotter.  Quick as a flash he turned and let fly a blow with terrific force, which was very cleverly and squarely stopped by the frontispiece of STECK.  First knock down and blood for LAWSON.  Amos, firmly believing that a mule had kicked him, was confusedly trying to fix in heavenly space some of the most brilliant of the many thousand meteors which were dancing before his closed peepers, when LAWSON fortunately got a glimpse of the supposed burglar, and with the ejaculation, "My God, STECK, is that you?"  the recognition became mutual between the two intimate friends.  Of course the dismantled STECK was assisted home, each pledging the other on the way to profound secrecy.  After washing the gore from his face and soaking his head in a gallon of amica, the chop-fallen Amos then groped, growled, and stumbled his way to bed.  Next morning Mrs. STECK rose in great alarm, wondering what the strange object by her side could be.  Being reassured by the knuckleberry mark on his left arm of the identity of her husband, her first exclamation was, "Good heaven!  Amos, what's the matter with your nose and eyes?"  "Them nose!  those eye!" feebly responded Amos, and then followed explanations and expletives.  But he wasn't at home to anybody all that day.  Everything looks like a "darkly, deeply, beautiful blue" optical illusion to the man who in trying to nab a burglar got caught himself.  He is willing to bet two to one that LAWSON, though no pugilist, can whip Tom ALLEN at a moment's notice.  He thinks the new Keely Motor is no touch to LAWSON, whose fist (he knows for he has felt it) has a pressure of 50,000 pounds to the square inch.  Amos, with his green, yellow blue, purple, black, ring-streaked, and speckled orbs, now constitutes a moving spectacle for gods to weep over and men to laugh at.    P.S. -- Mr. STECK has the sympathies of the entire community in his misfortune. -- Denver Mirror.