_DEATH._
The murderer had been taken to the county jail to await his trial.
In the meantime, suspicion was aroused that the prisoner was George
Steele, but he steadily denied it, and insisted that he was John Pogue.
The rumor coming to Mary’s ears, she at once feared that it might be
true; and to relieve her mind of the dreadful suspense, she resolved
to know the worst, and hence obtained permission to enter his cell.
When the door was opened, there, in chains, sat George! Although she
had felt that it would be so, she was nevertheless shocked at the sight
before her. He tried to evade the recognition, but his heart failed;
ungovernable emotions unmanned him, and he wept like a child.
“George, my brother, my dear brother, how could you do that thing?” she
exclaimed, and her whole frame shook as she spoke. After a while she
became more calm and asked the keeper to allow her to be alone with her
brother for a short time; he consented, and she sat down on the bed,
close beside her brother, as she did years ago, when they played under
the elm-tree at their dear old home. He told her all--“But,” said he,
“I was in liquor, and a fiend seemed to drive me to the awful deed! I
was not to blame so much; I did not use to be so, did I, Mary?”
“No, George,” she gently replied, “you were once a good boy;” and then,
after hesitating a moment, she said, “do you pray now, brother?”
He looked at her in a dreamy way, and said, “_I_ pray! I cannot pray!”
then his eye kindled, and he continued, “_I_ am not to blame; when you
and I wanted to be good father would not let us, but taught us that
Sabbath-breaking, swearing, dancing and drinking were only amusements
that everybody should enjoy; and we soon learned to like these things,
Mary--and where am I now?” She leaned her head upon her hands and
sighed; then rousing herself, said hopefully, “It is not too late yet,
George; God has been merciful to me, and has pardoned all my sins;
if you repent as I did, He will not cast you off; but you must pray,
George, with all your heart.”
Looking into her eyes, he replied by saying, “_You_ pray for me, Mary.”
Kneeling down, she brought her poor, sinful brother’s case before the
Mercy-seat; but there was no godly sorrow for sin in his heart--the
fear of death made him wish for prayers. Had he been at liberty, he
would have been as bad as ever; and no wonder pardon was not granted.
After Mary rose from her knees, she had some further conversation with
her brother, and then took leave of him with a heavy heart. This was
their last meeting. The time for George’s trial arrived; the court-room
was crowded with curious and idle spectators; the prisoner was brought
forward to answer the charge of murder; he pleaded “Not guilty.” A plea
of insanity was set up by his counsel, and an artful defense made for
him; but the case was clear, and the testimony against him overwhelming.
The Judge of the district was Henry Brown. The prisoner was directed
to stand up; the Judge asked him if he had anything further to say,
why sentence of death should not be pronounced; he shook his head and
faltered, “_No_.” After receiving his sentence, he desired to see the
Judge. They met. Neither could speak--a convulsive pressure of hands
was all that passed between them.
What a contrast is here! Both men occupied the same social position in
childhood; yet a difference in training and associations brought about
the present result. May God help us to take warning!
Thirty days were given the prisoner to prepare for the eternal future.
His jailer was kind to him, and offered to get him any religious advice
he desired; at first he refused to see any one, but as the time of
death drew nearer, he consented; the missionary to whom he had given a
cup of water in his boyhood was ready and anxious to go to him; and no
sooner had he received George’s permission, than he was at his side,
endeavoring to shed light upon his darkened understanding; but the good
man’s prayers and advice seemed to produce little or no impression upon
the mind and heart of George. He felt that there was no hope for him,
and as the missionary left him he requested him to preach his funeral
sermon, and in doing so, warn others not to follow the example of one
whose earthly career was short, and ended in death and everlasting
misery.
We will now draw a veil over the closing scene in the life of this
young man. In doing so, we would say to the Sunday-school scholar, bear
in mind your great privileges--do not abuse them--do not consider it
a task, but a pleasure, to prepare the lessons given you--keep ever
before your mind the fact, that it is your soul’s eternal interest, and
God’s glory, for which you must work.
The missionary lived several years after his return to his Eastern
home; and, like Paul, he would frequently write an epistle to his
brethren in the West--thus could their hearts still commune with each
other. But the time came when this laborer in the Master’s vineyard was
called to rest. The close of his life was as calm as the summer evening
upon which he was called. With the apostle he could say, “I have
fought a good fight, I have finished my course, I have kept the faith.
Henceforth there is laid up for me a crown of righteousness, which the
Lord, the righteous Judge, shall give at that day--and not to me only,
but unto all them that love His appearing.”
Compare the death of the earnest, working Christian, with that of the
opposer of truth or of the cold-hearted formalist. After death comes
the judgment!--and the Saviour has said, that the former shall live
and reign with Him, whilst the latter shall go away into everlasting
punishment.
Reader, to which of these classes do _you_ belong?
THE END.