The Kanzas news., 1859-01-01
The Old Preacher, or the Traitor and
Patriot

| the city of London. At the dead of the
night, when the storm was at It's highest
an aged minister, living near the suburbs oi
the city. was aroused by an earnest cry fol
help. Looking from his window, he be-
held rude man, clad in the coarse attire
OF the sweeper of the public streets. In a
few moments, while the rain came down in
torrents, and the storm growled above, the
preacher leaning on the arm of the scaven-
ger. threaded his way through the dark
suburbs.
That very day strange old man had fall
len speeches. in front of the scavenger's
rude home. The good-hearted street-sWeep-
er had taken him in, laid him on his own
bed-he had not spoken once-and now be
was dying.
This was the story of the rough man.
And now, through dark alleys. among
miserable tenements, that seem to topple
down upon their heads, into the loneliest
and dreariest suburbs they pass-that white
haired minister and his guide. At last in a
narrow court, and up fight of stairs that
creaked beneath their tread, and then into
the death room.
1t was in truth miserable place.
glimmering light stood on broken
uCIO nSES WdlfSs tucTe
the solitary garret window, with the rain
beating through the rags and straw, which
stuffed the broken panes-and there amid a
heap of cold ashes the small valise, which
it seems the stranger had with him.
In one corner, on the coarse straw of the
ragged bed, lay the dying man. He was
but half dressed-his legs were concealed
by military boots.
The aged preacher drew near and looked
upon him. And he looked-throb-thr
you might hear the death-watch ticking
in the shattered wall.
It was the form of strong man, grown
old with care, more than age.
There was face that you might look
upon once, and yet wear in your memory
forever. Let US bend over the bed and look
on that face.
A bold forehead scanned by one deep
wrinkle between the brows-long locks of
dark hair, sprinkled with gray-lips firmly
set, yet quivering as thoug gh they had life
separate from the life of the man-and then
two large eyes vivid, burning, unnatural in
their steady glare.
All, there was something so terrible in
that faee-something so full of unutterable
loneliness, unspeakable despair-that the
aged minister started back in horror.
But look, these strong arms are clutch
ing at the vacant air-the death sweat starts
in drops upon the cold brow-the man is
dyingl
Throb!- -throbi-throbl- the death
watch in the shattered wall.
''Would you die in the faith of Chris
tian?" faltered the preacher, as he knelt
there on the dark floor.
The white lips of the death-stricken man
trembled but made no sound.
Then, with the agony of death upon him,
he arose into sitting posture. For the first
time, he spoke:
"ChristianP' he echoed in that deep tone
which thrilled the preacher to the heart,
''will that faith give me back my honor?-
Come with me-with me far, far over the
water. Ha! we are there! This is my ma
native home. Yonder is the church in
which knelt in childhood-yonder the
green on which I sported when boy
But another flag than that waved when /
was child. And listen, old man; were ]
to pass this street as passed when but
child, the very babes in their cradles would
raise their tiny hands and curse me. The
graves in yonder churchyard would shrink
from my ot-steps, and yonder flag would
stain baptism of blood upon my heart"
That was an awful death bed. The min
lister has watched the ''last night" with a
hundred convicts in their cells, and yet
never beheld a scene as terrible as this.
Suddenly the dying man arose. He tot
tered along the floor. With those white
fingers, whose nails are blue with the death
chill, he opened the valise. He showed his
military coat trimmed with silver, an old
parchment, and a piece of cloth that looked
like the wreck of battle flag.
''Look ye, priest, this faded coat is spot
ted with my bloodl'' he cried, as old mem
ories seemed stirring at his heart. This is
the coat wore when / planted the banner
of the stars on Ticonderoga. That bullet
hole was pierced in the fight at Quebec;
now-I am a-let me whisper in your ear.
''Now, help me, priest" he said in
voice growing suddenly sremulous; ''help
me put on this coat of blue and silver
For you see," and ghastly smile came over
his face, s'there is no one to wipe the cold
drops from my brow; no wife. no child
must meet death alone; but I will meet
him as met him in battle-without fear"
While he stood arraying himself in that
vornn-eaten coat of blue and silver, the
good preacher spoke to him of faith in Je-
sus. Yes, of that great faith which pierces
the clouds of human guilt, and rolls them
back from the face of God.
..Faithl" echoed the strange man, who
stood there erect, with the death-light in his
eye. ..Faitbl can it give me back my hon.
or? Look, ys, priest, there over the waves,
sits George Washington, telling to his COM
rades the pleasant story of the eight years.
war-there in his royal hall sits George of
England bewailing in his idiosic voice the
loss of his colonies. And here sm III,
Who was the hrst to raise the Gag. of free
dom, the first to strike the blow against that
King-here am I, dying like dogw
The aEe-strickeu preacher started back
from the look of The diving man while