Judge — September 23, 1882 — page 11: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

| | THE JUDGE. Incentives to Crime. Yesterpay I dined with our old family minister, the bald-headed but benevolent pas- tor of my childhood’s days, and as we with- drew from the table, leaving the depleted board with the lank and hungry look of a member of Congress who has gotten con- spicuously and painfully left on the River and Harbor appropriation, it was but natural that we should retire to the dimly-lighted par- lor, and there recall memories of the long- buried past. “‘Um—ah! let’s see,” mused I, ‘When I left Weedsville you had three sons, didn’t you, dominie? Bright, noble fellows were they, too, full of life and fun, and ” A heavy sigh from the old man checked me abruptly. “They surely are not dead?” queried 1, reverently A sad, far-away smile trickled slowly over the aged pastor's countenance. “No, they are not dead,” replied he, at last, ‘but they have departed widely, very widely from the paths I had mapped out for them in life. Perhaps a minister's sons are more prone to inherent evil than other men’s; I know not. You are awa I cherished the fond hope of sending the two younger boys to preach the glad tidings to the unclad but appreciative heathen of Cen- tral Africa? I frankly admitted as much. “Tt proved but a phantom hope,” con- tinued the old man. ‘One of my boys was led into bad habits at college, and from thence the path of degradation was descend- ed at fearful speed, until now, utterly shame- less, he drags out a miserable existence in a position towhich death would be preferable.” “And that position “In the New York Custom House. The other I had high hopes of. He became super- intendent of a Sunday-school, and all seemed bright, when he took the first downward step by becoming cashier of a Newark bank. Of course, when a msn becomes both bank- cashier and Sunday-school superintendent his fellow-men look upon him with distrust and. cold suspicion, and I, myself, shed bitter, blinding tears when I heard of the fatal step. I knew the end could not be far off. Itcame, My son was called away hurriedly one morn- ing to Canada. A morning paper, with all ined venom of an independent , remarked that he did not put the bank- vaults in his hand-bag, because they were too heavy to carry off, but that was about all that was left behind, except the profanity of the stockholders,” “And what of Jim, the third boy ?” in- quired I; ‘‘the brightest, noblest of them all. He surely could not—’ The old man raised his hand warningly. “His name is tabooed in my household,” said he, simply.“ James is serving out a two-years’ term in the New Jersey Legis- lature.” A sad silence fell upon us, It was broken by the old man. He stepped to the window, and raising the curtain, admitted a flood of sunlight. e that at one time | POPULAR SONGS “Ha, hat Pre “We will contine ourselves to brighter subjects,” he said, with an effort to appear cheerful that was pitiful. ‘You must see my pictures. ‘They have hung upon my walls ever since my boys were babes, and I prize them deeply. They are mostly upon Bible subjects, yon see, and are real gems of art. This,” continued he, pointing to a picture above my head of three curiosities clad in blue flannel undershirts, who were stagger- ing fecbly through a Dutch oven, apparently in search of the museum from which they had escaped, “is a beautiful engraving of ‘The Hebrew Children.’ You remember they were compelled to walk through fire. Isn't the expression fine 2” Of course I unhesitatingly said it was, although the expression caused me to cherish a secret belief that the Hebrew children had been indulging overmuchly in green bananas. “Tris beautiful,” agreed I. ‘The artist seems somehow to have caught on to the whole business; the picture is a poem in it- self. By the way, what is that chromo by its side? that picture of a female highwayman in the army overcoat, leaning up against the ash- barrel, and holding a double-handled beer- mug, filled with circus lemonade?” ‘The old minister looked at me aghast. “That,” murmured he, “that is ‘ Rebecca at the Well.’” “Oh-ah—certainly!" stammered I,“ Might have known it—fine picture—looks like life—very realistic—conveys a touching les- son—very. - The old man seemed unaware of my con- fusion. He drew my attention toa picture that hung in one corner. It was a very expressive picture. It represented a bow-legged Cain flecing from a ILLUSTRATED. Mt him at last!” recumbent Abel, who bore an alarming ap- pearance of having his head stuck on side- ways. The expression of supreme and stolid indifference visible upon the face of the fleeing Cain was brightened by the fact that he wore avery short yellow ulster and no pants. “Isn't that grand?” exclaimed the pastor, enthusiastically.‘ What a great moral les- son it teaches See the expression of com- mingled fear and hate stamped upon the mur- derer’s face.” Tat once coincided with the old man, al- though I still have a private opinion that the expression of fear and hate upon the murderer's brow would have readily suc- cumbed to soap and water. The good old man seemed pleased with my approbation, and halted me in front of a pict- ure representing a choice lot of escaped maniacs lowering a pink and brown scare- crow by a fish-line into a group of stuffed walruses. ‘This, 1 was informed, illustrated the triumphant entry of Daniel into the lion's den, This was not the last of its kind ypon whic: 1 was compelled to gaze. The room was lined with like pictures, and I was compelled to hold parley with them all. When at last we hod made the round, I seized my hat and abruptly fled. 1 wanted to be alone. I desired to seek out some quict glen, where I could choke down the devilish longing which had arisen in me to commit some unheard-of crime, for which I could suffer instant and ignominious death. Ifonly in an hour's time those atrocities upon the wall could acquire such an infernal influence for evil over me, what, oh, what must have been the effect upon those three comicbooks.com