The progressive farmer. [volume] (Winston, N.C.) 1886-1904, 1893-08-08
SHORT STORIES ON IMPORTANT
MATTERS.
House of Correction.
BY R. PENSTOCK.

Do we need a house of correction for
young offenders against the lava
A few Sabbaths ago one of Raleigh's
humanity loving, God fearing Chris
tian workers while on his visits of
mercy among the lowly, stopped to
speak a word of love to the inmates
OF the North Carolina penitentiary.
Standing in the long corridor between
rows of Gagged criminals he read from
the Bible and exhorted those poor in
generated wretches to look from the
chains and bars of iron which held
their body imprisoned for only a few
years, and consider the letters of sin
which holds the precious immortal
soul in lifelong Imprisonment. He
pointing out the Christ who never re-
fused to grant a pardon to the con
vlcted sinner when earnestly appealed
to, and who was always willing to
listen in loving patience to the cry Of
the vilest of earth's creatures, when
suddenly he was interrupted by a
heart-stirring cry from some one near.
Looking around he espied crouching
in a dark corner of the corridor, an
old woman clutching wildly at her long
disheveled grey hair and moaning as if
in the deepest agony.
80 my son! my son! How my heart
goes out for you. Great God, how
can l bear it. Hear my prayer Lord,
for my dear boy. How 1 love my boy,
my dear Willie! He is the youngest
and I love him more than my own life.
o my God, have mercy on Willie"
Here the cries of a mothers love and
prayers ceased. The gray head was
bowed in anguish, while scalding tears
rained down the grief furrowed cheeks.
"My good woman" said the speaker
closing his little pocket bible, do you
want your son to become a christian2"
For a few moments the old woman
remained silent. Her heart was too
full for ~utterance. Great sobs soOOk
her frail body. Then raising her head,
and with tear bedimmed eyes betray-
ing the overlooking heart she sobbed:
"God knows I do. He is my youngest
child, my baby boy. Led to the bad
by wicked companions he committed
some offence and was sentenced to the
penitentiary for six months. 0 my
boyl God knows I tried to raise him
up right. I never thought my dear
son Willie, my baby, would eve go to
the penitentiary. Mister" and she
drew near MIR. P, her listener, my
boy is still young, and is not stepped
in wickedness, but if he associates
with these criminals for six months
how can he be else than a hard hearted
criminal too, when his sentence ex-
pires. o Mister save my son from
from these evil people who surround
him. I live in a distant county, and
have walked from home here to see
my boy. The shock when the news of
his being in jail reached me almost
drove me insane, and my God! it is
worse than I knew. Here is in a very
hell of crime, a school with the most
hardened criminals a. instructors.
Help me, mister, to save my boy. o
my boy my boy" and the old woman
wrung her arms in anguish.
Mr.. P, for convenience we will SO
designate the christian worker, glanced
along the rows of cells and his eyes fell
upon a beardless youth gazing through
the bars near the center of one of the
rows. The boys face was twitching and
now and then a tear dropped quickly
down his pale cheek. He seemed to
be trying to keep back the emotion
that welled up in his bosom.
Going to the cell, and questioning
| the boy, Mr.. P learned that the
old woman was his mother, and that
he had run away from home in com
pany with some other boys who per
suaded him that he could get rich IL
the city without hard work and have
all the fun he wanted, too. His story
can be easily guessed. Homeless,
friendless, moneyless he stole some
thing to eat. Without Influential
friends he was quickly convicted and
sent to the ~penitentiary.
God only, knows what his condition
will be after six months intimate as
ISOLATION with the prisons deepest dyed
criminals.
When I heard Mr.. P relate this
incident, his eyes filed with tears. He
ia ~nowerIess to Interfere. The tender
boy is in the clutches of so called
Justice, and the State will be held
accountable.
Do we need a house of correction, a