The Catholic bulletin. [volume] (St. Paul, Minn.) 1911-1995, 1914-08-22
AM INTERESTING TRIP
THE STORY or "ST. PATRIcK's
PRAYER" ETCHED BY A LIFE
PRISONER IN AN EASTERN PEN
ITENTlARY.
written for The Catholic BulIetin.)

/ '4NOI lung SluCG Willie GOIlS d1CpClllE
from that apparently fashionable all
ment-la grippe took a journey
around my room and enjoyed the trip
Although | did not go very far, as
much as though, Baedecker in hand
and piloted by Cook, | visited all the
places whose scenes are hanging on
the four walls, in steel engravings and
in oil.
What appealed most to me was not
any etching or polychrome, but a neat
little passe-partOut in gold and white,
entitled:
EST. Patrick's Prayer"
Christ as a light illumine and guide
me,
Christ as a shield cover shadow and
guard me;
| Christ before me, Christ behind me,
Christ be beside me, on left and
right,
Christ be above me, Christ be be-
meath me,
Christ this day be within me and
without me.
There is no artists undecipherable
name in it's lower left hand corner
| but the history Of the man who did
| it, was told me by the donor. who fur
nished the materials for it's produc-
| ton in the narrow cell of a prison, in
one of our neighboring States. There
the unfortunate inmate occupies his
time, the spare moments from the
dreary drudgery in the factory, turn
| ing out work of this kind that brings
the comfort not found in the monoto-
nous toll of making prison-made
goods.
He is grey haired life server"
who has spent more than fifty years
behind the grim, silent walls. Fifty
years! The thought is staggering to
one who has enjoyed the freedom of
Gods fresh air for that length Of
| time Fifty years! What thoughts,
what longings, what hopes, what dis
appointments, what depths Of despair
| have been his unhappy lot as each
year came rushing in, bringing some
slight hope of a Communication of the
sentence. How he must have counted
! the days, the weeks, the months,
lengthening into years, the years into
generations until half a hundred has
rolled on! How truly personal must
seem to him the words of Wilde. With
what painful realism are the lines,
that rank in the class Of the Ancient
Mariner:
know not whether Laws be right,
| Or whether Laws be wrong:
All that we know who lie in gaol
Is that the wall is strong;
And that each day is like a year,
A year whose days are long.
When a youth, in an idle moment,
with companion he broke into an
isolated railway station, ostensibly to
rob the safe, but being discovered by
the station agent who, unexpectedly
| had returned to his Office late that
night, in the scuffle which ensued, he
struck the official on the head with a
coupling pin and killed him instantly.
Both attempted to escape but al
ready known as hangers on, or street
corner loafers, they were soon sus-
| pected, apprehended, brought to trial
and would have been hanged but for
the mastery pleading of an astute
country lawyer who played SO wonder
fully on the mercy of the country
jury, men invariably guided by the
sternest kind of justice, that the
sentence was changed to imprison-
ment for life.
The companion died many years
ago and he has grown SO accustomed
to the machine-like life within the old
walls, that it is practically the only
home he ever knew and | doubt if he
would know how to live in the world,
| which has changed so much since he
was sent to prison.
Some women became interested in
| him several years ago and tried to
ameliorate his condition by giving
| him materials to work upon, to turn
out little bits of artistic things, as a
| sort of outlet to his natural bent. /
wonder why men OF genius develop
so wonderfully along certain lines
| when deprived of their liberty? Pity
it is that these hidden faculties or
rather these latent tendencies are not
developed when they were free men.
| understand that he recites the
prayer on his knees each night before
the lights go out, and | have no fear
| that it will be answered some day and
that Saint Patrick, by his intercession,
will obtain for him the gift of the true
Faith.
In the meantime, dear reader, what
are we doing, you and |, who are in
the fullness of health and the joy Of
living out in Gods free air? What are
we doing for the weaker brothers be-
hind the walls Of the prisons through
out this State and the other States of
the Union?
We are doing nothing. We don't
care, you and |, for none of ours are
amongst the inmates and yet | think
| once read thatF'We. are our brothers
keeper
When | was able to get about on
rather unsteady legs after my late
sickness, and with that prayer still
in memory, I took occasion to call at
the prison in the neighboring state,
not from idle curiosity, but animated
by the wish to know how 'the other