Rensselaer Republican, Volume 15, Number 48, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 9 August 1883 — Page 6

THE STRANG KB. BY WALLACI BBBCB. [An Eastern Legend.} An aged man came late to Abraham’s tent. Tovsky was dark and all the plain w*» bare. He asked for bread; his strencta was weH-nixh spent; Hi« haugard leok implored the tenderest can. The food was brought. He sat, with thankful eyes, But spake no grace, nor bowed he toward the east Safe-sheltered hen from dark and aagry skies. The bountesns table seemed a royal feast. But, ere his hand had touched the tempting fare, The Patriarch rose, and, leaning on his rod, ■“Stranger,” he said, “dost thou not bow in prayer? Dost thou not fear, dost thou not worship, God?’ He answered, “Nay,’ The Patriarch sadly said: ) "Thon hast my pity. Go! eat not my bread.* Another eame that wild and stormy night The tierce winds raged and darker grew the sky; Bat all the tent was filled with wondrous light, And Abraham knew the Lord his God was nUh. "Where is that aged man?" the Presence said, "That asked lor shelter from the driving blast? ' • Who made thee master of thy Master’s bread? What right hadst thou the wanderer forth to cast?” “Foyrtve me. Lord,” the Patriarch answer made, With downcast look, with bowed and trembling knee. "Ah, me! the stranger might with me have staid; But. oh, my God, he would not worship Thee!" "I ve borne him long," God said,,“and still I wait: Gonldst thou not lodge him one night in thy gate?"

A MARK TWAIN STORY.

Upon a certain occasion, nine years -ago, I had said, with strong feeling, “If ever I see St. Louis again, I will seek out Mr. Brown, the great grain merchant, and ask of him the privilege of shaking*him by the hand.” The occasion and the circumstances were as follows: A friend of mine, a clergyman, came one evening and said: “I have a most remarkable letter here which I want to read to you if I can do it without breaking down. I must preface it with some explanations, however. The letter is written by an ex-thief and ex-vagabond of the lowest origin and basest rearing, a man all stained with crime and steeped in ignorance ; but, thank God, with a mine •of pure gold hidden away in him, as you shall see. His letter is written to a burglar named Williams, who is serving a nine-year term in a certain State prison for burglary. Williams was a particularly-daring burglar, and plied that trade during a number of years; but he was caught at last and jailed to await trial in a town where he had broken into a house at night, pistol in hand, and forced the owner to hand over to him SB,OOO in Government bonds. Williams was not a common .-sort of person, by any means; he was a graduate of Harvard College, and came of good New England stock. His father was a clergyman. While lying in jpil his health began to fail, and he was 'threatened with consumption. This fact, together with the opportunity for reflection afforded by solitary confine--ment, had'its effect—its natural effect. He fell into serious thought; his early training asserted itself with power and wrought with strong influence upon his mind and heart. He put his old life behind him, and became an earnest Christian. Some ladies in the town heard of this, visited him, and by their •encouraging words supported him in his good resolutions and strengthened him to continue, in his new life. The trial ended in his conviction and sentence to the State prison for the term of nine years, as I have before said. In the prison he became acquainted with ■the poor wretch referred to in the beginning of my talk, Jack Hunt, the 4 writer of the letter which I am goihg to read. You will see that the acquaintanceship bore fruit for hunt. When Hunt’s time was out he wandered to St. Louis; and from that place he wrote his letter to Williams. The letter got no farther than the office of the Prison Warden, of course; prisoners are not often allowed to receive letters from outside. The prison authorities read this letter, but did not destroy it. They had not the heart to do it. They road ’it to several persons, and eventually it fell into the hands of those ladies of whom I spoke a while ago. The other day I camo across an old friend of mine —a clergyman—who had seen this letter, and was full of it. The mere remem Iterance of it so moved him that he could not talk of it without his voice

breaking. He promised to get a copy ■of it for me; and here it is—an exact copy, with all the imperfections of the • original preserved. It has many slang • expressions in it—thieves’ argot—but '■their meaning has been interlined, in parentheses, by the prison authorities: St. Louis, June 9, 1872. Mr W friend Charlie if i may call you so: 1 no you fire surprised to get a letter from me, bit I hope you won’t be mad at my writing to you. iw».nt to tell you my thanks for the way you talked to me when 1 was in prison—it has led me to try and be a better man; i guess you thought 1 did not •cair for what you said A at the first co off I •didn't, butTi noed you was a man who had -don good work with big men A want no sucker, and want gasiug A all the boys > knoed it I used to think at nite what you said, A 'for it 1 knocked o swearing 5 months before my time was up, for i eaw it want no good, ■.nohow—the day my time was up you tod me if i would shake the cross (quit steal! ig) A live oq the square for three months. It would be the best job i ever done in my life. "The state agent give me a ticket to here, A -on the car 1 nought more of what you said ito me, but didn’t make up my mind. When we*got to Chicago on the cars fqom there to ’■ here, 1 pulled off an old wcftnans leather ' (robbed her of her pocket-book); 1 hadn’t no : more than go. it off when 1 wished i hadn’t -done it, for a while before that 1 made up my mind to be a square bloke, for 3 months ■on roar word, b t forgot it when 1 saw tae lea her was a grip (easy to get)—but i kept dos to her A when she got out of the cars at a way place 1 said, inarm have you lost anything? A she tumbled (discovered) her leather was oft (gone)—is this it, says i, giving it to her—well if you aint

bow*, says aha, but I hadn't got cheat enough to stand that sort qf talk, so i left her Ina hurry. When 1 got here! had gland 25 cents left and I didn't get no work for 3 days as 1 aint strong enough for a roust about on a steam bote (for a deck-hand)—The afternoon of the 3rd day I spent my last cent for 2 moons (large, round se*-bisoato) A cheese A 1 felt pretty rough A wni thinking 1 would have to go on the dipe (picking pockets) again, when I thought of what you onoe said absut a fellows calling on the Lord when he was in hard luck, A thought I would try it once anyhow, but when 1 tryed it 1 got stuck on the start, A all i could get off wos, Lord give a poor fellow a chance to square it for 3 months for Christ’s sake, amen; A i kept a tMnklngof it over and over a* 1 went along—about an hour after that 1 was in 4th St A this is What happened A is the cause of my being where 1 now am A about which i will tell you before I get done writing. As 1 was walking along I heard a big noise A saw a horse running away with a carriage with 2 children in it. AI grabbed up a piece of box cover from the side walk A run tn the middle of the street, A when the horse came un 1 smashed h m over the head as hard as i could drive—the bord split to pieces A the horse checked up a little A i grabbed the reigns and pulled his bead. down until he stopped—the gentleman that owned him came running up, A soon as he saw the children were all rite, he shookhauds with me Agave me a 150 green back, A my asking the Lord to help me come into my head, A 1 was so thunderstruck i conldn t drop the reigns nor say nothing—he saw something was up, A coming back to me said, my boy are yon hurt? A the thought come into my head just then to ask hm for work; A I asked him to take back the bill A give me a job —says he, lump in here A lets talk about it, but keep the money—he asked me if I could take care of horses A 1 said yes, for i used to hang round livery stables A often would help clean A drive horses, he told me he wanted a man for that work, A would give me *l6 a month A bord me. You bet i took that chance at once, that nlt#in my little room over the stable i sat a long time thinking oyer my past lite Aof what had just happened A 1 ]ust got down on my nees and thanked the Lord for the job A to help me to square it, A to bless you for putting me up to it, A the next morning i done it again A got me some n w togs (clothes) A a bible for 1 made up my mind after what the Lord had done for me i would read the bible every nite A morning, A ask him to keep an eye on me. When i had been there about a week Mr. Brown (that's his name; come into my rpom one nite A saw me reading the bible—he asked me if 1 was a Christian A i told him no—he asked me how it was 1 read the bible instead of papers A books—Well Charlie i thought i had better Sve him a square deal in tae start, so 1 told m all about my being in prison A about you, A how 1 had almost done give up looking for work A how the Lord got me the job when I asked him; A the only way i had to pay him back was to read the bible A square it, A 1 asked him to give me a chance for 3 months —ire talked to me like a father for a long time, A told me i coutd stay A then i felt better than ever 1 had done in my life, for 1 Had. given Mr. Brown a fair start with me A now 1 d:dn t tear no one giving me a back cap (exp-/sing his past fife) a running me off the fob—tie next morning he called me into the library A gave me another square talk, A advised me to study some every day, A he woaid help me one or 3 hour* every nite, A he gave me a Arithmetic, a spelling book, a Geography A a writing book, Ahe hers me every night—he lets me come lato the house to prayers every morning, A got me put in a bible class in the Sunday School whioa I likes very much for it helps me to under.trnd my bible better. .

Now, Charlie the 3 months on the square are up 2 months ago, & as you said, it is lAe best job 1 ever d|d m my life, A I commenced another of the sama sort right away, only it is to God helping me to last a lifetime Charlie—i wrote this letter to tell you Ido think God has forgiven my sins & herd your prayers, for you told me you should pray for me—i no i love to read his word & ted him all my troubles <t he helps me i know lor i have plenty of chances to steal but i don't feel to as 1 once did A now i take more pleasure ingoing to church, than to the theater & that wasn’t so once—our minister and others often talk with me, A a month ago they wanted me to join the church, but I said no, not now, i might be mistaken in my feelings, i will wait awhile, but now I feel that God has called me A*on the first Sunday in July i will join the church—dear friend 1 wish i could write to you as 1 feel, but 1 cant do it yet—vou no i learned t j read and write while in prisons & i aint got well enough along to write as I would talk; i no i aint spelled all the words rite in this A lots of other mistakes but you will excuse it i no, 1 was brought up in a poor-house until i run away, A that i never new who my father and mother was A i dont no my rite name, A 1 hope you wont be mad at me, but 1 have as much rite to one name as another A i have taken your name, for you wont use it when you get out 1 no, A yon are the man i think most of m the world; so i hope you wont be mad—l am doing weH, 1 put $lO a month in bans with $25 or the sso—if you ever want any or all of it lot me know, Ait is yours, i wish' you would let me send you some now. 1 send you with tins a receipt for a yeur of Litter Living Age, i didn't know what you would like A i told Mr Brown A he said he thought you would like it—i wish i was nere so I could send you chuck (refreshments) on helidays; it would spoil this weather irom here, but 1 will send you a box next thanksgiving any way—next week Mr Brown takes me into his store as lite porter A will advance me as soon as 1 know a little mor.e —he keeps a big granary store, wholesale—l forgot to ted you of my mission school, Sunday school class—the school is tn .one Sunday afternoon, i went out two Sunday afternoons, ana picked up seven kins (Utt e boys) A got them to come in. two of them new a?much as 1 did A 1 had them put in a class where they could learn somej.ing, i dont no much myself, but as these kids cant read i get on nicely with them, i make sure of them by going alter them every Sunday hour belore school time, I al-o got 4 girls to come. Tell Mack and Harry about me, if they will come out here when their time is up i will get them jobs at once, i hops you will excuse this loug letter A all mistakes, i wish i could see you for i cant write as i would talkr-i hope the warm wahther is doing your lungs good—i was afraid when you was bleeding you would die—give my respects to ad the boys and ted them how i am doing—l am doing well and every one here treats me as kind as they can—Mr. Brown is going to write to you sometime—l hope some day you will write to me, this letter is from your very true friend C W—who you know as Jack Hunt I send you Mr. Brown's card. Send my letter to him. Here was true eloquence; irresistible eloquence; and without a single grace or ornament to help it out. I have seldom been so deeply by hfiy piece of writing. The reader of it halted, all the way through, on a lame and broker) voice; yet he had tried to fortify his feelings by several private readings of the letter before venturing into company with it. He was practicing upon me to see if there was any hope of his being able to read the document to his prayer-meeting with anything like a

decent command over his feelings. The result was not promising. However, he determined to risk it; and difl. He got through tolerably well: but his audience broke down early, and staid in that condition to the end. The fame of the letter spread through the town. A brother minister came and borrowed the manuscript, put it bodily into a sermon, preached the sermon to 1,200 people on a Sunday morning, and the letter drowned them in their own tears. Then my friend put it into a sermon and went before his Sunday morning congregation with it. It scored another triumph. The house wept as one individual. My friend went on a summer vacation up into the fishing regions of our Northern British neighbors, and carried this sermon with him, since he might possibly chance to need a sermon. He was asked to preach one day. The little church was full. Among the people present were the late Dr. J. G. Holland; the late Mr. Seymour, of the New York Times ; Mr. Page, the philanthropist and temperance advoeate, and, I think, Senator Frye, of Maine. The marvelous letter did its wonted work; all the people were moved,’all the people wept; the tears flowed in a steady stream down Dr. Holland’s cheeks, and nearly the same can be' said with regard to all who were there. Mr. Page was so full of enthusiasm over the letter that he said he would not rest until he made pilgrimage to that prison, and had speech with the man who had been able to inspire a fellow-unfortunate to write so priceless a tract. Ah, that unlucky Page!—and another man. If they had only been in Jericho, that letter would have rung through the world and stirred all the hearts of all the nations for a thousand years to come, and nobody might ever have found out that it was the confoundedest, brazenest, ingeniousest piece of fraud and humbuggery that was ever concocted to fool poor, confiding mortals with! The letter was a pure swindle, and that is the truth. And take it by and large, it was without a compeer among swindles. It was perfect, it was rounded, symmetrical, complete, colossal!

The reader learns it at this point; but we didn’t learn it till some miles and weeks beyond this stage of the affair. My friend came back from the woods, and he and other clergymen and lay missionaries began once more to inundate audiences with tlreir tears and the tears of said audiences; I begged hard for permission to print the letter in a magazine and tell the watery story of its triumphs; numbers of people got copies of the letter, with permission to circulate them in writing, but not in print; copies were sent to the Sandwich Islands and other far regions. Charles Dudley Warner was at church one day when the worn letter was read and wept over. At the church door, afterward, he dropped a peculiarly-cold iceberg down the clergyman’s back with the question: “Do you know that letter to be genuine?” It was the first? suspicion that had ever been voiced; but it had that sickening effect which first-uttered suspicions against one’s idol always have. Some talk followed: “Why—what should make you suspect that it isn’t genuine ?” “Nothing that I know of, except that it is too neat, and compact, and fluent, and nicely put together for an ignorant person, an unpracticed hand. I think it was done by an educated man.” The literary artist had detected the literary machinery. If you will look at the letter now, you will detect it yourself—it is observable in every line. Straightway the clergyman went off with this seed of suspicion sprouting in him, and wrote to the Chaplain of the institution in the town where Williams had bean jailed and converted ; asked for light; and also asked if a person in the literary line (meaning me) might be allowed to print the letter and tell its history. He presently received this answer : The is before me now, and I here append it. It is pretty well loaded with internal evidence of the most solid description: State’s Prison, Chaplaw’s Office, ) July 11. 1b73. ( Deab Brother Page: Herewith please rind the letter kindly loaned me lam afraid its genuineness cannot ne established. It purports to be addressed co some prisoner here. No such letter ever came t > a prisoner here. All letters received are carefully read by officers of the prison be 'ore they go into the hands of the convicts, and any such letter could not Ire forgotten. Again, Charles W lllams is not a Chrbt an man, but a dissolute, cunning prodigal, whose father Isa mi ister of the Gospel I tun gad to have made your aoquaint.nce. I am preparing a lecture upon die seen through prison bar,*, and should like to deliver the same to you vicinity. And so ended that little drama. My poor article went into the -fire; for whereas the materials for it were now more abundant and infinitely richer than they had previously been,, there were parties all around me who, although longing for the publication before, were a unit for suppression at this stage and complexion of the game. They said:““Wait; the wound is too fresh yet.” All the couples of the famous letter except mine, disappeared suddenly; and from that time onward the aforetime same old drought set in in the clutches. As a rule the town was on a spacious grin for a while, but there in it where the grin did not appear, and.where it was dangerous to refer to the ex-convict’s letter. A word of explanation. “Jack Hunt,” the professed writer of the letter, was an imaginary person. The burglar Williams—Harvard graduate, son of a minister—wrote the himself, to himself; got it smuggled out of the prison; got it conveyed to persons who had supported and encouraged him in

his conversion—where he knew two (things would happen; the genuineness of the letter would not be doubted or inquired into; and the nub of it would be noticed and would have valuable effect, indeed, of starting a movement to get Mr. Williams pardoned out of prison. The “nub* is so ingenjpusjy, so casually, flung in, and immediately left there in the tail of the letter, undwelt upon, that an indifferent reader would never suspect that it was the heart and core of the epistle, if he even took note of it at all. This is the “nub”: 1 hope the warm weather is doing your lungs, good—i was afraid when you was bleeding you would ale—give my respects, etc. That is all there is of it—simply touch and go —on dwelling upon it. Nevertheless it was intended for an eye that would be swift to see it; and it was meant to move a kind heart to try to effect liberation of a poor, reformed and purified fellew lying in the fell grip of consumption. When I for the first time heard that letter read, nine years ago, I felt that it was the most remarkable one I had ever encountered. And it so wanned me toward Mr. Brown, of St. Louis, that I said that if ever I visited that city again I would seek eut that excellent man and kiss the hem of his garment, if it was a new. one. Well, I visited St. Louis, but I did not hunt for Mr. Brown; for, alas 1 the investigations of long ago had proved that the benevolent Brown, like “Jack Hunt,” was not a real person, but a sheer invention of that gifted rascal, Williams—burglar, Harvard graduate, son of a clergyman.—Mark Twain's Book, “Life on the Mississippi."

Signs that Are Significant.

Napkins are indexes of locality. The Bostonian uses his vigorously; it is spotless, but much rumpled at the end of a dinner; his energy has constantly drawn it across the width of his mouth, and has laid it on the table with a parting crush. The New Yorker’s napkin bears signs of use otherwise than in its folds; it has a central indentation made by the thumb and forefinger as it has been thrust against the front of the lips, and is thrown carelessly on the chair at the end of a repast. The Westerner’s napkin, as broadly spread under his chin, preserves its original smoothness and lines of folding, though otherwise it shows how necessary has been its application to the vest. There is a generous bonhommie about men who thus spread out their napkins, and it means business of which they are not ashamed, it is comradeship in the necessities of eating. The Southener often dispenses with his, for though placed in his lap in its square or triangular outlines, it there remains. Both Westener and Southerner show their appreciation of home training and the laundry exigencies by folding up their napkins and placing them on the table. Among the spoken signs of one’s locality are the beginnings of conversations, at table or on piazzas. The pleasant, easy good morning, with the hope expressed that it will be a good day for business or excursions, as’ if making a personal statement in which every one will be interested, proves the cosmopolite. The invalid inquires after the sleeping hours and shows, by reference to throat or liver, whether he is from the East or West. The man who thinks that one’s style is proved by being an epicure, has confidential conversations with the waiter and asks the new comer “How did you find the table where you came from ?” “Fair," is the sententious reply; faint praise condemns. The semi s library man inquires if you saw a notice of a new book, and casually observes, “I met the author in Norway whefi he was unknown, saw there was something in him, and invited him to join my party; we were traveling 'incog,’you know.” Having thus established the fact of keen perception of latent authorship and raises a suspicion of his. wealth, he relapses into silence.— Boston Courier.

The Man of the House.

Vagabonds who undertake to find out whether the “man of the house” is in or not will get little advantage if a “strong-minded” woman happens to live there. One who? tried it at “Mrs. Brown’s” will prooably put up a danger signal there for the benefit of the rest of his fraternity. The tramp ascended the front steps and,after taking the precaution to read the “door plate, rang the bell with a free-and-easy confidence born of previous success. The door was opened by a woman, as the tramp had anticipated. “Is Mr. Brown in ?” he asked. The woman took an inventory of ids face and clothing and replied, “No, Mr. JJrown isn’t in, but Mrs. Brown is. I’ve just sent Brown for a cent's worth of yeast; when he comes back he’ll have to put out the line and hang out the wash; then I’ll send him out with the baby, and after that he’ll have his sweeping and dusting* to do. No, you can’t see Brown to-day, and it wouldn’t make any difference if you could. I attend to business here.” The tramp said he guessed he’d mistaken the house, and Mrs. Brown, as she slammed the doo*, said she reckoned he had.— Youth’s Companion. What we call miracles and wonders of art are.not so to Him who created them: for they were created by the natural movements of His own great soul. Statues, paintings, churches, poems, are but shadows of Himself.—Longfellow. In the new dfcden Theater, Paris, a pint of ale, served by a waitress described as a “dyedand painted Jezebel,” costs |l. V

PITH AND POINT.

Thb mule is apt to be behind in his business. The dunning letter is occasionally a most pay-thetic appeal. Some men are known' by the company they—can’t get into. Neveb look a gift-horse in the mouth, especially if it be the Golt revolver. Qub fellow-citizen who lost sis nap will now be found in a thread bare coat. Thebe are 7,060 fish known to men of science. The man of science must be a blamed sight luckier than the average fisherman. O wad some power the giftie gie us To see ounels as Ithers see us; It wad frae mony frae u?. And make us want to go off somewhere and hire a man to hit us in the neck with a sand-bag.— Cincinnati Merchant and Traveler.

Angelina to Paul, on their way home from the theater: You may go just as far as the gate, dear Paul, Only as far as the gate; For the bull dog will bite, and papa will show fight, So I’ll bld you good-night at the gate. Paul acquiesces of course, having a wholesome tear of hydrophobia and a club.— Carl'PretzeVs Weekly. “ What is that lying on your desk?” asked Gas Da Smith of a young society business man, *at whose office he happened to be. “Those are my receipted bills that I have just paid.” “Receipted bills! You don’t say so?” exclaimed Gus, with animation; “let me look at them, please. I’ve not seen anything of the kind in the last five years.”— Texas Siftings. An esthetic Austin lady went out into the country for her health. The country people were not that way at all; so when she went into ecstasies over the beautiful grass and flowers, they • did not seem to reciprocate. She was very much astonished at their apathy. “Does nobody out here take any interest in the beautiful gems of the prairies?” “Oh, yes, the sheep eat them,” was the response.— Texas Siftings. A little bootblack picked up a very short cigar stump, and holding it up, remarked to his companion: “You can see by that cigar stump that the members of the Legislature have done left Albany and gone home.” “What do you mean ?” “I mean that you can tell they have Ifeft because the cigar stumps have got shorter. When tnem Legislators was here them stumps was twice as long.* They didn’t have to pay nuffin for cigars, so they throweid ’em away half-smoked.”— Albany Evening Journal.

“Why did you strike this man?” asked a Justice of the Peace of a prisoner. “I had sufficient cause, your honor. He come to my house on a visit. He criticised my children and laughed at my daughter’s singing, turned up his nose at a fish I had caught, and put my wife to a great deal of trouble at dinnertime, and —” “But all this gave you no excuse to strike him with a stick of stove-wood.” “I know, but let me get through. After dinner he took a kind of all-day seat, and began to talk on the tariff question. Then I hit him ” “Tariff, eh? I fine you $lO for not shooting him.”— Arlcwnsaw Traveler.

Beecher on Christianity.

“Some people, Mr. Beecher, are of the opinion that Christianity, while it is being spread actively in heathen lands, is getting quite thin at home. What do you think of that idea?” “Christianity,” he said, “may spread laterally or vertically, or both at once. In some foreign lands it is spreading laterally. In a country long christianized, such as tins is, there is little chance of its being extended in that way. The field has been pretty much all covered. But it has abundant opportunity and occasion here to spread vertically. It can penetrate deep into the character and life of an individual and high in his intellectuality. Religion may and should find part and be received in the sympathies of. life, in purposes of honesty, in desposition toward others, in all emotions of the heart, and in all sentiments and actions of the mind, Therein lies the vertical spread of Christianity. Now, I think there has been an increase in the country so far as sympathy is concerned. Religion has taken a stronger hold of the people in that direettan. But in the line of honesty and integrity there has been a marked falling off. People make religion a film, a veneering on their character. There’s no depth to it, and consequently but little efficacy. There’s not that sterling integrity and unyielding honesty that there used to be. It ought to be next to impossible for a Christian to become dishonest or to lie. But how many become defaulters, and how many are careless about speaking the exact truth? A liar passes to-day .scarcely denounced. Fifty years ago he would have experienced anguish hardly describable, and would have been execrated by his fellows. There are so many corporations now. These have a tendency to diminish individual moral responsibility. Five men constitute a corporation, we will say. Strict honesty is occasionally deviated from, and misrepresentations are made. Each one of the five feels himself one-fifth of something which has no soul, and does not hold himself sufficiently individually responsible. No, Christianity in this country is losing ground vertically. In some portions it is gaining, doubtless, but in others it is losing. Religion that is not based on the thorough honesty and integrity is all mosh.”—Chicago Herald. Comparison, more than reality,makes men happy, and can make them wretched.—Feltham.