Savannah courier. (Savannah, Tenn.) 1885-1979, 1892-09-22

how my heart ached as tried to speak,
in simple words, sentences that, though
smooth, must have seemed TO him cruel
as the lsccnest Blade. His children
were beautiful Hesvould do anything
for them ! had found homes for them
where they would be treated with care
and tenderness. All that wealth and love
could do for them would be done. He
drank in my words with eagerness. i
said that in twenty years when he
would be released these children
would be women. They might be
wives, and possibly unotbers. Your
name stands in the way of their sue
cess. ~Ganyougivo them,up andneyer
know them agains and let them be for
ever ignorant of their fathers sad
history? ellis features were settled.
lie did not weepsa@lle turned away
moment and bowed his proud head on
his hands. Then he turned and said;
"A raging fire burns within my brain"
/ told him not to be hasty in his de-
cision. He might wait until tomorrow
and give an answer. Tomorrow?
Why should I wait until tomorrow?
True, they are all that is left on earth
TO me now, and / can be nothing to
them but a disgrace. The name gave
them has been tarnished. Shall ! com
pei them to bear it still? Tell my
darling children that their mother died
when they were babes, and that their
father is dead-that he died for them.
/ shall never seek to know them. Their
father is convict now. Give each
one of them rose for me. Often did
their mother and l gather flowers for
them. Give each of them rose, and
when these flowers withcr, their father
will be no more to them-no more for.
ever"
The face of my friend row fully re-
fccted her soul. Tears of sympathy
ran down her cheeks as she finished
her eloquent recital. But there came
a smile almost of triumph as she af-
flrmed: ''Bclieve me, sir, there are
noble hearts throbbing behind the
prison bars" ] confess that my own
eyes were dimmed. Thus ended, as
suppose, the story that had SO deeply
impressed me.
Three weeks later stood in my own
pulpit in Chicago on Sabbath even
ing The incident seemed so we'll
fitted to illustrate self-dcnsl that ! re-
lated it, but with less Of feeling than
when | heard it in private conversa-
ton. At the close of service stranger
came forward, and, extending his hand,
said: "Sir, I was deeply interested with
yonr discourse tonight, and, 1 may say,
thrilled ill "a With the incident of prison life
that you related. : s.sa ~
,'"Yes, snid !, tit was q sad story, but
teaches us that allnatures are not ig-
rcblelbecause they wear the convict
garb." IA A&s
II have a personal interest in this
case" he replied. 1--WE have adopted
the Youngest child into our family. 1t
seemed hard that we who had been
left to mourn an only child should have
another come into the home; the child
of stranger, and that stranger con-
vict. We took her only for a day, but
she won her way to our hearts. My
wifes mother, lady of eighty years,
was with us, and she decided the case
| for us this way: She took the darling
on her knee and asked her if she could
sing The child answered that she
could and would sing for her. In as
sweet voice as you ever heard she
sang the old Twcnty-third Psalm, The
Lords my Shepherd, I'll not want.
The lady of eighty pressed the little
one to her heart and said: Darling
child, your faith must be rewarded.
This is your home. My son, take her
as your child; take her for what God
has taken, and while she lives let her
never feel want which you can re.
lievc.'"
And if our story can be retold to an.
other generation, it may be. that some
soft hand will lay rose on the grave
where rest the ashes of the convict fa.
ther who died to his children.-W. T.
Meloy, d. d., in United Presbyterian.