Democratic Sentinel, Volume 8, Number 10, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 4 April 1884 — John Bradley. [ARTICLE]

John Bradley.

No night was so dark, no wintry blast so catting that John Bradley refused to leave his bed to extend the hand of charity. A poor man, ih a worldly sense—aud indeed living monuments of soul-kindled sympathy nearly always are—yet in the richness of good deeds he was a millionaire. I well remember tlio first time I ever saw him. " I can never forget the lost. The first time he was standing over a burly man whom he had knocked down for speaking lightly of a lady who passed along the sidewalk. The last time—well as faithfully as a hand can execute an honest - effort I will relate the facts, gloomy as their very recollection makes me feel: One day, while in a neighboring town, I met Bradley. He had come out to paint a church, and was ou his way to the building. After exchanging a few words, I passed, and had gone but a short distance when a loud cry of “git out of my way 1” caused me to turn back into the main street. People were hurrying from the thoroughfare and seeking refuge in neighboring stores. 1 soon discovered the cause of the panic. A team of horses attached to a wagon tore madly down the street, and bobbing above the side boards the head of a child was seen. Some one rushed from the sidewalk, and seized one of the horses by the bridle. I knew in an instaut that Bradley was the man. He struggled with the strength of a hero, and hod succeeded in turning the team toward a wall, when he was lifted from the ground, thrown down, and run over by the wagon. The horses stopped. The crowd rushed up. Poor Bradley was fearfully mangled. One of the horses had planted his iron hoof on the brave man’s breast. Life was almost extinct when we took him up, and when we laid him on a bed he muttered something and said, “Poor Mary.” These were his last words. His friends brought a coffin from the city, and I went back to town on the tram that carried h n remains. I knew nothing of his domestio relations, and even now I wish there had been no revelation. I knew not where his family lived, but as I passed along a lonely street a hearse stopped at a door. Hold by the foroe of a strango awe, I stopped when the wheels of the vehicle backed against the stone curbing with an ominous grind. Several men slowly approached, and thon with a piercing shriek a woman oamo out. One of the men gently took her arm, but she tore away from him, and, wildly swaying her arms, exclaimed: “My God! why hast Thou forsaken me?" Women with their gontle touch came, and with soft wordß tried to hush the wild cries of tho heart-broken widow, but she threw her arms wildly around. Striking the ohffin, she grasped the oloth-covercd repository of death and pressed it to her besom, as a wild wail went up from her soul; tho-i, opening wide her lusterless eyes, she pressed her forehead against the glass that covered the dead man’s face. A man turned to me and said: “The poor woman is blind. She has not seen her huabaud for five years.” Her wild motions were then explained. She was feeling for the coffin, and, finding it, tried to force away the darkness with the mighty effort of despair.—Texas S if tings.