The morning news. [volume] (Savannah, Ga.) 1887-1900, 1897-01-10

,,.+bor Of The Story of Penitent Soul,
Au' ces,' Great Mill-streer
They said that he was dying, and he
nod that they were right. For the last
sttoor wears he had suffered kind of
nortvrdom. and it was a blessed thing
,hor even martyrdom should end at last.
The workhouse nurse was very kind to
him She brought him broth and medi-
oira at stated hours, and made him extra
ups of tea; but although he was scrupu-
,ouslv grateful, it fretted him little
r,sn she came up to his bed; he felt that
.ha must know his story and despise him
e,r if although she seemed so kind. On
tho whole. he would rather that she stay
Cd away. He did not mind being alone.
10 could lie still and look at the white
mashed wall. or the glimpse of blue sky
4 and green trees afforded by the window
onnosite his bed, and dream of the old
davs when he had been a deacon of the
1rdeDendent Chapel in Easterby, and SUI
4 ,4rintendent of the Sunday school, and
\ treasurer of the chapel funds, and half
hundred things beside. 1t was long
time ago, but he liked sometimes to think
m it. Life had been happy and prosper
aus then; and James-the son for whom
he had given up all that made life worth
ying-had been a little lad with curly
hair, and eyes as blue as the summer
4 skies.
He was an old man now, poor, broken
H down, dlsgraced; but he thanked God in
his heart that his life was nearly over, and
that Jim had never known the truth.
Under his pillow were Jim's letters.
They had been written in queer places in
sailing ship, over bush fire, from the
Il bottom of a mine; but they were all af-
4 fectonate and hopeful, and light-hearted,
and the joy of old Matthew Hornblower's
cart. Now and then there was a word of
4 entence for past wildness and disobedi-
Il ance, which was more precious to him
tnan all the rest. For it showed the
father that his sacrifices had not been
made in vain. He liked to think of his son
now-the prosperous, even wealthy, far
mer out in Australia, with wife and child
H rem, horses, cattle and lands-and he had
tender triumph in the thought that
Jim's prosperity was after all, his doing
the doing of the father who might years
word-a word which he refused to speak.
As he thought of these things, with a
a faint smile on his withered lips, his mind
4 passed by natural transition to the cir
. cOmstances of his own life. He saw him
self shrinking for the first time from the
4 eyes of his brother deacons; he remember
ed the calling of that church-meeting in
which he had been solemnly deprived of
his offices in the church; he recalled that
most difficult hour of all, when Mr.. Shil-
Ito, the minister, had visited him pri-
vately, and prayed with him, earnestly
i and gently, seeking to lead him to repent
i ance. All, how hard it had been to re-
4 sIst. What subtle temptation to coun-
4 ierieit the contrtion which he did not
4 leel. And with what heart-break did he
Il realize, from bitter experience, that not
one of his old friends trusted him, or stood
up for him, or henccforth thought of him
as anything but a convicted sinner, whom
4 their charity alone had saved from public
dlserdce and punishment.
lie could not blame them. Thinking over
Inc matter it seemed to him that they had
oeen very kind. Grave, godly men, anx-
ious TO maintain an upright walk and con-
FeFsauon, had shown him mercy, and
'rled to convince him of the error of his
ways 1t was not their fault if they had
broken his heart meanwhile.
his business fell away from that time
. forward. He had been a fairly success
III corn dealer, with a good connection,
az one time; but slowly and surely his
trade passed into other hands; people
. seemed to shrink from dealing with him,
ana ms receipts dwindled until he saved
. himself from bankruptcy only by reiin-
4 qMshing everything TO his creditors. a
mail sum was returned to him, and he
DesdH NE as miller's man. Lately, how
4 eNer' ne had done little but odd jobs; and
NJ" ne was completely invalided and had
Veeh taken to the workhouse infirmary.
was great downfall for him, and no
ooug could have felt it more keenly than
OiI Mathew Hornbiower.
hasterby Union, as it was then called.
5000 back from the high road, just out
ug the little town. 1t was a tall white
vuHuIhs' standing in a pleasant garden,
suere there were velvet lawns. and bright
o"er-beds and blooming trees. l remem-
~ 10 this day the great white guelder
OSes-the SNOWFALL tree we used to call it
ulat oyerhung the gate. AS children we
Seu TO look with awe upon the building,
anG wonder what lay behind the stone wall
~ VINO cared for the guelder roses in
sdrden, but never dared to pick the
suo"oaHs, although they hung so tempt
my beyond the iron gates.
Inc inmates lived at the back of the
ouse' where there were stone yards and
3" walls, / believe, instead of green
Ass and SNOWFALL trees. But beyond
se lay stretches of green meadow and
Ver-arching sky. Matthew Horn
i"er was always thankful for that
,npse of green and blue
e lay dreaming of old days until he be-
Ie conscious of some unusual stir in the
l'lor outside his ward Voices rose
zen. apparently in angry recrimina-
Inc sound worried him, and he
o,ne ms eyes towards the door, The
M occupants of the ward were for the
90 part IN a semi-comatose state, pro-
.n.''ls from sleep or imbecility, and no
- or attendant was in the room. But
e"lly Nurse Leek returned, and with
M, Nsltor-a man whom Matthew had
n.y. seen there before. He was a tall,
ny ahouldered, bearded man-possibly
ne" doctor, thought Matthew--and he
80 straight up to Matthew Horn
.ft"er bedside and stood there silent, as
G, Haa not word to say
n.' Mr. Hornbiower, as he was gener-
M, called, in Difference to his lost posi-
m made an effort to be civil and CRATE
~ ne was to all officials Of the place
rr,U,. yo1 day, SIR" he said, nodding his
",ner! Fatherl Don't you know me 20
NJ. new sat up IN bed and stared I'm
sn5 nun alarm. The nurse tossed her head