The Richmond palladium. [volume] (Richmond, Ind.) 1855-1875, 1873-01-25
LETTER FROM JEFFERSON.
WILLIE.

JrrFERsoSvrLl3, JAM, 21st 1873.
B. W. DAVIS, Esd, Dear Brother
Il A stray nun1ber Of the FAlladiam
met with welcome Of an old friend
at my house day or two ago., and
I concluded to express my graft
tude for it by sending you an ar
ticle for publication; it is an extract
romone Of many convicts letters,
which I read to-day. I read be-
tween three and four hundred every
week, which embraces all that come
in, and go out of the Prison.
The author of the one which I
send youa copy, is man Of supe-
rior mind, but became almost
wreck by intemperance, he knows
nothing of the act for which he was
condemned and sentenced for two
years to the State Prison,-he is
one of the thousands of victims of
the heartless rumseller. The fami-
" was one of the most respectable
in the country where he was raised,
and at one time was one of the
most promising young men in the
western part of our State. The
contrast between his position then
and condition now, is terrible be-
| yond all description. But to the
1 letter:
! "pRIsoN MUSINGS
1t is cold, dreary, rainy night
in January, and as 1 draw my paper
toward me to write, in my dismal
cell, I am very sad. How the rain
does patter, patter against the win
dows and rough walls outside, just
as it used to do long ago at the
old homestead" O, those halycon
days, days that were all happiness
and sunshine.
! How many of those I loved then,
and later too, have gone to their
graves. Upon the graves of how
many dear ones is the cold rain fall
ing tonight! Could 1 wander in
the old graveyard, as / used to do,
how many white stones wonld see
there with familiar names upon
| them! There lies, the body Of my
sainted mother! She, to whom I
would have given half my hope of
heaven to have saved from death
Dye pelting rains and wintry winds,
weep for her-for me to night.
Mother, mother, the world has seem
ingly dealt rnkindly by your child
since you have passed away from
earth, but in peace rest in your
ashes. You can never know the dis
, grace of your boy, of your first born.
That pang heaven has kindly spared
yon. May to-morrow's sun shine
brightly upon the mound that GOV
ers your sacred dust, and though
may never be permitted to see it
again, may the spring birds ere long
sing sweetly to the spirit of my
never lobe forgotten mother.
When I think of the long time
that must elapse before I can go
, hence, and wander beneath the blue
vault of heaven, a FREE MAN, get
out of heart, and despite all my
patience, resignation and philoso-
ply, the "blue devils !" get hold Of
me, and draw over my senses a
screen upon which is painted all the
horrors ofmy situation. / am buried
alive! I suffer more than others
perhaps because I am more sensi
tive. Strange fancies take posses
t sion of me and I sit and dream, OF
t ponder, of things real and things
y unreal, until my very cell assumes
fantastical shapes and seems PEG
pied with shadowy forms, vague and
underlined. And / am in my sober
senses, mind you. o, this terrible
, isolation from society! And the1
= it is that my misspent life looms NJ
r before me, gloomy and desolate as
the ruin of a city that some earth
;, quake had destroyed before it was
finished. Then it is that compar,
J, my present with the past-the wha1
b I am with the what I might have
been, and the contrast begets with
/, in my bosom hell of remorse
) deeper, darker and more terribl,
t than was ever conceived by tn
brain of a Milton, Pollock or
;: Dante.
Il God forbid that my future shoult
. be as nay past. And yet I canno
! consider myself the worst of sin
K ners. Since the best of earth tina
made life dear to me was takel
> from me, the hand of fate ha
!, been against me. And those VIII
" knew me best sympathize with m
. best. All that I have touched TO
d the last few years has crumbled int
It dust, and for the most part throug
!, the demon of intemperance.
But why tell of my sorrow an
: misfortune? Many will say: Yo
might have done better. You di'
not try" No sympathetic chort
= perhaps, vibrates at my sad tale. N
tear of pity will be shed for hin
y who has often stifed the tears an
:. groans of the sorrowing? Bl
. hist from out the crushing storl
of adversely an angel whispers:
= will not always be thus. She bio
es me hope and look away from cart
n and it's sorrow for true sympath
90 Well, that is ray of comfort, but