The Anderson intelligencer. [volume] (Anderson Court House, S.C.) 1860-1914, 1867-10-02
! gor the ggallte Girtle.
From the Watchman and Reflector.
JOHN HOLBRoOK'S PUNISHMENT.
BY LOUISE CHANDLER MoUnToN.

and so solitary that it seemed IS if eartl
rejected and heaven had forsaken him
Behind him, quarter of a mile, lay
great gray pile Of buildings-the Stat
Prison-and glancing at them and then a
his closely shaYen head, you might hav'
asked if it was not his own fault Doubt
less And for the rest of us, surely We
never deserve punishments we do not re
eeive, vengeance that is not swift to over
take us. Because he got his due, IN full
measure, pressed down and. running over'
it is we'll that the rest of us should amuse
ourselves by throwing stones at him.
Yet not even in the one sin which
worked his woe was he the sole offender.
A great fraud had been perpetrated by
company of men, aad he-not more
guilty but less subtle than the rest-had
been the scape.goat whose doings came
within reach Of the law, and brought upon
him its penalty, .whilet the others escaped
To-day his prison doors had been opened,
and after seveniyears he stood once more
a. free man, under the free sky. Seven
years, and then the jubilee; but for him
what was there 10 rejoice in-what mean
my had freedom p; When those prison
walls shut him in they had shut him away
from every thing be cared for in life. He
had loved his wife so we'll that she filled
his horizon as the sun does the sky at mid
day-therc had been no room for any
stars to shine. So her loss had been the
chief of his miseries, and that loss was to-
tai. She had never looked upon him after
his conviction. he saw her face in the
court room when the judge was reading
his sentence set, wide-eyed face, white
with eagerness. Their child, little girl
of four; with wistful eyes and tender
mouth, was in her arms; but he had never
cared much about the child, her mother
had filled his heart so full. When his
sentence of doom was uttered he had seen
that woman's face only, and it had seemed
to him to harden into stone.
He thought fate had done her worst
when he was shut away from his wife.
But yet heavier blow awaited him, in
the silence of his prison-house; for even
through the prison walls the tidings pene
trated that she, his wife, had sued for
divorce from HIM and obtained it. After
that, he longed to die, but he only tasted
the bitterness of death with the lips Of
life. So to-day he stood in his freedom
alone.
And as he stood, voice seemed to fall
from the summer sky, dsay, ''Go home
John Holbrooky go home" But what
home had he to go? Jane had married
again, doubtless. At any rate she had
cast him off; and of course, she would
have taught their child to hate him. But
still the voice urged him, and now it seem
ed like soft and tender whisper in his
heart-aGo home, go home"
Then he began to bethink himself Of
the old place where he and Jane had lived
together-the low-roofed, hospitable brown
house, with the great rambling garden al
the east, where the old well was, with the
pear and cherry trees hanging over it, and
the foSgloves and four o'clocks growing
close by. A breath from its peaceful
GOODNESS seemed to soften the sultry heat
of the summer day. A homesick longing
came over him to see those haunts again
It was not unlikely that Jane might have
moved away. Strangers might be in the
old home now; but at least he could stand
In the cool garden shadows, and drink
some water ont of the old well. Then he
bethought him of his shabby clothes and
his empty pockets. His home was nearly
fifty miles away. He could walk there in
time, but to what end Better lie down
and die at once.
He turned his face toward the place
where he had lived seven years. 1tseem
ed to him just then that it was the only
home for him in the world; and he was
tempted to go back and beg them to opcr
rs doors. to him again. AS he looked, he
say the chaplain driving down the hill
He had missed Chaplain Marcy when hi
came away, and now he would wait till ht
should come by, to say few words o
thanks to this Christlike- soul, who hai
been kind to him through the years Of hi
disgrace. The chaplain drew rein, as hi
came near.
81 meant to be back before you left
Holbrook," he said, cbeerfully, "but | jus