South High School - Tiger Yearbook (Minneapolis, MN)

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An Historical Letter By Dorothy Thompson Cedar woods. Williamsburg. Mass.. October 13. 1781. Dearest Cousin: I don’t know whether this will reach you or not. The “redcoats” are invading every house and holding up every vehicle for miles around, and keep a sharp lookout for messages of war or valuable information which might he risked on the highways. I received a note from Grace yesterday. She sent it from Boston, and it took a week just to come twenty-nine miles. l eing held up by the Loyalists in New Devonshire on the way. Take stock in this, this letter will not l e trusted to carriage or mail-route, hut I think Old Black Tom will see that it gets there all right. He is going to wait for an answer, liecause I am more than anxious to hear from you. Of all the thrills that arc being passed around now, I will tell you one which was given to me which I will not Ik forgetting very soon. John was called to headquarters last Saturday morning, and Mammy, Old Black Tom. Mrs. Perkins, and 1 were left to guard the valuables. Evidently we didn’t present a very aweinspiring api earancc. for that very evening a measured gallop was heard on the drive, and fifteen “redcoats” invaded the place. They were hunting for John, of course, but I was thankful I could truthfully say that John was not on the grounds. The Major of the band was to arrive the next morning with three other guards, and—Oh! Nancy, now comes the biggest shock of all! When I ojjened the door to let the Major of the redcoats” in. I found myself face to face with Grace’s brother. Harry! 1 could do nothing but stand and stare. Harry in the dress of an English Major was so different from the Harry of the Philadelphia horse races, that I had known so well! That evening I gained courage to ask him what they wanted of John. This was his answer: “Mary. I may have done wrong in joining the English forces, hut 1 believe in their cause, and it is against any man's principles to fight for a cause in which he does not believe. I am able to face mv friends and relatives in jjeace, even if my ideas differ from theirs so widely; hut. friend. I will have to fail in the mission I sought to ] erform when 1 came here. I cannot take John prisoner. If you lKlieve in me at all. tell me the direction John took, that I and my men may take the opj ositc one. I cannot face John.” Nancy, he was so sincere, and so in earnest. I could only tell him. The next morning I Lade him good-bye, and he and his men turned toward the north. John had gone south. Write me a long letter when you answer, for I will l»e so glad to hear from vou. Your affectionate cousin. Mary J. Winslow. PiiRe 26

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“Well, inv friend. he observed with a dry smile. “I've got you for good, now. 'fen years had passed. It was a dreary Xoveml)er day. The state prison stood out sharply against the somber sky.—a great gray mass of stone. A young girl of about twenty years entered the gate. She would have been very l cautiful. hut for the lines of weariness and distress that showed on her face. battering the court, the young lady addressed a guard. “I was told that I might see Air. Rollington today. she said. “Mr. Rollington? Oh. yes. the man who is dying. Are you Miss Rollington “Yes. sir.” “Very well. Croft. he called, “here is the young lady to see old Rollington. Miss Rollington was shown into a small, nearly bare room. Close to the one window was a narrow cot on which lay a white-haired man. Ilis eyes were closed, but he was not asleep, for he turned as the door was opened. “Dorothea, my darling! The old man’s face brightened as he s| oke. “How thankful I am that you were allowed to see me today, for I feel that I must talk with you before I die. )h, my daughter. 1 can only hoj e and pray that you will not fail miserably, as I have done! Sit down here l esidc me. Dorothea, for I have much to say to you “Dorothea, each person in this world was born with one great opi ortunity to win. He may make what he will of this, for it is his own and no one can take it from him. Different people interpret this opjx rtunity in various ways. Some use it to amass a great fortune, others to rise to the highest pinnacles of fame. These ])eoplc often have their efforts rewarded. They acquire that for which they sought, but, strange to say, they are seldom happy. A fortunate few. however, discover the right use for their opjxrrtunity. In it they see a chance to serve their heavenly Master to the utmost, bv living pure lives and by helping their fellow-men. These are the | eople who know what true happiness is. not only in this life, but in the hereafter, for when they reach the end. and apj ear before the Father, they are the ones to hear those blessed words. ‘Well done, thou good and faithful servant.’ “1 was not one of these latter ones. I looked uj on my opportunity as a toy. I tried to use it to make my life as easy as possible, and in doing this. I only succeeded in making it harder, not only for myself, but for all about me. I was so unfair to your mother that Cod took her from me. I treated you wretchedly, leaving you to the care of anyone who would take pity on you. “I think, however, that somewhere in my wicked heart. I cherished a love for you. It was this lov6 that brought me here, and. not only that, but it has finally saved my soul. I believe. For, in spite of all my wickedness. I am sure that my Lord has forgiven me. For our God is a forgiving God. and will save all who truly repent. Hut. oh. Dorothea. I ask for your sake that you use me for a horrible example. I have failed miserably in this world, and can only pray for redemption in the next. Mv last hope is that your life may follow a better course. If I am assured of this, I will die willingly. With this the old man turned on his cot and lay motionless. Dorothea leaned over him with tear-blinded eyes. The old man had said that his life was a failure, but was it? Was this talk worth nothing? Were the high ideals he had at last realized no credit to him? Is a man’s life a failure, if he has lieen sinful, but finally presents to God a blood-washed and repentant soul ? ;.v- o Page 25

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By Katherine Lorn berg i stood where the mist of the river. Went winding away at my feet. And gazed at the sunstecpcd horizon. Where the sky and the river meet. The moon like a golden goblet. In the depths of the waters below. Seemed tattered and torn to fragments By the river’s restless flow. And I thought of another river. Whose current deep and wide. Still carried the gleam of the daylight. Long after the day had died. And the miniature streams by the wayside, Lach stagnant, sluggish pool. The river had given lifeblood. With a touch of the lingers cool. And sweeping away all the darkness, ()n the swell of its restless tide. I lad carried them oft like an infant. On its current deep and wide. This river blowing gently. Through the country's soothing strife, Is the great American Legion, The tide of America’s life. And the stagnant j ools by the wayside. Stemmed in by the thick of a glen, Strengthened and cleansed by the river, Are only the souls of men. Men from the heart of the cities. Men from the heart of the slums. When the air is heavy with dampness. And the sunlight never comes. Men with minds that will linger. When the lire of the nation is old. This is the toil of the river. With the burden of soul’s white gold. And yet like the other current, With the misty moon hung high. It meets at the heart of the nation. As the river meets the sky. N-.- - ' . PnK« 27