Spirit of the age. [volume] (Raleigh, N.C.) 1849-1865, 1859-12-14
GbO1te Yittrature,
DIVISION ROOM, HUT AND COTTAGE.
BY T. W. B., OF THE CHIEF.

BY t. w. B., OF THE CHIEF.
Few movements which have occupied the
attention of the world, can present histo-
ry more intensely thrilling than the tenn
perance reformation. Its scenes have
stirred every fountain in the human heart.
The widest flight Of fiction is over-reached
by the every day reality. Sometimes the
full sunshine will follow the darkest shad-
ows, and clothe blackened wastes with
more than summer verdure.
1t had been a stirring day in the city
of -. The temperance hosts had been
there, in their regalia, and with their mu-
sic and banners.
We love to look upon procession of
good and true men, and so had turned out
Of the ranks to await its passing upon a
street corner. The heart always leaps to
the sound of the football, as strong men
march to the sound of the drum beat.
AS the long line wound away over the
hill, the sound of the music coming in gen
tie swells and the low sunbeams bathing in
wondrous beauty the silken streamer of
the Order, some one took my hand, and
said: ..s
"Oh! Mfr. -, wish you would make
my pa like those men,"
The speaker was boy of ten summers,
perhaps; cear-skinned, his eye deeply blue,
his features even beautiful, and his long
faxen locks, like masses of twisted gold,
resting upon his shoulders. 1t was Wis
ion of beauty and health, in dirt and rags
AS we looked upon his upturned face, like
transparent spring of water, large drops
swan upon the lids, and there was quiv-
ering of tie finely chiseled lips, the whole
appearance was one of touching sadness.
"Don't say you can't!" he again plead,
as he continued to look us in the eye, and
tightened his hold upon our hand, 81 know
you can. Won't you let my pa wear this?''
and he took hesitatingly hold of the regalia
we held in our hand.
"Do you want your pa to wear such as
this?" we asked him.
"Oh, yes, sir, SO much-you don't know
how much w
"Why, my little man, do you want him
to wear it?"
"'Cause, them that wear 'em never
drink whiskey."
"Does your pa drink whiskey:"
"Yes, sir-sometimes."
The tear grew larger and brighter or
the boys lid, and he watched his dirty foo
as he kicked his toes into the soil.
"Does yonr pa ever strike you when hc
, has been drinking?"
eyes, sir-sometimes," and the full tea
, swan over the lid, and fell upon my hand
1t glowed hotly there like molten drop
and sent fire through my veins.
"Have you got a mother!" ...
r "Oh, yes, sir-she never strikes me-"
No, no, we thought, through all the bit
ter desolation of the rum -scourge tn
e mother clings to her child idols. Takin.
Q the boys hand we followed him to hi
n home.
q What home for childhood! 1t wa
a one of the poorest class of Irish huts, n
= windows, an old quilt for door, and n
u floor but the hard beaten ground. TIL
l. hogs were roofing lazily in frcnt, one bask
O ing in the sun at the very entrance. T
q the knock upon the loose board, mil
# voice answered-"Come in"
5 The woman looked up with evident a
n tonishment and modification, and wit
At more of grace than is usually found in sue
- tonements, handed us the only chair in til
" room, and that backless and nearly bo
N temless. Though embarrassed, her MAJ
Il. ner had something that tolG of lett
er day and position. But the garb and Il
IN features told their story of wrong. "
D. have seen many sad face in our day, b
IL few more so than that of the Irish mothe
We apologised for our visit, by saying th
her boy had urged US homo with him.
'And poor home We have found it 81
she answered with a sigh. 1T was not
once, indeed it was not and she bow
her head convulsively over the neck of h
us boy.
for Don't cry, ma, any more. This ma
c ! come home with me to make pa st
ce. drinking whiskey. Oh! won't that
at good, mar and he wound his arms arou
In her neck.
ty, 'Oh Titles the hope that, Michal
are And sure it is, l have prayed this ma
md year for that day.
Ii But, mother, he's going to wear ST
ade as this, (pulling my regalia from my h