The subject of this sketch is the third son of Thomas and Mary Ann Jones, who emigrated from England to the United States, and settled in Cleveland in the Spring of 1831, where they still reside, They were the parents of nine sons and four daughters, all of whom, save one son and one daughter, are still living.

James Milton Jones enjoyed only such moderate advantages in the way of education as were afforded by the common and high schools of the day, and by the classical and English school of the late lamented and most accomplished educator, H. D. Beattie, A. M.; but his memory was good, he was a close student, and he therefore readily and easily familiarized himself with the studies in which he engaged. He early manifested unusual taste and fondness for composition, and his inclination and talent in that direction were much cultivated and improved by assiduous study of the best standard works in prose and poetry.

On leaving school he became interested as a partner in the marble manufactory of T. Jones & Sons, and acquired a practical knowledge of the business, but never applied himself very closely to its duties.

He joined various literary and forensic societies about the year 1850, composed of some of the best literary and professional talent among the young men of the city, where essays, poems, and discussions on all topics of the day were embraced in the order of exercises; and he soon became marked for his thorough preparation of and familiarity with the subjects of debate, and regarded as a speaker of more than ordinary promise.

He became a frequent contributor, (but never in his own name,) in prose and poetry, to the literary, as well as the daily papers of the day, and especially to the daily Plain Dealer, of which the late J. W. Gray, Esq., was then the accomplished and witty editor, and by whom Mr. Jones was much encouraged, and his contributions frequently commended. As specimens of his poetic contributions, we give the following. It should be noted that with his entry on the actual duties of professional life, Mr. Jones bade a final adieu to the muses:

Woodland Reveries.

In this deep shady dell, Where the soft breezes swell, And beautiful wood-sprites by pearly streams wander-- Where the sweet perfume breathes, O'er angel twined wreaths, Luxuriantly blooming the mossy trees under-- Here, beneath the bright vine Whose leaves intertwine, I'm dreaming of thee, my lost Angeline!

Oh! I think of the time-- Of the warm spring time, When with thee I've wandered, and with thee I've dallied; E're my soul had once dreamed That the roses which seemed So fadeless, could leave thy warm cheek cold and pallid, Or thy dear form decline, From its radiance divine, To press the cold grave sod, my own Angeline!

While the pale starlight laves, With its shadowy waves, A brow, that with memory's anguish is throbbing; Each quivering leaf, Seems trembling with grief, That's borne on the zephyr's low sorrowful sobbing. For that dear form of thine, So oft pressed to mine, My angel-claimed lost one, my own Angeline!

As the stream leaps along, And I list to its song, It sounds like the surging of sorrow's dark river;

When o'er my young bride, Passed its dark rolling tide, And bore her away from my bosum forever; Yes; bore thee to shine In regions divine, Resplendently lovely, and pure, Angeline!

And there, as I gaze On its bright sparkling face, Where pearly white ripples are merrily gleaming, Reflecting each star That shines from afar, The face of my lost one seems tenderly beaming; Yes! there beside mine, Are thy features benign, By memory mirrored, my own Angeline!

As I gently recline, 'Neath the clustering vine, The veil from futurity's vista is lifted, And adown life's wild tide, I rapidly glide, And into eternity's ocean am drifted; And there, soul of mine In regions divine, I meet thee, to part nevermore, Angeline!

A Wreck! A Wreck! "Man the Life Boat."

The blackness of midnight hung over the ocean, And savagely, shrilly, the Storm Spirit screamed. Athwart the dark billows, which wild in commotion, Sublimely, yet awfully, heavenward streamed.

A bark that but rode from her moorings at morning, 'Neath bright sunny skies, and prosperous gales, With streamlet and banner, in beauty adorning Her tapering masts and snowy white sails,

Now rolls in the trough of the tempest-plowed surges! A wreck! madly urged to a rocky bound shore; Where from the dark jaws of wild ocean emerges, To fear-stricken hearts its ominous roar

Her sails are in ribbons, her banners in tatters! Her masts are afloat from the perilous wreck, And now o'er the billows the Tempest Fiend scatters With one mighty effort her hurricane deck!

The voice of the clarion-toned captain is ringing, Above the hoarse murmuring roar of the surge, And an echoing voice, seems sepulchrally flinging, Far back o'er the waves, for the vessel, a dirge.

And now the doomed vessel is beating and crashing, With violence on the dark, rough, rugged rocks; And the tempest-tossed surge, while resistlessly dashing Around her, each effort to save her but mocks.

The lightnings play luridly, fiercely above her, Illuming with horror the wind-cloven waves! Displaying the wreck, as their flashes discover, The victims despairingly gaze on their graves.

For forked and furious, the fiery flung flashes, Gleam o'er the sad wreck like a funeral pyre; And louder and louder each thunder clap crashes. The air in a roar! the billows on fire!

The heart-anguished cries o'er the pitiless waters, Are borne on the blast of the thunder-rocked air, As husbands and wives, as sons and as daughters, Unite in a wild shrieking wail of despair.

But now from the moss covered fisherman's dwelling, The Life-Boat is manned by the chivalrous brave! Though the wild howling storm of the tempest is swelling, They'll peril their own lives, the wrecked ones to save.

And now to the merciless surges they launch her, And back she is flung to the white-pebbled beach! Now cleaves the wild surf, for never a stauncher, Or braver crew mounted a deadlier breach.

Now swift o'er the waves madly bounding and dashing! The nobly manned life-boat speeds on her lone way, Now sinks she below, the waves o'er her splashing, Now cleaves like arrow, the white foaming spray.

And now for a moment she's hid from our vision, As darkness, and thick gloom enshroud her frail form; A flash! and we see that the life-saving mission, Still skims o'er the waves like a Bird of the Storm.

Hurrah! they have triumphed! the wrecked ones no longer Resignedly list to the ocean's hoarse roar; But now with strong arms, that bright Hope has made stronger, They pull with a hearty good-will for the shore.

Hurrah! and Hurrah! on the whirlwind's commotion, And the howl of the storm, uprose cheers from the land; From hearts throbbing wildly with grateful emotion, As safely she reaches the surf-beaten strand.

The Æronaut's Song.

Up! up! from the ground, for the chords that bound Us to earth are rent in twain; And our Aerial boat shall gracefully float, Far, far, o'er the sea and main.

O'er the forest trees, on the rippling breeze, We'll proudly soar away: And higher and higher, will still aspire, Toward realms of endless day.

To regions on high, like an arrow we fly, Through limitless fields of air; And away apace, through trackless space, The giddiest flight we dare.

Earth's brilliance fades, and her everglades Assumes a softer hue; Her hills and dales, her lake gemmed vales Are glorious to the view.

Meandering round enchanted ground, Earth's crystal rivers seem; So far below to brightly flow, Like liquid silver's stream.

Her cloud capped hills o'er rocks and rills, That proudly seem to stand, Now fade like gleams in passing dreams Of lovely fairy land.

Yet on we mount to the drainless fount, Of wild tempestuous storms; And our fairy shrouds now kiss the clouds; In all their varied forms.

Proud man, who at birth was king of the earth, Soon made himself lord of the sea; And now we arise to empyrean skies, For kings of the air are we.

Grim centuries old to the past have rolled, Since the stars from chaos-woke; Yet no earth-born sound hath this deep, profound And solemn silence broke.

The highest note of the lark ne'er floats To this region of sunless cloud; Nor hath eagle bird the silence stir'd, With his screaming, shrill and loud.

Yet our joyous song, as we sweep along In pathless realms afloat, Rings on the air and trembles there, From out our fairy boat.

On eddying waves a thousand caves, Where Aerial spirits throng, Repeat each tone as though they'd known Our unfamiliar song.

O'er billowy seas with fresh'ning breeze, 'Tis glorious oft to roam; And joy to mark a graceful bark, Divide the salt sea foam:

And joy to wake at morning break, When huntsman's bugle sounds, And gaily lead on fiery steed, In chase of deer and hounds.

But moonlight sail with fresh'ning gale, Or merry chase afar, Can ne'er compare with flight through air, In our Aerial Car.

Early in 1853, Mr. Gray, who was also then postmaster, offered him a position in the Cleveland post-office, which he accepted, and entered upon its duties; but at the end of two months, being dissatisfied with the dull routine and monotony of such an occupation, he threw up his position; and having, on the very day he left the post-office, decided to adopt the legal profession, before night he had secured a position in the law office of Charles Stetson, Esq., then in large and active practice, and had entered upon the study of the law, where he continued for over a year and a half, pursuing his studies with assiduity and success. He then entered the law office of Hon. William Collins and pursued his studies with him until June, 1855, when he was admitted to the Bar by the District Court in Delaware, Delaware county, Ohio.

[Illustration: Yours Very Truly, James M. Jones.]

Shortly after his admission to the Bar, he was retained as leading counsel for the defence in the famous "Townsend McHenry" extradition case, a proceeding pending before U. S. Commissioner Grannis, on the charge that the prisoner, who claimed to be Robert McHenry, was no other than the notorious William Townsend, a well known, desperate Canadian highway robber and murderer; and in this Mr. Jones attracted attention by the skill with which he managed it. Indeed, it became necessary to send to Canada for several successive lots of witnesses, before they could make a case. The prisoner was, however, taken to Canada and put upon his trial for murder as William Townsend, the sole question on the trial being one of identity; and a more extraordinary trial in that respect cannot be found in history. And although on the trial about one hundred witnesses testified to his being the veritable William Townsend, he was, nevertheless, able to produce a still larger number of equally credible witnesses to testify that they knew Townsend, and this was not the man, and also such an array of circumstances as satisfied the jury he was not the man, and he was acquitted!

Mr. Jones was nominated by the Republican party of Cleveland as judge of the City Court, in 1857, but in common with the entire ticket, was defeated. He was an early adherent of the old Liberty party, and a warm advocate on the stump and elsewhere, of the election of John C. Fremont to the Presidency, and a firm supporter of Lincoln's administration.

He was appointed Attorney for the Western Union Telegraph Company, one of the largest corporations in the United States, in the year 1865, and has ever since continued, as such attorney, to have charge and supervision of a large and peculiar legal business for the company, extending over the various States and Territories embraced in what is known as the Central Division of the territory covered by its lines. He has made telegraph law a speciality for several years, and has probably had as large and extended experience in that comparatively new and peculiar branch of the law as any other attorney in the country.

He was elected Prosecuting Attorney for the county of Cuyahoga, in the Fall of 1867, and was distinguished during his term for the zeal, fidelity, and ability with which he discharged his officiai duties. It fell to his lot to prosecute many important and difficult criminal cases; prominent among them was the trial of Sarah M. Victor, for the murder, by poison, of her brother, William Parquette. The case was peculiar and remarkable; the murdered man had lain in his grave a whole year before suspicions were aroused that his death was caused by foul play; slight circumstances directed attention to suspicious appearances in the case, which a quiet investigation did not diminish. The prosecutor, therefore, caused the body to be secretly disinterred, and engaged J. L. Cassells, an accomplished chemist, to subject the body to a chemical analysis, which on being done, arsenic in sufficient quantity to produce death was found in the stomach and other internal organs. Her arrest for murder, therefore, immediately took place. The circumstances of the case were well calculated to arouse an intense interest in the public mind as to the result of the trial. The facts that the alleged poisoner was a woman, that the murdered man was her own brother, that her own sister was supposed to be an important witness against her, that the murder, if murder it was, was in the highest degree cruel, mercenary, and devilish, that at the time of her arrest she was prominently connected with religious and benevolent institutions of the city, though it was well known she had previously led an irregular life, and the profound secrecy in which the dark deed had slumbered for a whole year, all seemed to concur in riveting public attention upon it; and yet, previous to the trial, the belief was prevalent in the community generally, as well as among the members of the Bar, that however guilty the prisoner might be, she would not be convicted. In this belief the prosecutor did not share, but at once went to work with his accustomed energy to unravel the evidences of the great crime; and for many weeks, with an energy that never flagged, himself and his assistant, H. B. DeWolf, Esq., patiently and persistently explored the dark secrets of her life, examined hundreds of witnesses, and inextricably wound the coils of evidence around her.

The case, which was tried in the May term of the Court of Common Pleas, 1868, lasted fourteen days, was fully reported phonographically, and made about twenty-seven hundred pages of testimony, which was pronounced, when closed on the part of the State, "a marvelous net-work of circumstantial evidence."

The case was closed by Mr. Jones in an able and conclusive speech of six hours in length. The prisoner was convicted by the jury after but a brief deliberation, and she was sentenced to be hanged, but her sentence was afterward commuted to imprisonment for life. In numerous other important and warmly contested criminal cases Mr. Jones has been almost uniformly successful, displaying in them all, much tact, self-possession, and legal ability.

Mr. Jones was married at Chagrin Falls, Cuyahoga county, Ohio, February 8th, 1860, by the Rev. Luther Lee, to Ermina W., daughter of Harmon and Leonora Barrows, of the latter place.