The true Democrat., 1855-07-10


 the damned, that refrain, but as distance blends the words 1t seems to change, or Is it another song. Listen ''Fi up the cup, the bowl, the glass, With wine and spirits high; And we will drink while round they pass To-vicc and misery! Fill, fill again-iill to the brm. To-loss of honest fame Quaf-deeper quaff while now we drink Our wives and childrens' shame.
 Fill up the glass, fill yet more high
 Thus nc'cr let us part Stop not at womans tear or sigh Give beautyS broken heart.
 Once more, while power shall yet remain, Fen with its latest breath, Drink to curse disease and pain.
 And intamy and death." This should be the song of the reycler, for it is meet that truth and poetry should combine Would you seek to know the future of those mentioned.
 When the spring opened, look in an humble corner of the village grave yard, you will there see new made grave. The mother and her child have gone home. Some person, through love for the poor heart broken and forsallen, has planted flowers, the early blushing flowers of
  of their present state; and a simple tablet raised by some unknown hanl, tells simply their names-they need no other monument. Sor- row like theirs, buried in the grave, wins and wears higher reward for future than mere stored marble
 Near those graves is neglected mound of earth, vet 1t seems to have been freshly thrown up-the husband and father lies there.
 Eallinr hI- 6aurpps to a lower and still 1Owar step, at length his very outcast companions stunned him, as a thing even beneath them selves.
 Starving for food, refused drink by those who formerly roared at his quirks and sallies, neg lected and condemned by the world, his soul maddencd with the thoughts of his past lte he had dragged his weared limbs to where his wife and child laid buried, and there he had thrown himself upon their grave, and his past rushed across his memory and he thought of the sunny smile he had withered of the heart he had bro- ken. Despair and horror seized him-he fell crushed beneath the weight of his remorsc, and he cursed his God and died.
 A former friend found his body when life was extinct and hastened to arouse his neigh bors. He met a companion. who, with himself, had been the bosom friend of the dead Pariah, in the sunny hours of childhood. He told him of the sad fate of the one once loved. He should have died before, was the response.- There lies the dead husband-you have heard his epitaph.
 Is this picture overwrought. Do you not know many such histories. How many homes, once happy, have you not seen blighted by this deadly curse, intemperance. Oh direst demon on earth. that nurtures myself with orphans cries and widows tears! is there no power on earth to check thy dread career? There is, and the order of the Sons of Temperance will do it. The army is gathering for the fight, and is even now sounding his knell-for
 Birnam Wood has come to Dunsinane." Here they come, like the rush of many wa terS. Listen to their song:
 "Prohbton, prohibition,
 Let Us form coalition:
 Strong and mighty our mountains,
 Thundering as their gushing fountains;
 Flowing now and flowing ever
 Till it swcs mighty river
 For voice is heard in sadness,
 Heard in wailing and in madness,
 Which shall turn to joy and gadness.
 Louder still and louder sounding,
 Der our hills and valleys bounding,
 From our sisters and our brothers
 From our fathers and our mothers:
 Prohibition sternly crying,
 Prohibition for the dying,
 Prohibition for the sighing-
 See--the foe is from us flying "
 And ere long, the sun will rise saluting with his rays, our own glorious flag, not only as the emblem of free people, but also as the en- blem of people redeemed and regenerated from the accursed influence of intemperancc.- May that day soon arrive.
 But I weary your patience and will conclude, and to you, ladies, as the fairest of my subject, must address my closing remarks-'
 For Eden a wild
 Till woman smiled.
 We would, as Sons of Temperance, wreathe for you garland of immortelles, as bright as your own lovlness, but flowers will fade. We would do more We would render more bind ing to men the ties of home-there where in- deed you reign, and where the flowers of true happiness spring up under your tread l have described to you the home of the drunkard, shall I describe to you the home of tempe rance:
 A pleasant cot, where the jasmine and wood bine cluster in wild luXurlance. See, the sun is sinking to rest behind the trees-twilight IS fading and nights shadows are stealing over the grey earth. Hear tread upon the gravel hear that cry-'tis father, away away! Look at those cherubs how they run-they reach him, they are in his arms Listen to their prattle, look at the love beaming from their eyes, and as, we; ried with his days labor, he enters his happy home and sees everything arranged for his comfort and rest, think you that he does not feel joy that the haunts of dissipation and excess can never give, and when he gazes into the fond eyes of his wife, and he watches the joyous smiles of his children and feels that he is the source from whence it flows, and that by being true to himself, he has made his name a blessing and a joy; that when slumbers have stolen upon his little angels and they are lulled to rest; think you that when the soft moon looks down upon him with it's flood of light: as though beckoning him with smiles of silver,