The weekly Ottumwa courier. [volume] (Ottumwa, Iowa) 1857-1872, 1857-05-07

the poor fellow thought Of his famishing wife
and babe, but the cruel hard Of the oppressor
planted the impulse there. 'a4ia7 sat a5
"Mr. Grey, borrowed the money from the
drawer, believe mel borrowed It I can
prove il. meant to put it back. We were
in poverty---distress--w wanted food---Ol I
you win not disgrace ms---save me, save me''
"John, 60 after an officer" said Mr.. Grey,
as calmly as il he were ordering bis break
fast. 1Air -fa
90! Mr.. Grey, don't disgrace me think of
my mother; it will kill her; it was wrong, but
didn't mean to steal; I'll serve you like a
slave; pll work fer nothing; Mr.. Grey, for
pty's sake, for my mothers sake, for Gods
BAKE don't send me to jail" s.
The dry eyes, the CHASTITY cheek, the frantic
gestures, the wild. Implcring, beseeching
words, the shrieks of terror. the fair locks
torn from the temples, availed nought with
this merciless man. And yet he was father
and the boy was but fourteen--a child even
then. 2t'esst -zF.'a m a-E@
This was cne days experience--a sample Of
cold, unbending justice-emanations from a
heart of stone-.he Alpha and Omega Of q
strict man Of businessi i F o.. aalt 8
Mr.. James went home crazed, despairing
and shot himself. 9.
The poor woman who could not pay her
rent, moved her sick husband to the house of
neighbor almost as poverty-stricken as her
self. The man caught cold, died, and was
buried.
The music teacher returned to h.s home.--
His wife, fragile thing, lay with newborn
babe upon her arm. Her pale blue eyes, swim
ming in tears, sought his as he entered, and
read their doom there. The piano was SOLD
while the wife laid in commissions, and not
long after the costly instrument, the only relic
Of better days, left the humble home, hearse,
containing coffined woman and little babe,
drove to the burying-ground. 3d
The boy was carried to Jail. An aged wo-
man, with locks As white as snow, and many
wrinkle in her time-worn face, followed the
child Of her age to the sad abode Of the Grim
inal. II was his first crime, in deed, though
not in intent--the substrsction Of dollar to
buy some little delicacy, ersved by feeble
mother. Alas! no mercy was shown him In
his tender youth--he was placed among har-
dened criminals to learn the deeper lessons Of
guilt, and the heart OF his poor mother broke :;
she could not bear disgrace-she had taught
him to be honest. The merchant made no
effort to soften his committal; he read it in
the morning paper, and not pulse moved with
sympathy. ...a
"I' there any hope, Doctor?''
"None.o
"Mercy! mercy yp' resounded through the
stately hall. a ~
30! O!that cry % exclaimed the weeping wo.
man, SIT sounds night ard day. The anguish
Of his pain seems a. nothing compared with
that Of his mind what can be done p,
"Pray for him. replied the doctor, SOL
emnly.
In large room, rich with costly furnishing,
with all appliances OF wealth and ease about
him, his head pillowed on luxurious down, lay
the dying, self styled just man. Death had
struck him almost in the street-so sudden was
his onset. In worldly sense, he was ready
to die. His books were posted-his business
house was set in order-he owed no man q
cent; he had kept his word with strctness
and 6delity-he had never omitted attendance
on the sanctuary he had given money to mis-
sions, to ministers, to good works, and great
charities. Why, then, glared his hollow eyes
with strained sepulchral stare on the fretted
ceiling? Why on his brow were great drops
Of sgony9 Why did his dry, blue lips con-
vulsively utter "mercy mercy mercy2'' The
man of God sounded mercy in his dull ear
painted the sorrows Of Calvary, and presched
the Crucifed. The wife, in tears, pleaded
with Heaven that the passing soul might not
plunge out Of darkness into eternity-but they
fell, these sweet words, these soft voices, these
agnonizing prayers, on stony soil, The death
hour was thronged with sccusers. Hagg9d
faces mocked his failing sight men whom
his strictness had driven to deeds OF de.pera-
ton. tormentsd his passing soul. They made
wall over his dying head that he could not
zee Christ through them; they shut the very
heavens from his sight.
"Mercy mercy ~ still the wall went up.
"Can you not trust Christ po asked the
weeping pastor.
"Not Tor mercy-I neper sho,red any - aud
the solemn, thrilling tones sounded with awful