for you wont use it when you get out i no, & you are the man
i think most of in the world; so i hope you wont be mad–
I am doing well, i put $10 a month in bank with $25 of the $50–
if you ever want any or all of it let me know, & it is yours.
i wish you would let me send you some now. I send you with this
a receipt for a year of Littles Living Age, i didn’t know
what you would like & i told Mr. Brown & he said he thought you
would like it–i wish i was nere you so i could send you chuck
(REFRESHMENTS) on holidays; it would spoil this weather
from here, but i will send you a box next thanksgiving any way–
next week Mr. Brown takes me into his store as lite
porter & will advance me as soon as i know a little more–
he keeps a big granary store, wholesale–i forgot to tell
you of my mission school, sunday school class–the school
is in the sunday afternoon, i went out two sunday afternoons,
and picked up seven kids (LITTLE BOYS) & got them to come in.
two of them new as much as i did & i had them put in a class
where they could learn something. i dont no much myself,
but as these kids cant read i get on nicely with them.
i make sure of them by going after them every Sunday
hour before school time, I also got 4 girls to come.
tell Mack and Harry about me, if they will come out here
when their time is up i will get them jobs at once.
i hope you will excuse this long letter & all mistakes,
i wish i could see you for i cant write as i would talk–
i hope the warm weather is doing your lungs good–
i was afraid when you was bleeding you would die–
give my respects to all the boys and tell them how i am doing–
i am doing well and every one here treats me as kind as they can–
Mr. Brown is going to write to you sometime–i hope some day
you will write to me, this letter is from your very true
friend
C—-W—-
who you know as Jack Hunt.
I send you Mr. Brown’s card. Send my letter to him.
Here was true eloquence; irresistible eloquence;
and without a single grace or ornament to help it out.
I have seldom been so deeply stirred by any piece of writing.
The reader of it halted, all the way through, on a lame and broken voice;
yet he had tried to fortify his feelings by several private
readings of the letter before venturing into company with it.
He was practising upon me to see if there was any hope of his
being able to read the document to his prayer-meeting with
anything like a decent command over his feelings. The result
was not promising. However, he determined to risk it; and did.
He got through tolerably well; but his audience broke down early,
and stayed in that condition to the end.
The fame of the letter spread through the town. A brother
minister came and borrowed the manuscript, put it bodily into
a sermon, preached the sermon to twelve hundred people on a
Sunday morning, and the letter drowned them in their own tears.
Then my friend put it into a sermon and went before his Sunday
morning congregation with it. It scored another triumph.
The house wept as one individual.
My friend went on summer vacation up into the fishing regions
of our northern British neighbors, and carried this sermon
with him, since he might possibly chance to need a sermon.
He was asked to preach, one day. The little church was full.
Among the people present were the late Dr. J. G. Holland,
the late Mr. Seymour of the ‘New York Times,’ Mr. Page,
the philanthropist and temperance advocate, and, I think,
Senator Frye, of Maine. The marvelous letter did its wonted work;
all the people were moved, all the people wept; the tears