The prison mirror. [volume] (Stillwater, Minn.) 1887-1894, 1893-11-02

Having heard nearly all the great songsters
OF the last thirty-seven years from Catharine
Hayes and Mario to the present day. The editor
can honestly say seldom have his souls depths
been so stirred as by the unexpected breadth
and mellOwneSs of the rendition of Christ My
All by Mrs. Pierson. in chapel last Sunday. 1t
was not merely singing of voice but of soul. 1t
was ray of light piercing the dark cloud OF pris-
on life; and undoubtedly awakened in many 1.-THE
still small voice" always ready to prompt us to
nObler thoughts
The VermilOn Iron Journal is a little out in
saying: Times are so hard that even convict
labor cannot find employment. The board of
managers of the saltwater prison failed to re-
ceive any bids for the labor of Minnesotas 400
cOnvicts for the ensuing two years, and the boys
will therefore be gentlemen of leisure" in the
future. The saltwater inmates no doubt have
very kindly feeling for an administration that
brings about such a desirable condition of af-
fairs The Thresher company still hires half of
the prisoners. 1t is also a little out in suppOsing
that the prisoners would have enjoyed idleness.
Sunday is appreciated for its break of the week;
but two Sundays week would be vertable
WEAKNESS. Very few men get to states prison
for loafing. On the contrary pernicious activi-
ty" has been their bane.
Twice during the past week the editor has
been told THAT any man can do what he makes
up his mind to dO.'' But there are more reasons
than one to doubt this proposition. Demosthe-
mes. it is true, became from weak-voiced
stammerer the greatest orator of his age; but
had he been dumb he could not have succeeded
to his aspirations. Human will-power properly
concentrated will go a long way in overcoming
aid other men other gifts. so no man can sue
coed in that to which he has not a bent. All the
culture on earth would not enable the editor
to initiate Mrs. Persons voice of last Sunday.
Nor would thousand years be time enough to
allow of the state Whitewater. great artist as he
undoubtedly is. to depict and put soul into
copy of the "Angelus or the death Is the
Gate of Life" The editor would like to believe
himself and be, a Sims Reeves or a Whitney.
But he believes with old Leather Stocking, that
great creation of Fenimore Cooper, that my
gifts don't run to sngn' - 1.-The cobbler to his
last is a good old saw.
The following mOnOdy by a farmers boy. taken
from an exchange, has evidently been the rounds.
But it is too fOrcefully descriptive and bearing
on our theme of attraction of cities not to be
reproduced:
I'd like to be a boy again,
Without a woe or care,
With freckleS scattered DER my face.
And haySeed in my hair.
I'd like to rise at four O'Clock.
And do a hundred chores;
And saw the wood and feed the sheep,
And lock the stable doors,
And herd the hens and watch the bees,
And take the mules to drink;
And teach the turkeys how to SWIM
SO that they wouldn't sink;
And milk about a hundred cows,
And bring in wood to burn;
And stand out in the sun all day,
And churn and churn and chllrn;
And wear my brothers cast-Off clothes,
And walk four miles to school;
And get a licking every day,
For breaking some old rule:
And then go home again at night,
And do the chores once more:
And milk the cows and feed the hogs.
And curry mules galore;
And then crawl YEARLY up stairs.
And seek my little bed
And hear dad say: THAT worthless boy!
He does MT earn his bread.''