Iowa capitol reporter. [volume] (Iowa City, Iowa) 1841-1855, 1849-04-25


From Ned Bantlac's Own.
The Last Pawn. or Loves Relic
Disli0nOrea.
The house looked sadly
neglected. The decaying walls-the null
tiplied and unsee,nly patches-the half
blinded windows, told tale of gloom and
Indebtedness to the passer by, which was
fresh in his memory for a long time after
wards. The garden and all the surround
ing grounds wore the same aspect Of Me-
glect. Weeds were more plentiful than
fruits; and stray OK, who despised the
frail and lettering fence that but made a
pretence Of guarding the enclosure, was
more frequently seen upon the forbidden
ground than the gardener himself.
This was the clever work Of lntcmper-
ance. Five years before, the traveller
had praised the neat ndtidy cottage, look
ing down loveingly upon the busy street,
and the well-culiiyatea and productive
grounds, that brought plenty and g'a,lness
to it, door.
Then. besides, the air of neatness. cheer
fulness, and pros perity with which the
cottage and garden were invested, you
might have seen, provided it were sum
mer, and weather fair, two happy and
well-dressed children, sporting on the
howery sod that surrounded the dwelling,
or chasing each other, with light step ana
laughing faces, along the meadow paths.
New, beside the air Of neglect and mis-
cry all things wore, you might see FIVE
ragged, suffering, starving children, siard-
ing ike specifies around the door way,
glaring their furnishing iii::le ares upon .v-
cry stranger who appeared decentIy clad,
and who looked as though he had enough
to eat,with looI, full Of wonder and spec
ulat;cn, as though they were trying to de-
termine why they should not fare as we'll
as other people.
1t is night now.
The city clock may see the city
away there, in the valley, in this clear
moon ligft-has just tol!ed the hour OF
ten.
We will 60 within the lrunkard's man
sion-we will, for half an hour, breathe
the drunkar,!'s atmosphere!
This is the room. lis proportions are
fair--it was evidently once very pleasant
but il is now almost deserted. Furni-
ture there is none-il We except cradle
in which is sleeping pale, sickly infant:
two chairs, occupied hy two persons; and
a straw bed, laid upon the naked foor.-
The paper has been mostly torn from the
grey walls; the carpet has deserted the
floor, and the curtains have left the win
dows, which are now arrayel in the soil
ed patches Of vermont garments.
Near the cradle which contains the pale
child, sits the mother and the wife.
She is the drpnkard's wife, and need
not describe her. That simple name en-
bodies a long paragraph Of description.
THE DRusKARD's WIRE! She is well
known we have all seen her. Her image
shapes one.of the fadeless forms thathaunt
the halls Of Memory.
On the other side Of the room, lol!inp
half over in the chair, is the drunkard HIM
self.
need not dwell upon his appearance.
His name is his description-he is known
and marked.
Jane said the inehriate, leaning UP in
his chair, and glancing confusedly ct his
wife-sJane.'
well, John, returned the wife mourn
fully, and scarcely audibly. These were
the first words they had exchanged fer
mary hours.
The inebriate looked more confused
than before. He moved uneasily in his
chair; he coughed, he dropped his head ::
he leaned up in his chair again, he look.
ed at his wife; and then, because he could
do nothing else, he laughed-as. "a drunk-
ard only can laugh.
Jane, say -
well, can't you speak what YOU want
to, John?'
why. yes, Jane. I me;n-that is
you see--we've Bible, believe, haint
WEI .
>Ch, yes!- aad thank God Tor it.
That's left to u.s.
swell, want the Bible, Jane; Il"
Again ne hesitated.
DO you indeed, Johr? Well, it's a
good sign for you. You want 10 readsthc
Bible. Oh, | am glad fer that, and I'll
get it in a minute
She went out Of the room as she spoke,
and presently returned with very large
and handsomely bound copy Of the Scrip
lures.
Was it not strange 10 see SO beautiful
relic in the midst of so much restitution,
misery, and crime? How like summer
ros. N the heart ofthe desert! How like
cool and living fountain upon the burning
plain!
Thou holy book, the wrongcd wife's
last treasury! How didst thou then re-
semble the mighty and beautiful truth,
emboeomed in thee, when thew alone in the
bleak and desert world . the rallyine points
of men, in their endless struggles for union
fellowship, and peace!
Here is the Bible, John; and oh, how
wish ! could hope you would do better. |
noticed when you came in tonight, that
9ou was better than you often are You