Article November 26, 1904 Issue

An Allegory

KATHERINE M. YATES.

A man once lay immured within a prison cell. The walls of darkened stone close-shut him in upon all sides. The narrow window, crossed by blackened bars, sifted the sunlight in scant, niggard rays. The door was also barred, and weighted well by heavy bolts and locks.

Long time he lay there thus, bemoaning his sad fate; and people passing by the door and window looked upon him with sad, pitying eyes, and some had kindly words of sympathy or tears for him; for his imprisonment was undeserved, since he had done no felony, but had become immured through mere mischance; and many had compassion on his plight, but knew no way to help him; and he groaned and prayed for death.

At last one passed his window in the sunlit noon and carelessly glanced into that dim cell; then paused and closer came. "Good friend," he said, "why weepest thou?" The prisoner raised his head. "Have I not cause to weep?" he said. "Years have I lain here, though I did no wrong in all my life, except the insignificant and paltry errors of a man the world calls just. I tried to do my best, and yet I lie in this dank hole, scarce living and yet, woe is me, not dead."

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