Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1858-10-02

the hardened bullies of discipline are accns q.
toned at discretion and without fear of cbas-
tisement, to confer upon the wretched in their
grasp: At evening, held up the tress into
the faint twilight which just futtered throu Oh
my CRATES, and kissing it, seemed to see her
by me-for could never think of her as dead
That realization was kindly spared me by the
fact that no new void can be felt, no new nm
naturainess, in the eternal void and unna tural
ness OF prison,
But one night coming from work found the
tress gone. Asking the turnkey for it, L was
toio PRISONERS are allowed no useless articles -
from that moment knew she whom + loved
was dead. Like wild freshet the agony of the
knowledge gushed upon me. With it came the
memory OF my burning wrongs-the scorn of
man spent upon my innocent head-tbe perfdy
OF my only brother--the irredeemable helm.
iessness OF all things. And shut myself up In
suiien, silent madness. A most dangerous mad.
ness II was From the time lost the fress i've
years we're to elapse before / went out: and If
In that time revolt had sprung up in prison,
l mad died lighting in its 'front.' for was ripe
for any crime. As it was, only bode nv time
Once out, would wreak condign vengeance on
soclety-on law-on my brother
The hve years passed-ive years of dust and
cilnklng In the yard-of darkness, muttering
low smothered heart-burning in the cell At
last, one morning, the warden threw open NV
door, and passed out with the slow lock step
which had been practicing nearly the gu arter
Oh lifetime. l was going to chapel with the
rest-to hear Of the Prodigal Son and the Mag.
ialen-they the guilty, but the welcomed-I
the innocent, yet the thrust out But the off,
Ger stopped me with these three words-"You
are free!n
did not cheer, nor wiring the mans hand.
nor even smile One grows used to forget these
ways OF the world after fifteen wears in prison
but the revenge which, little by little had
stretched Its fbrous roots through the soil of
my heart, till every drop of lite juice went to
nourisn the plant now began to put forth its
blossoms, and felt them bud into an ecstatic
poisonous fragrance. Ny sweet, long hoped.
Tor hour had come In a few nome nts more
the despised convict should burst upon his
motley ehrysalis, and be rushing like winged
Nemesis, to settle accounts with a world which
had the start OF him by fifteen years.
went TO the prison wardrobe and got back
tnat dress which, IN the days long gone L had
put off with the rest of my humanity. Thew
were clean, fastidiously, gentleman like rs
when left them. / seemed for a moment. at
their sight, to be waking from the terrible eter-
nifty OF = bad dream-to be finding them folded
by my bedside, where they had lain only since
the last night
had come in with the majesty of the Law
a guard on either side. went out aloue-po
danger was apprehended of my escaping from
that other prisOn-the world Leaving those
high gray walls behind, / struck into the road
for Hartford. Had / come out five wears be-
fore, might have been expressly softened by
the long, unwOnted music of the birds that,
from trees and orchard walls, made the air full
OF their JOY. Now l had lived past the time
when such things could touch me, and walked
sun In the lock-step, looking neither bout nor
forward, but ever moodily on the ground And
thus, late in the afternoon, came whittier the |
commencement of my recital finds me, and |
stood in the market place of the town which | |
had last seen fade out behind me as I went |
away in scorn.
wonder that by all the passers was stared |
at as an oddity-sOmething to be suspected |
and shrunk from, for my grizzled hair was of |
the prison cut, my clothing had gone out of |
fashion when the fathers in the street were chill
dren, and not by fear, but long use, looked no |
man In the face And here and there in knots
the people whispered about me, sometimes |
with evident carelessness as to how loud But |
only nursed a deeper and more quiet wrath.
There came along that way throng Of chill |
dren just from school. Stepping ND tS one of |
them, L asked, Does George Markham still |
i've In this place. The little girl turned up |
a sunny Spring morning face and answered, |
$ am his daughter, sir; do you wish to see |
him?'
A hellish thought suggested itself to me. 1 |
SAID, " es, you may show me the way to his |
bouse. knew We should take cross path |
over the fields and pass long reach Of lonely |
woods. In the most solitary part of that I |
might wreak upon the guilty head of George |
Markham the most terrible vengeance which |
could wipe out his most bitter wrong to me, l |
would kill his child and bring her home 10 /
him, confessiDg that did it, and clarifying in |
the end of that hOrrid game of quoits on whose |
first throw he had staked my heaven and lost |
il. |
The little maiden took my hand, confdingIy.
That might unnerve me ; so l lOosed it and |
L told her to go before while followed She |
tossed back her curls and went bounding ahead |
ut rate my strides were hardly equal to. |
Stiil kept my eye upon her. After a while |
we came to a low brOok-cOurse between two |
hills, over the foremost one Of which could |
just see the chimney of my brothers house. L |
looked about me-nO one was in sigbt-rescue |
was impossible. The devil whispered, snow ~ |
Then called to her to STOP saying I must look |
for something l had dropped. She obeyed,
and stood amusing erself with making wreaths |
of the yiOlets that grew by the water course,
while stopped to hnd a heavy stone which |
might do my bidding of vengeance surely and |
silently. All around me in the bed Of the |
brook were nothing but pebbles walked |
few steps further down in my quest The little
girl must have though me leaving her, for all |
at once heard her call, gently, % am wait
ing for you ~
Gracious God Who spoke? Do the loved
that arc forever lost cry 10 US out of Paradise
am waiting for you aOated down through
the prisan bars from her whom the Father had
just numbered with the saints.
L stood up and wandered back, more dream
ing than awake, to the spot where George
Markham's daughter still staid plating yiO-
lets She turned to me with a smile and said
i did not mean to hurry you, Sir, but nay
father IS very unwell, and l ought to be at
home Will you please tell me how late it is ?"
For the first time after those fifteen prison
years, in which knowing toll and darkness
only, L had asked no other measurement of
time, mechanically put my hand to my breast
and drew out my restored watch Was sane
The second hand, stopped at the last kiss of
agony given me by my beloved, whether by
miracle or the agitation Of my grasp, know
not, suddenly moved on. Like a lightning
fash rushed on me the memory of my VOW
"Till we meet, this watch shall never count
time again"
Yes we had met-met in that voice of quiet
waiting-met in this wondrous omen Of the
watch-met when / knew not-when she was
seen by none but God and her sister angels
And the wrathful embers went out in the breast