Muscatine weekly journal. [volume] (Muscatine, Iowa) 185?-1890, 1859-07-29
DOWN Hill;
A PICTURE PROM LIFE.

PICTURE PROM LIFE.
Not long since l had occasion to visit
one OF our courts, and while conversing
with legal friend, I heard the name
Of John Anderson called.
''There is hard casc," remarked
my friend.
Hooked upon the man in the pris.
oner's dock. lie was standing up, and
plead guilty to the crime Of theft. He
was a man bent and in6rm, though not
old. His garb was torn, sparse, and
filthy his face was all bloated and
bloodshot his hair matted with dirt,
and his bowed form quivering with de-
l;rium. Certainly, never saw more
pitiable object. Surely, that man was
not born villain. moved my place
to obtain fairer view of his face. He
saw my movement, and he turned his
head. He gazed upon me q single in
slant, and then, covering his face with
his hands, he sunk, powerless, into his
seat. "Good God % involuntarily
calculated, starting forward, "Wll-."
l had half spoken his name, when he
quickly raised his head, and cast upon
me q look Of such imploring agony
that my tongue was tied at once. Then
he covered his face again. asked my
legal friend if the prisoner had counsel.
He said no. l then told him to do all
in his power for the poor fellows ben
eht, and l would pay him. He prom
Used, and I left. | could not remain
and see that man tried. Tears came
to my eyes as l gazed upon him, and
it was not until / gained the street and
walked some distance that could again
breathe freely.
John Anderson! Alas. he was
ashamed to be known as his mothers
son. That was not his real name, but
you shall know him by no other. Twill
call him by the name that stands upon
the records of the court. John Ander-
son was my schoolmate, and it was not
many years ago-not over twenty
that We left our academy together he
to return to the home Of wealthy pa
rents, and I to sit 'down for. few
years in the dingy sanctum of news
paper Office and then wander off across
the ocean. l was gone some four years,
and when returned I fonnd John a
married man. His father was dead.
and had left his only son a princely
fortune.
"And, c." he said to me, as he
met me at the railway STATEN, "you
shall see what bird have Gagged.
My Ellen is lark a robin! q very
princess Of all birds that ever looked
beautiful or sang sweetly!'
He was enthusiastic, but not mistak-
en-; l found his wife all he had said,
simply emitting the poetry. She was
one Of the most beautiful women ever
saw; and so good, too-so loving and
SO kind. Aye, she loved John so much
that she really loved al his friends.
What a lucky fellow to find such wife,
and what lucky woman to find such a
husband +; for John Anderson was as
handsome as she-tall, straight, manly,
hig h-browed, with rich chestnut curls,
and a face as faultlessly noble and
beautiful as artist ever copied. He was
good, too; kind, and generous. and
true. spent week with them and
was happy all the time. Johns moth
er lived with them. q fine old lady as
ever breathed, and making herself con-
slant Joy by doting on her "darling
boy" as she always called him. Igave
her an account Of my adventures by
sea and land in foreign chimes, and she
kissed me because loved her darling.
did not see John again for four
years. In the evening l reached his
house. He was not in, but his wife
and mother were there to receive me.
and two curly-headed boys were at
play about Ellen's chair. I knew at
once they were my friends children.
Everything seemed pleasant until the
little ones were abed and asleep, and
then l could see that Ellen was trou.
bled. She tried to hide it, but face
so used to the sunshine of smiles could
not conceal cloud. At length John
came: His face was flushed and his
eyes looked inaamed. He grasped my
hand with happy laugh, called me
tt0ld follnw >, ssolI dnn > .:1T
come and live with him, and many
other extravaganza things His wife
tried to hide her tears, while his mother
shook her. head and said:
"He'll sow these wild oats soon.
MY darling cannot be bad man."
"God grant it," I thought to N.Y.
self; and | knew that the same PRAYER
was upon Ellen's lips.
1t was late when we retired, and we
might not have done so even then. had
not John fallen asleep in his chair. On
the following morning l walked out
with my friend. told him was sorry
to see him in the condition he was the
night before.
A'Oh," said he, with laugh-"oh,
that was nothing. Only a little wine
party. We had a glorious time. II
wish you had been there.'
At first thought to say no more,
but was it not my duty? I knew bis
nature better than he knew it himself
his appetites and pleasures bounded his
own vision. knew how kind and gen.
erous he was-alas! too kind, too gen
crous.
"John, could you have seen Ellen's
face last evening, you would have
trembled. Can you wilfully make her