The spirit of democracy. [volume] (Woodsfield, Ohio) 1844-1994, 1854-01-04

completed. AT length the voice grew faint
and then ceased and then we knew tha
exhausted nature slept--that tender
house plant was exposed to the chilling
influence of a night rain-that an inno-
cent little girl had the curb-stone for bed
and an iron post for a pillow-that by and
by she would awaken not invigorated with
refreshing slumber, but poisoned with the
sleep-inhaled miasma of the filth-reekng g
gutter at her feet. which may be breathet
with impunity awake, but like the malaria
of our Southern coast, is death to the
sleeper. Not soothed by dreamy con.
sciousness of hearing a mothers voice
tlning the soft lullaby of
"Hush my child. lie still and slumber;'
but starting like sentinel upon savage
frontier post, with alarm at having slept
shivering with night air and fear, and final
ly compelled to 60 home trembling like a
culprit, to hear the hard words of moth
er-yes mother-but Oh! what moth
er-cursing her for not performing an i'm.
possibility, because exhausted nature SLEPT
because her child had n OF made proi
which would have enabled her more freely
to indulge in the soul and-body- -destroyin
vice of drunkenness, to which she had FL
len from an estlte when'my carriage,' was
one OF the "household words" which used
to greet the young ears of that poor little
death stricken neglected street sufferer.
Itwas past midnight when she awoke
and found herself with desperate effort
just able to reach the bottom of the rick.
city stairs which led to her home. We
shall not go up now. In little while
reader, you shall see where live the City
poor.
Tired-worn with the daily toil-for
such is the work of an editor who caters
for the appetites Of his morning readers
we were not present the next night to note
the absence of that cry from its accustom-
ed spot; but next. and next, and still on
we listened in vain-that voice was moi
there. True the same hot corn cry. came
floating upon the evening breeze across
the park, or wormed its way from some
cracked fiddle voice down the street, up
and around the corner; or out Of some
dark alley with broken English accent
that sounded almost as much like ''lager
UGGI us IL ulu lihC iiiS COu1tuOulty tuC lttl
migrant. struggling to exc on, his preca
rious existence, wished to sell. All owe,
this poverty burdened. and wicked waste
extravagant City, at this season, that cry
goes up, nightly prqclaiming one Of the
habits Of this late supper eating people.
Yes, we missed that cry. "IIot corn
was no longer like the music of o stringed
instrument to a weary man, for the treble
string was broken, and, to US, the harmo
ny spoiled.
What was that voice to US? 1t was bu
one OF the ten thousand. just as miserable
which may be daily heard where human
misery has its abode. That voice, a:
some others have, did not haunt US, bu
its absence, in spite Of all reasoning. made
US feel uneasy. We do not believe in
spirit manifestations half as strongly a:
some Of tine nincompoops of this worlc
would have their long-eared listeners think
yet we do believe there is spiri, in man
not yet made manifest. which makes us
yearn after co existing spirits in this spher,
and in this life, and that there is no need
of going beyond it, seeking after strange
idols.
| We shall not stop to inquire whether i
was spirit of 'the first. third or sx;l
sphere" that prompted us as we left ou
desk one evening, to go down among th'
abodes Of the poor, with feeling of Ger
tainty that we should see or hear some
thing Of the lost voice. for that spirit lie,
us on; perhaps it was the spirit of curos
ity; no matter, it led. and we followed il
the route we had seen that little one g
before-it was our only one-we knew
no name-had no number, nor knew n,
one that knew her whom we were going Il
find. Yes, we knew that good Missionary
and she had told US Of the good word
which he had spoken. but would he kno,
her from the hundred just like her! Per
haps. 1t will cost nothing to ir quire. W.
went down Centre street with light heart
we turned into Cross street with ste
buoyed by hope; we stood at the corne
of Little Water street and looked roun,
inquiringly of the spirit. and mentally said
(which way now!' The answer was
far.off scream of despair. We stood sti
with an open ear, for the sound of prayer
followed by sweet hymn of prase t
God, went up from the site of the Oh
Brewery, in which we joined. thankful the
it was no longer the abode Of all the wors
crimes ever concentrated under one roo
Hark, step approaches. Our unsee
guide whispered, task him." Itwere
curious question to ask stranger, in sue
a strange place, particularly one like hin
haggard with over-much care, toll or men
tallabor. Prematurely old, his days shor
ened by over-work in young years, as hi
furrowed face and almost phrensied ey
hurriedly indicates, as we see the flash {
the lamp upon his dark visage, as he ar
proaches with that peculiar American ste
which impels the body forward at railroa
speed. Shall we get out Of his way be
fore he walks ever US? What if he is
, crazy man? No; the spirit was right
no false raps here. 1t is that good mi
sionary. That man who has done NOR
to reform that den of crime. the Fiv
Points of New York. than all the Munic
pal Authorities of this Police hunting, an
, Prison-punishing City. where misforlun
is deemed crime, or the unfortunate dri
en- to it. by the wav, they are treated, II
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