’Nothing that I know of, except that it is too neat, and compact, and fluent, and nicely put together for an ignorant person, an unpractised hand.  I think it was done by an educated man.’

The literary artist had detected the literary machinery.  If you will look at the letter now, you will detect it yourself—­it is observable in every line.

Straightway the clergyman went off, with this seed of suspicion sprouting in him, and wrote to a minister residing in that town where Williams had been jailed and converted; asked for light; and also asked if a person in the literary line (meaning me) might be allowed to print the letter and tell its history.  He presently received this answer—­

Rev. ——­ ——­

My dear friend,—­In regard to that ‘convict’s letter’ there can be no doubt as to its genuineness.  ‘Williams,’ to whom it was written, lay in our jail and professed to have been converted, and Rev. Mr. ——­, the chaplain, had great faith in the genuineness of the change—­as much as one can have in any such case.

The letter was sent to one of our ladies, who is a Sunday-school teacher,—­sent either by Williams himself, or the chaplain of the State’s prison, probably.  She has been greatly annoyed in having so much publicity, lest it might seem a breach of confidence, or be an injury to Williams.  In regard to its publication, I can give no permission; though if the names and places were omitted, and especially if sent out of the country, I think you might take the responsibility and do it.

It is a wonderful letter, which no Christian genius, much less one unsanctified, could ever have written.  As showing the work of grace in a human heart, and in a very degraded and wicked one, it proves its own origin and reproves our weak faith in its power to cope with any form of wickedness.

‘Mr. Brown’ of St. Louis, some one said, was a Hartford man.  Do all whom you send from Hartford serve their Master as well?

P.S.—­Williams is still in the State’s prison, serving out a long sentence—­of nine years, I think.  He has been sick and threatened with consumption, but I have not inquired after him lately.  This lady that I speak of corresponds with him, I presume, and will be quite sure to look after him.

This letter arrived a few days after it was written—­and up went Mr. Williams’s stock again.  Mr. Warner’s low-down suspicion was laid in the cold, cold grave, where it apparently belonged.  It was a suspicion based upon mere internal evidence, anyway; and when you come to internal evidence, it’s a big field and a game that two can play at:  as witness this other internal evidence, discovered by the writer of the note above quoted, that ’it is a wonderful letter—­which no Christian genius, much less one unsanctified, could ever have written.’

I had permission now to print—­provided I suppressed names and places and sent my narrative out of the country.  So I chose an Australian magazine for vehicle, as being far enough out of the country, and set myself to work on my article.  And the ministers set the pumps going again, with the letter to work the handles.