Grant County herald. [volume] (Lancaster, Wis.) 1850-1968, 1853-09-28
BY COVER & GOLDSMITH. |

81 can't go home-and am so tired
and sleepy. Oh dear"
"Cannot go home. Why not?"
ooh Sir, my mother will whip me if
go home without selling all my corn.
Oh, sir, do buy one ear, and then shall
have only two left, and I am sure she
might let little sis and me eat them, fer
have not had any thing to eat since
morning, only one apple the man gave
me, and one part of one he threw away.
| could have stole the turnipt at the gro
Gerry when l went to get-to get some
thing in the pitcher of mother, but l
dare not. | did use to steal, but,
Mr. Pease says it is naughty to steal,
and | don't want to be naughty, indeed
| don't; and don't want to be bad
girl, like Lizzy Smith, and she only two
years older than me, if she does dress
fine; cause Mr.. Pease says she will be
just like old drunken Kate, one Of these
days. Oh, dear, now there goes man
and | did not cry hot corn, what shall
do?"
"Do! There, that is what you shall
do" as we dashed the corn in the gutter.
"Go home; tell your mother you have
sold it all, and here is the money"
"Wont that be lie, Sir? Mr.. Pease
says we must not tell lies"
"No, my dear, that wont be lie, be-
cause | have bought it and thrown it a.
way, instead of eating it,"
"But, Sir, may eat it then if you
don't want it p
No it is not good for you; good bread
is better, and here is sixpence to buy a
loaf, and here is another to buy some nice
cakes for you. Now that is your money
don't give it to your mother, and don't
stay out Sc late again. Go home ear
lier and tell your mother you cannot keep
awake, and if she is good mother she
won't whip YOU
"Oh, Sir, she is a good mother some
times. But I am sure the grocery man
at the corner is not good man, or he
would not sell mother rum, when he
knows-for Mr.. Pease told him So
that we poor children were starving
Oh, | wish all the men were good men
like him, and then my mother would
not beat and starve us because there
would be nobody to sell her any-and
then we should have plenty to eat.'
Away she ran down the street toward
that reeking center of filth, poverty and
misery, the noted Five Points of New
York.
AS we plodded up Broadway, looking
in here AMI there upon the palatial
splendors of metropolitan "saloons''-
we think that is the word for fashiona-
BILE upper class grogshops-we almost
involuntarily cried sshot corn" as we
saw the hot spirit of that grain, under
the various guises of "pure gin"-"cld
rum"-"pale brandy''-''pure port''-
"Heidsieck" -or,"Lagerbier" poured
down the hot Threats of men-and all,
yes, of women, too, whose dar-hters
may some day sit at midnight upon the
cold curbstone crying shot corn,' to gain
a penny for the purchase of a drink Of
the fiery dragon they are now inviting
to home in their bosoms, whose cry in
after years will be, "Give, give, give -
and still as unsatisfed as the horse
lech's daughters.
Again, as we passed on up that street,
still busy and thronged at midnight, as a
country village at midday intermission
of church service, ever and anon from
some side of the street came up the cry
of shot corn-hot corn !" aud ever as
we heard it, and ever as we shall thro'
all years TO come, we thought of that
little girl and her drunken mother and
the bad man. at the corner grocery, and
that hers was the best, the strongest
Maine Law argument which had ever
fallen upon our listening ear.
Again, as we turned the corner Of
Spring-st. the glare and splendor OF
a thousand gas lights, and the glitterine
cut of that, for the first time lighted up
bar-room of the Prescott House, so lau-
ded by the Press for its magn ificence
dashed our eyes and almost blinded our
senses TO degree of imagination that
first class Hotels must have such Five
Point denizen-making apurtenances, as
this glittering room, shamelessly O.
pen inviting to the street; when that
watch-word cry, like the pibroch's
startling peal, came up from the near
vicinity, wailing like lost spirit on the
midnight air-''Hot corn, hot corn, here.
your nice hot corn-smoking hot-ho1
hot corn"
"Yes, yes!" l hear your cry-it is a
watchword-a glorious watchw ord-s
glorious watchword, that bids us do OF
die-until the smoking hot, fiery fur
nace-like gates of hell, like this one now
yawning before US, shall cease to be IL
censed by Christian people, to send
delicate little girls at midnight through
the streets crying shot corn" to sup
port drunken mother, whose first glass
was taken in fashionable saloon," or
frst-olass liquor-selling hotel.
"Hot corn" then be the watchword
Of all who would rather see the grain
fed to the drunkard's wife and children,
than into the Unsuitable hot nav of the
whisky still.
Let your resolutions grow hot and
grow every time you hear this midnight
city cry, that you will devote, If nothing
more,