Prisons and Prayer Part 78

The governor replied, "Because some day that boy may become a governor, and you may want him to pardon you for a crime. One dark stormy night many years ago you stopped your boat on the Mississippi River to take on a load of wood. There was a boy on board working his way from New Orleans to St. Louis, but he was very sick of fever and was lying in a bunk. You had plenty of men to do the work but you went to that boy with a stick of wood in your hand and drove him with blows and curses out into the wretched night and kept him toiling like a slave until the load was completed. I was that boy. Here is your pardon. Never again be guilty of such brutality."

The man, cowering and hiding his face, went out without a word.

What a n.o.ble revenge that was, and what a lesson for a bully.--_Success._

NO TELEPHONE IN HEAVEN.

"Now, I can wait on baby," the smiling merchant said, As he stooped and softly toyed with the golden, curly head.

"I want oo to tall up mamma," came the answer full and free, "Wif yo' telephone an' ast her when she's tummin' back to me.

"Tell her I so lonesome 'at I don't know what to do, An' papa cries so much I dess he must be lonesome, too; Tell her to tum to baby, 'tause at night I dit so 'fraid, Wif n.o.body here to tiss me, when the light bedins to fade.

"All froo de day I wants her, for my dolly dot so tored Fum the awful punchin' Buddy gave it wif his little sword; An' ain't n.o.body to fix it, since mamma went away, An' poor 'ittle lonesome dolly's dittin' thinner ever' day."

"My child," the merchant murmured, as he stroked the anxious brow, "There's no telephone connection where your mother lives at now."

"Ain't no telephone in Heaven?" and tears sprang to her eyes.

"I fought dat G.o.d had every'fing wif Him up in de skies."

--_Atlanta Const.i.tution._

PERFECT THROUGH FAITH.

G.o.d would not send you the darkness If He felt you could bear the light, But you would not cling to His guiding hand If the way were always bright; And you would not care to walk by faith Could you always walk by sight.

'Tis true He has many an anguish For your sorrowing heart to bear, And many a cruel thorn-crown For your tired head to wear; He knows how few would reach home at all If pain did not guide them there.

If He sends you in blinding darkness, And the furnace of seven-fold heat; 'Tis the only way, believe me, To keep you close to His feet; For 'tis always so easy to wander When our lives are glad and sweet.

Then nestle your hand in our Father's And sing if you can as you go; Your song may cheer some one behind you Whose courage is sinking low; And, well if your lips do quiver, G.o.d will love you better so.

--_Selected._

A TRUE HERO.

Two men were sinking a shaft. It was dangerous business, for it was necessary to blast the rock. It was their custom to cut the fuse with a sharp knife. One man then entered the bucket and made a signal to be hauled up. When the bucket again descended, the other man entered it, and with one hand on the signal rope and the other holding the fire, he touched the fuse, made the signal, and was rapidly drawn up before the explosion took place.

One day they left the knife above, and rather than ascend to procure it, they cut the fuse with a sharp stone. It took fire. "The fuse is on fire!" Both men leaped into the bucket, and made the signal; but the windla.s.s would haul up but one man at a time; only one could escape. One of the men instantly leaped out, and said to the other, "Up wi' ye; I'll be in heaven in a minute." With lightning speed the bucket was drawn up, and the one man was saved. The explosion took place. Men descended, expecting to find the mangled body of the other miner; but the blast had loosened a ma.s.s of rock, and it lay diagonally across him; and, with the exception of a few bruises and a little scorching, he was unhurt. When asked why he urged his comrade to escape, he gave a reason that sceptics would laugh at. If there is any being on the face of the earth I pity, it is a sceptic. I would not be called "a sceptic," today for all this world's wealth. They may call it superst.i.tion or fanaticism, or whatever they choose. But what did this hero say when asked, "Why did you insist on this other man's ascending?" In his quaint dialect, he replied, "Because I knowed my soul was safe; for I've give it in the hands of Him of whom it is said, that 'faithfulness is the girdle of his reins,' and I knowed that what I gied Him He'd never gie up. But t'other chap was an awful wicked lad, and I wanted to gie him another chance." All the infidelity in the world cannot produce such a signal act of heroism as that.--_Selected._

THE "KID."

It was not a long procession or a pleasing one but it attracted much attention.

There was a policeman in the lead. Beside him walked a stockey, bullnecked young fellow in a yellowish suit of loud plaid. His face was b.l.o.o.d.y and his right wrist encircled by the bracelet of the "twisters" which shackled him to his captor. The face of the policeman was also b.l.o.o.d.y and his clothes were torn. Behind these two walked three other patrolmen, each with a handcuffed prisoner.

The "kid" and his "gang" had been caught in the act of robbing a saloon, and the fight had been lively, although short. The prisoners had been taken to the detectives' office, and photographed and registered for the rogues' gallery. They were now on their way to court, and thence, in all probability, to jail.

At Broadway there was a jam of cars and heavy trucks, and the procession had to wait. n.o.body has been able to tell just what happened, but they all agree as to the essential points. First the bystanders saw a streak of yellow, which was the kid; then a streak of blue which was the policeman. The prisoner had wrenched the twisters from his captors' hand, and made a dash across the tracks. The policeman, thinking, of course that he was trying to escape, had followed.

Then everybody saw a little child toddling along in the middle of the track. A cable-car, with clanging bell, was bearing down upon it with a speed which the gripman seemed powerless to check. The baby held up its hands, and laughed at the sound of the gong. On the other side of the street a woman was screaming and struggling in the arms of three or four men who were trying to keep her from sacrificing her own life to save that of her child.

Then the kid stood there with the child safe in his arms, the steel twisters hanging from his wrist. He set the baby down gently at his feet, loosened the clasp of the chubby hand on his big red fist, and quietly held out his wrist to the policeman to be handcuffed again. He had one chance in a million for his life when he made that desperate leap, but he had not hesitated the fraction of a second.

CHARGED WITH MURDER.

"Prisoner at the bar, have you anything to say why sentence of death should not be pa.s.sed upon you?"

A solemn hush fell over the crowded court-room, and every person waited in almost breathless expectation for the answer to the judge's question.

"I have, your honor! I stand here convicted of the murder of my wife.

Witnesses have testified that I was a loafer, a drunkard and a wretch; that I returned from one of my debauches and fired the shot that killed the wife I had sworn to love, cherish and protect. While I have no remembrance of committing the awful deed, I have no right to condemn the verdict of the jury, for their verdict is in accordance with the evidence.

"But, may it please the court, I wish to show that I am not alone responsible for the murder of my wife! The judge on this bench, the jury in the box, the lawyers within this bar and most of the witnesses, including the pastor of the church, are also guilty before G.o.d and will have to stand with me before His judgment throne, where we shall all be righteously judged.

"If it had not been for the saloons of my town, I never would have become a drunkard; my wife would not have been murdered; I would not be here now, soon to be hurled into eternity.

"For one year our town was without a saloon. For one year I was a sober man. For one year my wife and children were happy and our little home was a paradise.

"I was one of those who signed remonstrances against re-opening the saloons of our town. One-half of this jury, the prosecuting attorney on this case, and the judge who sits on this bench, all voted for the saloons. By their votes and influence the saloons were opened, and they have made me what I am.

"Think you that the Great Judge will hold me--the poor, weak, helpless victim--alone responsible for the murder of my wife? Nay; I, in my drunken, frenzied, irresponsible condition have murdered one; but you have deliberately voted for the saloons which have murdered thousands, and they are in full operation today with your consent. You legalized the saloons that made me a drunkard and a murderer, and you are guilty with me before G.o.d and man for the murder of my wife.

"I will close by solemnly asking G.o.d to open your blind eyes to your own individual responsibility, so that you will cease to give your support to this h.e.l.l-born traffic."--_Sel._

MOTHER'S FACE.

There's a feeling comes across me-- Comes across me often now-- And it deepest seems when trouble Lays her finger on my brow; O it is a deep, deep feeling, Neither happiness nor pain!

'Tis a mighty, soulful longing To see mother's face again!

'Tis, I think, a natural feeling; Worst of me, I can't control Myself no more! It seems to stir And thrill my very soul!

Try to laugh it off--but useless!

Oh! my tears will fall like rain When I get this soulful longing Just to see her face again!

You won't know how much you love her (Your old mother) till you roam 'Way off where her voice can't reach you, And with strangers make your home; Then you'll know how big your heart is, Think you never loved before, When you get this mighty longing Just to see her face once more.

Mother! tender, loving soul!

Heaven bless her dear old face!

I'd give half my years remaining Just to give her one embrace; Or to shower love-warm kisses On her lips, and cheeks, and brow, And appease this mighty longing That I get so often now!

--_Sel._

ONLY SIXTEEN.