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yJulian Hawthorneams. Observe the initials U. Sv P., meaning n their trouser legs.hand, to uncover your own deformity than to hide it. especially when you know, or fear, that the hiding is unsuccessful.There it a sense of brotherhood, long since unfamiliar to human intercourse under usual conditions, but welcome even at the cost of conditions such as these. The truth gradually emerges to our consciousness—it is not the evil in us that kills brotherhood, hut the vain, unending effort to make the evil seem good.Society has done its worst to us; but It could not take away from us our mutual kindliness, or the qualities that justify it. We are condemned as wicked, but we are comforted by one another's good.When you sap a man’s faith in plain justice, and terrify him with the threat of irresistible power, and torture him in mind and body through the exercise of that power, you drive him to the support and society of men similarly circumstanced, and thus create the precise analogue in the body politic of a cancer in the individual body.As 1 passed out of the dining room after meals each day, I came to notice a young man who /sat at a table near the door. He sat with folded arms, and with a set and gloomy countenance; his eyes were fixed on vacancy, and he did not speak with his companions. A crutch leaned against his shoulder; he had lost one leg.I learned his story. In the settlement of a small estate of which he was an heir, a sisterof his had obtained money that belonged to him. tnd when asked to restore it to him, had refused to do ge. After some fruitless negotiation, hePLAY BALLBY JULIAN HAWTHORNE(Atlanta Penitentiary, Jane, 1913)Eight hundred dead men, hopping fromtheir graves (For the sun shines fair on the high graveyard wall),Each in his shabby shroud, all we mouldyknaves,Blinking like a swarm of bats, to see agame of hall!Baseball, corpses all! Limber up andshout again!Every jolly stiff of us yelling like a null Hey, Jack! Hi, Jim! Glad to see you outagain!Watch him pitch! He’s a witch! Chasehim off, the scut!Eight hundred “con fans, all come backto life again!(Bright shine the sun on the day that wogo free!)Play ball, vnaties all! Up and lina ’amout again! ^Never weaken—fight it out, whate’er thescore may bo!Who said wo wore dead! The game hasput a soul in us!Whack the horsehide on the nose and seeetfor home base!We’ll got there, never fear; you and 1 and ‘all of us!God's our umpire, and it’s up to us to boldthe pace!dgot angry and sent her through the mails a mes-t *age containing violent expressions of reproach and animosity.The young woman took this paper to a United vStates marshal, who brought it to the attention of the district attorney, with the result that the brother was indicted under some law of libel or of obscene matter, was arrested, tried, and convicted, and sentenced to Atlanta penitentiary for five years.After he had been lodged in his cell, his sister repented of her action, and sought to have him freed; but tlie law does not recognize such changes of heart, and the brother must serve ow his time.The sister had done wrong; the brother had lost his temper; in what family has not such an outbreak occurred? But because the brother had happened to put his bad temper on paper, the law, being rashly invoked, seizes him, tykes five ears out of his life, and brands him with the shame of the jail bird.Upon what plea can inch an act be construed as justice? But the district attorneyshows tho court that tho statuto has boon violated ; the judge charges the jury, tho jury finds its verdict in nccerdanco with tho legal evidence, and the thing if done. It is n mechanics! process—nothing human about it.Will prison reform him? Is society protected? Is fnith in hnman justice promoted by such things? His case is hut one of scores in every jail that are as bad and worse. But —throw him to tho lions—servos him right!** is still tho cry.Another article by Julian Hawthorne describing his life et Atlanta will he published in the next Sunday Pest. j :-«*rrvi«*t, mi W tm Wtsfw tyafiHs* tec.)ok
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