Raftsman's journal. [volume] (Clearfield, Pa.) 1854-1948, 1857-10-21

| on, In the ''Clty Of Brotherly Love-" A gruff
voice bade her in, but the old palsied hand
only knocked again when it strove to lift the
! latch.
'sWhy can't you come in, and not stand
| there tumbling and numbling rs
At last the latch rose, and the poor woman,
not unused to such rude greeting, came for
| ward.
The jailor, half abashed. muttered some
| thing about ssDidn't know twas woman
men bother me-too much company"-offer-
| ing at once wound and an apology in his mo-
rose way.
ssDon't mind ME, SIR" said the poor woman,
| "I'm poor old creature that has looked in
Almost all the dark places that man has made
for his brother, sir-a looking for my poor
boy; God bless him Canyo tell me, for the
love of God and pity of poor creature like
me, if my boy is in this prison 7''
els the old woman a fool or mad," mutter-
| ed the man of office.
Kicking a chair towards the woman as he
spoke, he growled, from habit rather than a
will to growl-s'There's boys enough here !;
| how should 1 know
ssTo be sure, dear me, you couldn't know
my poor Willie, and it's likely he's changed.
But, could you tell me If there's lad here
named William Byron-or rather, he was lad
ten years ago, when he left me, and since
hear, he has changed his name, poor boy, as
he did his nature.''
| The prison-keeper run his eye over a list of
commitments, till he heard the last words of
the bewildered woman.
"Why, bless me, did you come here to both
er me? If you don't know where your boy is
who appears to be an sold boy'-how should
know ?''
The weak and wasted old woman dropped
into chair from exhaustion and misery, and
with look of sincere depreciation, which nei-
| ther her faultering nor his rudeness demanded,
she said, 81 beg your pardon, sir: God knows
L would never have come but for the love of
my poor boy"
ssBut what do you know about him 7'' asked
the jailor, in subdued tone.
ssTen years ago, sir, he was as good lad as
| ever need look at-the only help of his old
mother, for 1 was old then, sir and it is mis-
cry, more than years, that makes me SO much
older now. If there was any fault, sir, if was
lildt Hc lClt tOo Ditc vi anu
the scorn which it will sometimes meet, un-
justly and 1 fear that was his hurt"
ssAnd he's in prison, eh %
eyes, sir. to the shame of my old grey
| hairs; but I'll tell you what l know, though it
breaks my heart. Ten years ago sent him to
| the city to try his luck in business; and who
he served can't tell, for he never wrote the
70 ha huS ba daar chi
| was waiting to surprise me.
ssBut at last heard no more from him, and
| thought he must have died. Searching all the
papers l could find, tried to get a word of
| him, though it were bad word. l sold the
| dear boys clothes, and advertised him, only L
| saved the little slip he had when he was ba-
| by. I couldn't bear to part with all, and that
| was full of dear memories"
And for a moment the grief that made her
ga-rulous, melted to tears, and made her
| dumb.
The jailor was silent, and looked sour, (which
was a sign that he was touched.
His hard and flinty heart was softened at
| the recital of tale of sorrow from mother s
| lips, who had suffered many severe trials while
| in search of a long lost son. She continued:
ssFor all the little could do, could get no
trace of him, till somebody once sent me a
| paper with passage marked in the dying
| speech of a murderer, who was hanged in n ew
Orleans. have it yet. o, dear! its all the
trace have of him, my poor, dear Willie -
She drew from her pocket little bit of lea
| ther, folded and tear-stained, and opening it,,
fragment of a newspaper was shown pasted
on the inside.
"Here, sir, 1 have carried it long, and the
tears 1 shed have dimmed it some, and my
| eyes, too"
From the dying speech of the murderer, the
jailor spelled out stammeringly these words:
"And if my dying words can never reach
him, let them warn the last of my young COM
| panons in crime, before it is too late-the
| bright viii Byron-I have reached the last
step; he has reached only the felon's dun
| geon. When he shall again see the light, L
| Shall have been ten years in
The rest was obliterated.
aAh!' groaned the poor unfortunate, heart
stricken mother, ''that was my poor boy-my
poor Willie-and eight of these ten terrible
years have 1 spent in seeking from prison to
prison for him. Now, tell me, for the love OF
God, if he is here %
81 guess not, marin; don't see his name
in the ile.''
/ He mumbled over to himself list of names,
ssJohn Jones, June 7th, five years for oarn-
burnine: James Smith, alias Simpson, July
1st. two wears for house-breaking," and on
.hrouob the wear all the commitments of the
eight wears from the date of his present