The Ottawa free trader. [volume] (Ottawa, Ill.) 1843-1916, 1877-12-22
PRISON LITERATURE.

The Joliet Republican publishes the following
verses written by fresh convict a few days afte
his arrival at the 'pcn," and addressed to hi
friend Billy, of whom he got glimpse in thu
same safe quarters. The verses are certainly
above what one would expect from such source
The alterations of reckless levity and frlvollS
with sentiments of purity and goodness are eml
nently Characteristic of the average criminal
"who," as the Rcpublicon remarks, "one moment
thinks of home, mother and boyhood with sign
and a tear, and the next moment sings rlbaio
dtty, forces all thoughts of virtue from HIS liiHu
and plunges into the widest dissipation ana vice.
drinking the pleasures OF
'.Thc foam that lasts for an hour,
''Thc dregs are tasted Tor yeas.
Pye lust had u glimpse of you, Billy,
Dressed ND in your stripes, black and white,
1t was deicedly kind OF you, Billy,
To present yourself thus to my sight.
Have YOU seen what was said in the papers
am safely cnsconced for tonight,
For rest in the Joliet Prison,
A rest of two years, "Got it light
Yes. that is the time Oft, Billy,
Two years, Oh, well, but 1t seems
Like one of those horrible visions,
That Brighten a man in his dreams,
Two years in the cell Of prison,
can't comprehend it as yet,
Bat fancy before it is over,
shall learn what is in 1t, "Iou bet
It's curious, isn't it, Billy, -
The changes that twelve months may BRING,
Last year was at Saratoga,
As happy and rich as king.
was raking in pools on the races,
And feeling the walters with Tens,
And SHINING mint iuleDs by twilight,
And to-day am here in the pen"
What led me to do it?n What always
Leads men to destruction and crime?
The prodgal son, whom you've read Of,
Has altered somewhat in his time.
He spends his substance as freely
As the biblical fellow Of old
But when it is gone he fancies
The husks will turn into gold.
Champaign, box at the opera
High steps while fortune is flush,
The passionate kisses Of women,
Whose cheeks have forgotten to blush,
The old, old story, Billy,
OF pleasures that end in tears,
The froth that foams for an hour
The drcgs that are tasted for years.
Last night as sat here and pondcred,
on the ends Of my evil ways,
There arose like phantom before me,
The visions of my boyhood days,
thought of my old home, Billy,
Of the school house that stood on the hill,
Ofthc brook that flowed through the meadow,
can cen hear its music still.
Again thought of my mother,
Of the mother that taught me to pray,
Who's love was precious treasure,
That hccdlessly cast away.
saw again in my Visions.
The frcsh-lipped, careless boy,
To whom the future was boundlcss,
And the world but mighty toy.
thought of all this as sat here,
OF my ruined and wasted life,
And the pangs of rcmorse were bitter,
They pierced my heart like a knife.
1t takes some courage, Billy,
To Jolgh in the face Of fate,
When the yearnng ambitions Of manhood
Are blasted at t,pnty-eiDt.
Well. give me your hand, old fellow,
Nay you always be happy and straight,
/ shall look for you up at the depot,
In the summer Of rs.
Meanwhile, if | find il convenient,
And feel desire to roam,
III call at the Joliet Prison,
And probably find you at homo