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EDITED AND PUBLISHED WEEKLY BY THE INMATES OF THE MINNESOTA STATE PRISON Vol. XXV. —No. 28. Hope, faith and Love. There are three lessons I would write; Three words as with a burning pen, In tracing of eternal light Upon the hearts of men. Have hope. T hough clouds environ snow And gladness hides her face in scorn. Put through the shadow from my brow. No night but hath its morn. Hare faith. Where’er thy bark is driven, The calm’s disport, the tempest’s mirth ■ Know this—God rules the hosts of heaven The inhabitants of earth. Have love. Not love alone for one, But men, as men thy brothers call, And scatter, like the circling sun , Thy charities on all. Thus grave these lessons on thy soul — Hope, faith and love—and thou shalt find Strenght when life’s surges rudest roll, Light when thou else wert blind. Frederick Von Schiller. THE RETURN. Beau Esprita. It wasn’t a specially clear and balmy afternoon. The mellow au tumnal sun did not shine from those proverbial cloudless skies. For all that Dan Rugg knew to the con trary —if he knew anything at all about it —such skies were but po etic illusions of sentimental story writers or at best, the shadowy relic of a long dead mythology. There was nothing mythical, however, in the wind-driven rain that beat into his face as he rounded the unshelt ered street corner; nor was it very poetic, unless in rather too obvious suggestion of “streams that flowed.” Dan Rugg was uncumfortably con scious of a stream that flowed in side the collar of his rusty coat, seeping from the abreviated rim of his battered Derby hat. Now this may seem a not very propitious way to begin a story, but really lam not to blame for that —nor was Dan Rugg. Could we have had our way it would never have happened at all; or needs must that it be, Tvould all have happened in the conventional, clear and balmy mellow autumnal, cloudless, Garden of Eden manner with Dan Rugg, the regular, faultlessly tailored, clean limbed, handsome young Prince Charming stepping from his perfect ly appointed, numberless horse-pow «r, many thousand dollar motor car. Rut the weather man will have his way; and so will those tides that ebb and flow through the currents of life, and which have been known before now and doubtless will be known many times more to eddy in to some comparatively still harbor such weather-beaten driftwood as Dan Rugg. YY r e do not complain of these things, Dan Rugg and I. They are From a sheltered doorway across the street a policeman scowled at Dan Huger as he hurried along in the rain, and Dan’s hand went re assuringly to the pocket of his coat wherein lay certain papers, duly signed and sealed with the Seal of the State. There was something infinately •caressing in the -movement, like a lover caressing the spot beneath which reposed the first-given tress of the Only Girl, and his hand lin gered over the pocket until it drop ped to open the door of a house no less rusty, no less battered in appear ance than Dan himself. Within was the odor of many peo ple crowded into many little rooms; of many feeble fires smothering in •• , ... j&r. ' -i itsfcQag' v . si- STILLWATER, MINNESOTA, THURSDAY, FEBRUARY 15, 1912. many draftless stoves; of many pots of cabbage preparing for the satis faction of many hungry mouths. It was an odor sw r eet to the nos trils of the rain-drenched scrap of driftwood —the odor of home first sensed after years of absence. On the last of the little square landings, littered with rough arti cles of household use which could find no room in the crowded tene ments, hot unlike the scum of a great kettle forced over the edges by the troubled movement of its stewing contents yet clinging and dripping down it’s rough sides, Dan paused. ' There was only one door on this landing, a seamy, worm-eaten door which leaned askew in the narrow strip of grimy wall as if much squirm ing about in futile attempt to find an easier position between the roof which pressed down heavily from above and the stairs that reached up greedily from below had perman ently impaired its power to stand errect. Not a beautiful door, cer tainly; rather, a door with a story. A poor sort of door, you will say, to open upon a scene of beauty such as angles hesitate before. Perhaps — but if so, again we are not blame, Dan Rugg and I. In our eyes it was a Golden por tal set with pearls of great price, its weary, skewy, leaning was the eager outreaching of a-joyous welcoming gate (it would have been all this in fact could we have had our way); it was the door of home for Dan Rugg. No odor of smothering fire or pre paring cabbage came through it’s many seams, and Dan paused to brace himself before tapping on it’s worm-eaten panels. He knew of the love that waited his coming on the other side, but what §lse would he find? Oh, what else? A weak, startled voice answered his rap and he entered. A tiny room and bare, with the heavy roof pressing down on it in sloping walls dim lit by the flame of a meagre can dle. A rusty stove sagged, tireless and weary, on three legs in one cor ner; a rough table leaning again st the wall held two or three empty tins. A narrow bed was braced in the corner by the light; and prop ped on it’s scanty pillows half lay a frail little woman, her hands still clutching the rough cloth she had been trying to work on. For a mo ment her strained eyes stared at the man just within the door in startled inquiry, then recognition coming she flung herself from the pillows into his outstretched arms. The weak voice came full and strong in her cry. “Boy! Boy! Danny Boy.” He knelt beside the bed, holding her close, neither speaking for a long time. Then in answer to her ques tioning eyes, he said, “They found it wasn’t me, after while. The fel" low that did it got hurt bad and owned up. They gave me this.” He drew his arm from around her emaciated form and brought out the packet, duly signed and sealed with the Seal of State. Sh*» sank back upon the pillows, t - unopened against be* breast, for 1- ling it as a little b; (■. Dan ; .'u-,-' stirred uneasily,gig 'Tel: K'-o’’Ti?nnej room; noticing it’s 1 t . V stove, the empty t. is. HS rested on a little rockei. -j ■ ■"! \\ broken but spotless*;- budless, vitn j a tiny crutch leai v _ , . . r . IT IS NEVER TOO LATE TO MEND. arm and a bit of childish needlework tidied across the baok. He half rose, startled, “YVhy Maggie? Where is she? Maggie?” The woman’s hand held his own in a tighter clasp and she drew him down again beside her. “She-is happy now, Dan, tad —well.” Their little Maggie had been a crip ple from babyhood; she could not be well in this life. The strong man’s head bowed down in her lap and a hard sob shook his frame. Her fingers strayed over his rough short-cropped hair, lingering softly, caressingly, and she repeated, Happy now, Danny Boy—happy —and well,” The weariness of her unnourished frame had again crept into her voice and her head drooped piteously until it lay beside his on the coverlet. Between them lay the paper they had given him in return for years of toil and heart break, in return for the little crippled daugh ter whose life he might have pro longed had there to watch over and care for her; in return for the toil of the weak woman in the lonely attic, alone, and with no one to supply the Necessities of life; the paper —duly signed, and sealed with the Seal of State. How Not to Write a Letter Carelessness is responsible for poor results from form letters many times. This may take the form of careless ness in statements made, in the ap pearance of the letter, in errors in mailing, and in dozens of other es sentials. Illustrating carelessness in the form to be sent.is the following ex tract from from a form letter sent by a medical company to a man who inquired about a preparation they manufactured which they advertised would put on flesh. Their error was so glaring that it made the let ter a joke —and beware misapplied humor, for it doesn’t secure business. Remember until the discovery of Blank, nothing has ever been known which could 3>e depended “upon to put ten, fifteen and even thirty pounds of firm “stay there” tissue. Think a moment what it would mean to you to have even fifteen pounds added to your present weight. Fifteen pounds well distributed over your figure vt»ll mean a plump, full face free ftym lines and furrows, well rounded arms and neck, a firm bust, enoughj “upholstery” upon the hips so that jou can endure to sit for hours uponja hard seat. Fifteen pounds will-fnean legs, not drum sticks. f Excuse ote frankness; this is a confidential letter, there is no need of mincing natters just between us two. In view o| the fact that this re markable fink letter was “beaded in”very cleally with the gentleman’s name, it is nit surprising that he felt inclined to wmder whether the joke was on him <b +he sender. Conclud ing- that the letter would have to bear the of it, he failed to take advantage of the onnor it-.v tn <rat uls *nd to nra bus* ” —F;om si In troubl-isYtark hour no i away to dcjj/.'Sti/. ic*r Xhiiil hi&ya&rfcbfd 4md whei o« ; re !in Iwok learn $4 wisely .to Vi j- the ! good fortune- ox life as it t ri* /* W DEFECTIVE PAGE EARLY DAYS A. F. B. Paver Read Before the Chautauqua Circle: Some fifty years ago, a young German had left the shores of the Fatherland and finally arrived in the United States. Disembarking at Castle Garden, which at that time was the landing place for im migrants and after passing through the hands of those who look after the immigrants, he, with a number of others, left for the state of Illi nois, there to engagfe in farm work. At this work the young man con tinued for. the period of fiye years, at the end of which time he, who a short time ago had been classed as a foreigner, was now a citizen of the United Slates. Furthermore he had saved during those five years, money enough to enable him to start out in business for himself. YVe next find him in the state of Minnesota, then almost a wilderness sparsely settled and full of roving bands of the war-like Sioux and others. Undaunted the young man pur chased a small tract of land and on it built a rude log cabin. His near est neighbors lived some seven miles away, still he did not lack for com pany for the Indians were ever near, Many a night the entire space of the small cabin was taken up by them, who came uninvited and who helped themselves to what ever suited their taste or fancy. Many a night the young man went supper less to bed and in doing so won the good will of the red men, which in after years stood him in good stead. Many a time also the Indians, after a successful day’s hunt, would re turn to the cabin and leave a plenti ful supply. Settlers were few in those days and the Indians were not only friendly but grateful and kind. And so the years sped on until one-never-to-be-forgotten day, the young settler was rudely taken from his home, the clothing stripped from his body, which was then painted black, after which he was forced to dance for hours in order to save his life. The Indians were on the war path and had devastated the whole country east of the Mississippi, burning and killing all whom they came across. For many weary days the captive was forced to march with the In dians and many were the times when death would have been a re lief, especially when straggling bands of the most blood-thirsty sav ages would return to camp at night and display the bloody scalps in tri umph, many of which the captive recognized as belonging to some of his neighbors. No doubt all of the members of this circle have read of the New Ulm massacre and the final death by hanging of thirty-eight of the In di * h? took part in the same. ’> i* it- period in the young man’s Me we s .all pass and only say that 1 s of untold suffering he -nnnrry r -rved at mu * - me. Only a heap of ashes of the log cabin and years s ’’ 1 hardship again stares - give up? No! He builds V \ - Tcnlln , I SI.OO a Year 1 1 ERMB- | CMontbs FiftyCts. a better and stronger home and in time another comes and shares it with him. To this couple several children were born, all of which to day have ever been upright, honest, bard-working, American citizens, except one, who is unworthy to be called their son. When Uncle Sam called for vol unteers, these young men gladly offered their lives to their father’s adopted country. And today where once there stood a log hut there now stands a pleasant humble home, facing the main street of a thriving city numbering some ten thousand souls. The same being mostly built by those who came from that little spot across the sea. As a rule the Germans are the most wanted, ard are considered the best class of immigrants in the United States today. Most all of them are hard-working honest, up right sturdy men, and their goods sell on sight. I wish the members to take this statement as I mean it when I say: There are no better class of people in the world than the honest upright immigrant who comes here to better his condition; for on account of them has it alone been possible to make this country what it is today. Just think where Milwaukee would be if it had not been for the sturdy sons from the Fatherland. And what .would we do if all of the protectors of peace would go back to Ireland? And if all the foreign ers would return to their native lands Uncle Sam would have an awful time looking for an American. The Indian reservation would be his last hope, and we doubt, at this time, if one could be found willing enough to admit being a full-blooded American. How then can any one make the statement that the Americans lead the world in all branches of indus try without including foreigners from all parts of the world? By careful study you will find that its not the ones born under the American Hag that control the big gest of the industries in this coun try, but that it is those who were born in a foreign land. It takes all classes of people to make a world, and were it not so, we perhaps would not be here today. We are all foreigners in one way for we have proven false to our selves and to the land that we called home. In closing I might say that the only reason a large number of ar ticles made only by Americans can be sold today, is because it has that little trade mark —“Made in Ger many.” y If you have never enjoyed a hap py day in your life, try this: The next time you meet some poor fellow down and out just kind ly pat him on the back and say: “Here old boy, cheer up! Come over and have lunch. I know just the man who is looking for a fellow like you.” Let him know you have faith in him and see how quick he will re spond. You can never feel true Bappiness until you have made some " other cheerless soul see the cheering rays of light. If God made you strong he did so that you might help your weaker brother. Are you do ing it? —A. F. B.