The Cambria freeman. [volume] (Ebensburg, Pa.) 1867-1938, 1889-04-12

There was a coarse, loud guffaw.
while one man exclaimed:
"Thet's a reg'lar bald-headed, pal
sled old bluff game, iedge, an guess
it won't wash with this gangr'
But just then a tall, broad-shoul-
dered mana stranger-entered the
saloon. He had heard my appeal and
had also heard the rough words Of the
miner who had last spoken.
by the courts leave" said tho new
arrival. Il am an old regulator, Judge,
and think the young fellow ought 10
have his say, whatever il is"
"Good," came from the lips of the
Judge; "go on, my lad -~-,--
- / was going to say, judge, that
have little scrap of paper hcre-not
much account, certainly, to any body
but myself; but my doad mother
gave it to me and Two treasured il
about ten years. II isn't Scripture,
but it's mighty near it, and / couldn't
say any thing more solemnly than
what l would say with my right hand
on that page torn from my mothers
hymn-book. Judge, / am Innocent"
Gentlemen Of the jury, what do
you say? Is the prisoner guilty or not
guilty?"
"Guilty!" came from a score OF
throats
Now, 1 was not greatly afraid Of
death, though l would have preferred
to live, and anyhow did not particular
" fancy death by means of hempca
rope. lfelt that / was hardly prepared
to die, for had Of late given very little
thought to religion and to tho teaching
of my earlier life. SO it was not any
morbid and false notion of religion
nor yet the promptings OF fear which
led me to make a last request of my
prosecutors.
Judge" l said, Il should liko you
to grant me last request before You
pass sentence. On this scrap OF paper
there Is n hymn, which l have a fancy
to hear sung before you begin business.
jerry Davis, there, can play and
knows all the church tunes. I'd like
him to play and sing this one. And,
judge, ask the boys that don't want 70
hear it to step outside, because l
shouldn't like to see them polliug fun
at it."
Boys, you hoar?" said the Judge,
and strangely enough there was ab-
solute silence, while not man left the
room.
There was an old piano in that West
ern saloon, used for frec-and-easvs.
noisy concerts and occasional dances,
though it IS doubtful If sacred songs
had ever been played upon it during
| its sOjourn at that settlement
jerry Davis took the little torn
page, struck a chord or two, and tncu
commenced to sing in his rich tenor
voice:
There IS n fountain filed With blood
Drawn from Tmmaaucl' veins,
And nners plunged beneath taat ood
! Lose all their guilty stains.
.'The dying thief rcjo .cod to sec
That fountain IN his day,
And there may I, though vie as he,
Wash all my SINS away"
I Somehow, Jerry Davis voice weak
! ened and he could not finish the hymn,
which must have been familiar 10
many hardened man in that strange
/ company. AS for me, was sobbing
violently-not so much moved by the
words of the hymn as by the sadly
sweet memories which it brought to
me- There was absolute silence for
several minutes, when the stranger
| who had spoken a word in my behalf
walked over to the piano where Davis
sat with his fingers listlessly resting
on the keyboard He took the torn
leaf, examined it critically and thln
walked over TO me Taking my hand
in his strong grip, he spoke in loud.
| ii rather husky voice:
Judge" he SAID, - feel certain
there is some stake hero, and / ask
for q postpOnement OF the proceedings
for further investigation. This lad is
my brother; my name is Phil Kimber-
ly. L own the Kimberly claim over
the hill, and am pretty well known
along tho Turtle Valley"
It was indeed my Oldest brother.
whom / had not seen for sixteen years.
That hymn Of my mothers had
somehow softencd the feelings OF the
boys, for they willingly acceded TO
Pills request Two days later / was
cleared OF all suspicion and became for
n time the most popular man in the
camp.
1t is almost needless to add that ]
now treasure with more care than ever
the little scrap OF paper upon which j.
printed, in old-style type, my mother
favorite hymn.-W ii. S. Atkinson, in
Detroit Free Press.