The Birmingham age-herald., 1913-08-03
n iIE following rcmarzable letter.

chapter out Of real addressed
70 ~John1 and signed Your
Brother" bearing date of Ashevile. \.
c, April % 1918 was recently found on
the streets of Birmingham.
My dear John:
hardly expected YOU to write to me
SO early after our last conversation over
the phone. for as / stated. my course
here has been fully and finally decided.
and not until you cut loose from .'the lit
tie girl as you call her, can you expect
anything from me. You never asked me
for anything never needed assistance un-
Ill after you met her, and while believe
fer anything, still it is very strange
that, since knowing her. yon are always
In trouble. That's something that you
can't deny and something that you should
think about
You are wrong did not think that
you wanted to give my money to the
girl. / know that you are in bad cir
ennstanees, that you need money to buy
meals and lodging The knowledge that
you were wanting has driven me almost
crazy ] have lost sleep, and the con-
slant thought that brother of mine was
in a distant city without friends, and
without job, has been more than
could scar. Constantly Thinking of your
condition and continually striving after
something that would mitigate your ar
tion N my eyes has made me sick; have
been in the office for three days with
a temperature of from 100 to 102, and feel
tonight as though 7 will collapse
Please stop for just one day in your
mad rush downward, and let your soul
dwell H. contemplation on your past
Think again of the forever lost home
days-those days when you and | with
souls as pure and white as the lilies
wandered along the streets of that little
old town down home, when every day was
bright, and we, as happy as could be.
roamed the woods and fields, almost al
ways with proud and devoted father,
and sometimes with our dear mother
John, there are so many dear, precious
memories of our innocent childhood,
which if you would look back over. would
nerve you and give you strength to come
through the fire unhurt Think of the
days spent down on the farm, of the
happy, unbroken fireside when at even
ing we all gathercd-- happy rhil-
lsaren beneath the protecting care OF de-
voted parents.
ct your memory for once go back to
those dear lost pictures, and compare
the thought, the aspirations. and the
dreams of that sweet little John of long
ago with the thoughts. the aspirations
and the dreams of the man. John, the
grown little John, OF today
You were a dear little boy and we
loved you more than all the rest. For
back to us and many and many have been
the prayers that have ascended from
home and church to the throne of God
that it might be His will through His
mercy to spare you to us.
You have been too near deaths door
and given back too many times, that
we should at last lose you in this
manner. No, John, can never, never.
believe that it is the order of things
that you have tfod here of late You
have been too near to heaven and |
know that God in His all-seeing wis
dom did not spare you to become a
wanderer among men. an absolute out
cast, a consort of bad women, finally
To live life of shame and sin, and at
last to die a failure. No, He intended
that you should attain higher things
and l sincerely believe that finally
when the road is untangled. the last
shuttle thrown and the cloth finished,
that you will emerge a manly man, an
honor to your name and pride to your
father and mother.
Success in this life and the final hap
piness does not mean merely the graf
ification or the realization of our de-
sires For what, after all, are name,
fame. and gold. and Of what account
are the passing pleasures or fleeting
fancies of this life? 1 would rather be
known as a failure, to die unknown
without money or friends than to have
denied my ideals, forgotten my con-
science, and lived untrue to myself and
family The realization of the false
pleasures Of this life and the attainment
of fame and riches do not constitute
happiness or success, and | would
rather die without these, If / could only
end my work knowing that l had been
true to my conscience and had done
the best l could in all that had been
given me to perform The most sue
cessful life is not that in which a man
gets the most pleasure. the most money,
or the best job; but that in which he
gets the most manhood, performs the
greatest amount of work and of useful
human duty, no matter how humble
that work or duty might be.
Heaven helps him who helps himself
and no one can gain the respect or con-
fidence of other men unless he first
respects himself and has confidence In
his strength. You say you have been a
slave all your life, but you do not say
to whom. That Is indeed a weak ad
mission on your part. but nevertheless
1t Is true. Yes, you have been slave,
but only to yourself. your passions. and
your desires You have never tried to
practice self-restraint, self-denial of
those little things which have cost you
,u,daNN@ lIMi r