Chapter 52

Chapter 52
A Burning Brand

ALL at once the thought came into my mind, 'I have not sought
out Mr. Brown.'

Upon that text I desire to depart from the direct line of my subject,
and make a little excursion. I wish to reveal a secret which I have
carried with me nine years, and which has become burdensome.

Upon a certain occasion, nine years ago, I had said, with strong feeling,
'If ever I see St. Louis again, I will seek out Mr. Brown, the great
grain merchant, and ask of him the privilege of shaking him by the hand.'

The occasion and the circumstances were as follows.
A friend of mine, a clergyman, came one evening and said--

'I have a most remarkable letter here, which I want to read to you,
if I can do it without breaking down. I must preface it with
some explanations, however. The letter is written by an ex-thief
and ex-vagabond of the lowest origin and basest rearing, a man
all stained with crime and steeped in ignorance; but, thank God,
with a mine of pure gold hidden away in him, as you shall see.
His letter is written to a burglar named Williams, who is serving
a nine-year term in a certain State prison, for burglary.
Williams was a particularly daring burglar, and plied
that trade during a number of years; but he was caught
at last and jailed, to await trial in a town where he had
broken into a house at night, pistol in hand, and forced
the owner to hand over to him $8,000 in government bonds.
Williams was not a common sort of person, by any means; he was
a graduate of Harvard College, and came of good New England stock.
His father was a clergyman. While lying in jail, his health
began to fail, and he was threatened with consumption.
This fact, together with the opportunity for reflection afforded
by solitary confinement, had its effect--its natural effect.
He fell into serious thought; his early training asserted itself with
power, and wrought with strong influence upon his mind and heart.
He put his old life behind him, and became an earnest Christian.
Some ladies in the town heard of this, visited him,
and by their encouraging words supported him in his good
resolutions and strengthened him to continue in his new life.
The trial ended in his conviction and sentence to the State
prison for the term of nine years, as I have before said.
In the prison he became acquainted with the poor wretch
referred to in the beginning of my talk, Jack Hunt,
the writer of the letter which I am going to read.
You will see that the acquaintanceship bore fruit for Hunt.
When Hunt's time was out, he wandered to St. Louis;
and from that place he wrote his letter to Williams.
The letter got no further than the office of the prison warden,
of course; prisoners are