Salt Lake evening Democrat. [volume] (Salt Lake City, Utah) 1885-1887, 1885-05-20
al CAN'T GET OUT. F"

cageQ SUaTllHS. w hSA
Fleur had returned to their hotel after a
stroll upon the Quai de Cont, 1orlck
was informed that lieutenant OF police
had been enquiring after him, and he
paused and wondered what could be
wanted of him. He found that it was
necessary to have passport in France,
and that he was without one. lie toiu
the master of the hotel that ne
had rented his rooms for month ana lhaI
he sbould remain in them. Not without
a passport does any one stay In French
hotel: and he was further informed that
on the morrow's morning he would GER
tainlv be sent to the Bastile, or the
Chatelet, at least. But Yorick protested
that he would not quit his room day be-
fore his time was up for all the Kings OF
France in the world. His friend, La
FIeur, whispered in his ear that no one
could oppose the King Of France. Iorick
thought more seriously of the affair when
left alone, and he recalled a dla-
logue he had had with Eugenlus
lust before he had quilted England's
shores TO journey through France and
Italy. To Eugenius, Yorick had said
in half-boastful manner: "But you
don't consider. Il that before have been
three days in Paris, shall take care to
say or do something or other for which L
shall get clapped up in the Bastile, and
that shall then live couple OF months
entirely at the King of Frances expense"
1t was a happy thought, and as he re-
volved it in his mind it pleased him, and
the terrors of the Bastile, the Bastile
from whose walls those who once
went in never came out, were in
the thought and not in the
reality. "Make the most of it you
can, said to myself, the Bastile is but
another word for a tower and tower
is but another word for house you can't
get out Of" There was nothing in this,
for man soon adjusts himself to his sur
roundings, and where the heart is con-
tent there life is most enjoyable. I'm
prisonment or confinement is an evil only
so long as we deem it such. "'Tis
true, said |, correcting the propo-
sition-the Bastile is not an evil to be
despised- But strip it of its towers-fll
up the efoss-unbarricade the doors-call
it simply a confinement, and suppose It's
some tyrant OF distemper-and not
man, which holds YOU in 1.-THE evil
vanishes, and you bear the other half
without complaint" With such a view
of life in prison there is no
punishment, and that which the
world calls sorrow and an evil, men
who can soliloquize and philosophize,
hold privilege and a joy. This was the
frame of mind in which Mr.. Cannon, Mr..
Musser and Mr.. Watson went to the
Bastile, not for violating the laws of the
King of France, but the laws of the
United States, and all who think they
suffer will find consolation in the theory
of Yorick, for their thought is the
same as that of Yoricll when he
contemplated the Bastile and the pros
pect of Imprisonment within it. YoriclI
was happy at this thought, but in the
midst of his tranquilizing soliloquy there
came to his ear the sound of voice
which he took to be that of child, which
complained that cit could not get out" In
every direction he looked, but he saw
neither man, nor woman, nor child, but
as he returned through the passage he
saw a small cage, in which was confined
small startling. On whatsoever side he
approached the cage, the startling ran to
it, and in its wild fiutterings cried con-
tinuously and aloud, 81 can't get, out,
can't get out" The heart of Yorick was
touched, and he resolved to free the
startling; but there was no getting him
out. al fear, poor creature, said /, 1 can
not set thee at liberty. No. said the
starting; 4 can't get out, I can't get
out" The story of the startling is the
story of those three men who went to
prison with joy in their hearts and
songs on their lips, but they
can't get out" Is there no terror in the
the tale for those who glorify in break
ing the laws of their country, and deem
1t great privilege TO suffer for the same :?
Let us look at them as they are, and tell
in the language of Yoric: 81 then looked
through the twilight of his grated door to
take his picture.
/ beheld his body half wasted
wasted away with long expectation and
confinement, and felt what kind of sick
ness of the heart it was which arises
from hope deferred. Upon looking nearer,
/ saw him pale and feverish in thirty
.'ears the western breeze had not once
tanned his blood; he had seen no sun, no
moon. in all that time nor had the voice
d. friend or kinsman breathed through
nis latticc! His children!
But here my heart began to bleed; and
] was forced to go on with another part
OF the PORTRAIT.
He was ling upon the ground upon a
Little straw, the furthest corner of his
dungeon, wairh was alternately his chair
and his bed a little calander of small
sicGs W. nd 1t his head, notched all
over Nltt tn dismal days and nights he
had passed there. he had one of these
little sticks in his hand, and, with a
rusty nail, he was etching another
day of misery 70 add to the heap. As
darkened the httle light he had, he lifted
up hopeless ere towards the door, then
cast it down - shook his head and