Democratic Sentinel, Volume 11, Number 27, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 5 August 1887 — The Two Roads in Life. [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

The Two Roads in Life.

BY JAMES FRANKLIN FITTS.

HEN, about fifty years ago, Mr. Otis Kinsman left his home in Albany for a business journey in the West, the undertaking was a very diflFerent thing from our Western trips of to-day. The region of the Mississippi was then the “iar West;” there were very few railroads, and it required not many days to bring the traveler beyond the bounds of canal, stage, and lake transportation,

to a point where he mast needs prosecute his further joumeyings on horseback. To be exact, however, we mast say that when Mr. Kinsman purchased a horse and an equestrian outfit, at a town near the west end of Lake Erie, he had not quite passed beyond the region of stage-coaches. From that place to a village forty miles distant, which we will call Sunderland, there was a bind of stage route; but the advice of good people at the town on the lake determined the traveler not to patronize it. “The coach makes one trip a week each way,” he was told, “and don't leave here next till day after to-morrow. It starts long before daylight, and gets in long after dark. Once I never got through till after midnight—fact! It’s a corduroy road, with holes in places deep enough to hide a wheel. And then ” “Thank you,” interrupted Mr. Kinsman.

“The inducements are very strong not to go in this way. I think I will begin my horseback experience here." He found the road almost as bad as it had been described to him, and though a horseman can get along much better on a poor highway than can a vehicle, it was near ten o’clock at night when he rode into Sunderland. Had not the distance he had ridden, and the time it had required, persuaded him that he must be at the end of his weary day’s journey, he might have doubted the fact. Late as it was, there was a moon which showed him a settlement of scattered buildings, put up with little care in the arrangement of streets, and looking not at all like the thrifty and wellordered village near his Eastern home. But everything yields to hunger and fatigue, and he was not just then disposed to be critical. His friend at the lake town, who treated everything in that new country as the proper subject of a joke, had told him that there were two taverns in Sunderland, both of which were about as bad as they could be. "But which is the best?” Mr. Kinsman •asked. “Well, sir, there ain’t any best. Go to either of ’em, and jou’ll wish you’d gone to the other.” With this information, our traveler did not think it necessary to spend any time in examiug and choosing. He stopped at a large frame house before which a round sign in a frame on a high post swung and creaked in the wind, and shouted a loud “Hilloa!” The door opened, and from a lighted room a man appeared in the doorway. “Can you take care of me and my horse to-nigbt?” the traveler asked. “I suppose so. Here, Sam; take the animal. Come this way, sir. We can’t do very well by you-travel is small, and times hard. Sam, tell some of those lazy women to get the gentleman something to •eat” The room into which the landlord conducted his guest was the bar-room; and to a man of Mr. Kinsman’s refined taste and correct principles it presented a repulsive •scene. It was odorous with strong tobacco; glasses and decanters filled the shelves behind the counters. At each of two tables in the middle of the floor sat four men, the landlord being one of the number, deeply engaged in playing cards by the light of tallow candles. Small piles of silver money on the tables showed that they were .gambling. The faces of all were inflamed with drink, and occasionally a half-sup-pressed oath was heard. So di-agreeable was all this to the guest that, after taking in the whole scene, he was about to request that his horse be brought round, and to «eek other quarters, when a movement of the landlord brought his face fully info the light. Mr. Kinsman’s attention was immediately arrested by it. He looked long and carefully, and reconsidered his intention. When supper was announced he followed the woman into the next room, and after satisfying his hunger, returned -to the bar-room. The clock struck eleven, when the landlord threw down his cards *nd declared there should be no more playing that night. He had seemed to Mr. Kinsman to be laboring under a sense of the bad impression that the surroundings would make upon his guest; and when ®ome of the players demurred at quitting «o soon, he grew emphatic and peremptory, -extinguished all the candles but one, and bade them begone. When he was alone with tl e traveler, he began a half-apology; but the latter soon interrupted him. “All this speak.; for itself, Samson Xarrabee,” he said. “I am glad to meet you again, but very sorry to find you as I -do. You have grown no better in twenty years. ” “'-'•C/ The If udlord started back with astonishment.

“Why—why, my name isn’t Larrabee!” he said. “Then you have taken another,” said the traveler, quietly. The other stared at him, and then cried out: “You can’t be Otis Kinsman?” “Indeed, I am; and here’s my hand, Samson.” The landlord slowly held out his own. He did not seem well pleased that he had been recognized, and he did not for a moment answer the cheery salutation. Then he said; “Well, Otis, you’ve found me, and you’ll be welcome to the poor entertainment I can give you; but I’ll have you know at the start that I won’t submit to anv of your sermons. Do you want to go to bed?” Mr. Kinsman looked very sorrowfully into the face before him, disfigured with excess and bad passions, and simply bowed. The landlord took a candle and he followed him up stairs to a meanly furnished chamber. With a muttered goodnight, Larrabee was about to go, when the other's hand was laid on his shoulder. “Wait, Samson,“ he said; “there’s something I must say.” “Oh, pshaw!” was the impatient answer. The hand detained him, kindly but firmly. “I have a right to speak,” continued Mr. Kinsman. “Was I not your friend when you had very few friends? Did I not try my best to save you from yourself? Remember our boyhood, Samson, and how we were seat-mates at school. I say I have a right to speak to you.” Larrabee took the only chair in the room, thrust his hands in his pocket and his feet out in front, and uttered a dogged “Well?” “My own life has been a happy and prosperous one since you last saw me,” pursued Mr. Kinsman. “1 have a beloved family; I have gained a competence; I believe that I have the respect and confidence of my fellow-citizens. Ido not say these things boastfully; when I thank God every night that they are as they are, I also pray not to be led into temptation. It is my responsibility to Him and to you that is heavy upon me now. I could not kneel to-night in entreaty for myself and for those I have left at home, did I fail to meet the duty that is thrust upon me this night. I say to you, Samson Larrabee, that all that I am you might have been had you not hardened your heart against the appeals of your best friends and persisted in your evil courses. You ” “ Mighty few * best friends ’ there were,” was the sullen interruption. “Don't wrong me in that way, Samson! Did I not try my best to save you, before you utterly went to the bad? After you had sent your wife broken-hearted to the grave, did I give you up? When the story of the robbery came out, which naturally turned the few against you who were stiil your friends, you know howl clung to you, and how hard I tried to save you from State’s prison. And when your punishment was ended, who offered to take you into his employ, and help you to fight the hnid battle to gain honor and respect?” “It was hopeless,” said the sulky Larrabee.

“It was not hopeless!” The fine features of the speaker lighted up with enthusiasm, ana his face became radiant. “The fight could have been won then—and it shall be now, if you will give heed to me. My errand out here will take me almost to the Mississippi, where I go to purchase a very desirable tract of wild land. On my return I will stop here, and you shall go back with me. I have work for you to do; 1 remember your ability in business before you threw yourself away. Abandon these degrading associates; close your disreputable business; trust to me, and I pledge you my word ” The speaker stopped abruptly; an ashen pallor overspread his face, and he sank back upon the bed. Larrabee sprang up, seized the water jug, and dashed part of its contents into the sufferer’s face. Observing that it produced a reviving effect, he proceeded to loosen the vest, and, as he did so, he observed between it and the sbirt a stout woven belt, such as was used at that day to carry money. He felt with his thumb and finger at the edges, and found it alternately hard and soft in places, as though it contained both gold-pieces and bank notes. Presently Mr. Kinsman opened his eyes, came back to consciousness, and sat up. He smiled as he saw the landlord standing before him with the water-jug in his hand. “Tbank you, Samson,” he said. “I’m nearly right again; you did the correct thing. You never knew that I was subject to such attacks, although I began to have them long before you went away. Partial failure of the heart, the doctors say, caused by excitement. I must be careful. There’s something more I wish to say, but it’s better not to say it now. Think earnestly of what I have said, and in the morning we will talk again on this subject. ” So they separated for the night. Samson Larrabee was up betimes the next morning. He swept the bar and the hall, and gave directions that a good breakfast shoufd be prepared for the guest. He amazed one of his boon companions of the previous night, when he come in and asked for a dram, by telling him sharply to go about his business. He was strangely restless. He strolled about; he

sat down and tried to read; once he went out to the front of the house, and looked up at the window of the 100 m where his guest slept. Finally he told the kitchen girl to go up and knock at the door of the chamber and say that breakfast would soon be ready. The gill went up, and in a few moments returned with the report that she could get no answer from the room. Then Larrabee went up. The girl, apprehensive of something wrong, had lin-

gered on the stairs. The white face and tottering step of her master as he came down scared her. “What s wrong with the gentleman, sir?” she asked. “Is he sick?” “He is dead,” said Larrabee, huskily. The village where these events occurred, although having its full proportion of the lawless and the vicious, was yet under the control of law and order; and a thorough and searching investigation followed. Because of the bad character of Larrabee and his surroundings, it was prosecuted with an expectation of e-tablishing his guilt; but it resulted in bis complete vindication. A post-mortem examination disclosed such a condition of the heart of the deceased that the doctors declared that, in connection with the absence of any external marks of violence, and any other apparent cause, there could be no doubt that death had resulted naturally from organic failure. The money-belt, containing a very large sum, was found upon the body. Samson Larrabee detailed to the Coroner’s jury with exactness all the incidents of Mr. Kinsman’s stay at his house that have been set down in these columns, and much of what he said was corroborated by others. The verdict was in accordance with these facts. It should be added that sorrowing members of the famih-, who shortly came on from the East to claim the remains, fully concurred in this verdict. People at Sunderland who had been dissatisfied with this result on account of their feeling against Larrabee, arising out of his vicious life, were soon convinced by the conduct of the man himself that they did him injustice. He was, literally and emphatically, a changed man. The profound sorrow which he exhibited upon the sudden and startling death of Mr. Kinsman could not possibly be feigned. His testimony at the inquest, while given in such a way as to produce a decided impression of its truth, was frequently interrupted by his great emotion. From that day he quit his bad associates, discontinued his business, and turned to hard and honest toil. As the place grew in population and importance, the better man within Samson Larrabee grew with it. And his fortunes flourished in due proportion. He acquired wealth and public honors; he reared a family in virtue and usefulness; there was not a measure for the public improvement, charitable, religious, or educational, that did not find in him a powerful supporter. His life was prolonged beyond the period of three-scorn and ten; and it is the simple truth to say that he died lamented by all who knew him or knew of him. While the belief remained unshaken that no crime was committed upon that memorable night at Larrabee’s inn, yet, in the minds of those who knew the depravity of the landlord’s character before that time, there was a feeling that the whole truth had not been told. The sudden and astonishing change effected in that character seemed to them not explained by anything that had been told. As time went on, and the occurrences here related faded from the recollection of men, a few of the older residents of the place were accustomed to get together, and in reviewing the strange and notable things that had occurred since the settlement of their village, to declare that there was, after all, a mystery about the Kinsman affair. They were right, although they were not permitted in life to know its solution. But a few years have elapsed since a ve; v aged clergyman, once settled in Sunderland, died in a city far beyond the Mississippi. The human heart and conscience are not made for secrecy; they must confide their sorrows and burdens to other sympathetic hearts; and to this good and reverend man did Samson Larrabee unboßom his secret in the days of his new and better life. The substance of what hq said will conclude this history. The frame of mind and temper in which Mr. Kinsman found his wayward schoolmate that evening was not such as to help the earnest appeals which the good man made to his better nature. Lanabee had been a loser at the gaming-table, and had been drinking upon this evening. The feelings with which he discovered the identity of his guest, and heard him incidentally speak of his own prosperity and happiness, were feelings of hatred and envy. His heart never softened while his friend continued to reprove and entreat him, nor did the eloquent and truthful words arouse any sentiment of gratitude in his breast. When Mr. Kinsman fainted Larrabee almost mechanically took the means to revive him; and while doing so the discovery of a large treasure upon his person instantly excited his cupidity. He went to his chamber and lay down, but not to sleep. Thoughts of the belt, and its rich store of gold and notes, possessed him. Other thoughts of ventures at the gaming-table followed. Khen the devil prompted him with the suggestion of how easy it would be to smother a life so frail as that of Mr. Kinsman, and how certainly the death of the latter would be attributed to natural causes. The demon made short work of the man in that conflict. In the still hours of the night, Samson Larrabee had aotually stood by the bedside of his sleeping friend, fully prepared for assassination and robbery. In his after years, in spite of his changed heart, in spite of the beauty of his life, this shadow was ever upon him—that he had been a murderer in heart, if not in deed!

As he stood there, preparing to execute his dreadful purpose, a change came over him. Mr. Kinsman was sleeping tranquilly, his benevolent face wearing a look that was almost a smile. The hands of the wouldbe murderer were arrested by an agent more powerful than anything of mere human means. Conscience cried out within him; a sense of bis own ingratitude, and of the unselfish devotion of this friend, smote him keenly. He was a boy again, and sat upon the same seat with Otis Kinsman, studying from the same book. He thought of how he, the older and stronger of the two, had once protected little Otis from the tyranny of a large boy. And now he was about to kill and rob him! He turned and silently left the room. Perhaps, thus far, enough had happened to work this man’s thorough reformation. In the morning, before the startling calamity of the night was made known, his conduct showed that conscience was at work. But the discovery that he made in Mr. Kinsman’s chamber that morning plucked him as with a hand of iron from the bad, and turned his feet into better paths. “If man ever died for man.” he solemnly said to the clergyman, “then dear Otis died for me. His life went out from the effects of his eager efforts to win me back. Can you not imagine hew I was awed? The visible finger of God seemed raised before me in warning l” It is the easiest thing in the world to discover all the defects in a maa when we do not like him.

“Can you take care of me and my horse to-night?"

He sank back upon the bed.