Spirit of the age. [volume] (Raleigh, N.C.) 1849-1865, 1860-03-07
Original 4apcrs.
For the Spirit of the Age.
THE STYLUS PAPERS.
BY STYLUS.
BY STYLUS.
The Drunkard'S Wife.

Gentle reader, you whose fair auburn
curls are bending DER this sheet, whose
dimpled cheek is nightly pressed with low
ing kisses by a fathers or a mothers lips,
you who welcome with bounding heart the
footsteps of that manly figure who holds
You dearer than his life, didst ever drop
one tear for she who calls the drupkard
husbandl Oh! il his life is terrible who is
bound to the thraldom Of the delirious
bowl, how awful, how indescribably fearful
is the life of her who is dragged to the riv-
er of death by the monster man; whose soul
is torn by the lacerating chains of sorrow,
whose sun OF hope is always obscuEed by
the lowering nimbi of despair, and who
sinks into the grave ''unwept, unhonored
and unsung," with happiness blighted, with
JOY unknown and no hope beyond the grave.
Much has been said of the coBstancy of
woman. Bard and historian vie to emu
late her. But never, never is the true cha
racter of woman developed, until with bro
ken heart she finds herself the child of sor-
row and shame, with life of infamy in
store for her, with the curtain descending
on an unknown grave. This pen fails when
called to describe the drunkard's wife, no
pen Can do justice 10 the theme, no tongue
can tell the sorrows of the once fair one !;
no, you must yourself see the sufferer and
then not half that sorrow will be known to
you.
No, you must be yourself in the position
of the drunkard's wife; you must know
what it is to work all day and through the
silent watches of the night, working on, on,
on, singing "the song of the shirt"
"sswing at once with a double thread,
A shroud as we'll as a shirt"
You must know yourself how to linger
on the border of the grave while the worm
Of hunger is gnawing at your vitals; you
must hear yourself the death-wail of your
starving children, as with faces gaunt with
hunger they importune you for BREAD
which God knows you have not; you must
bear the bloWS Of drunken husband, and
while you soothe his hot brow in his trou-
bled sleep, close the eyes Of your dead child
You must do all this without breaking
heart, before you know the life of the
dIuukard's wife.
The drunkard's wife God look down
o! all that is awful, all that is stupendously
sinful, all that is sorrowful, is blended il
those three words. Gentle maiden, YOU
who are reading these lines, you would
shrink back from the threshold Of the
drunkard's hovel before you entered. The
fetid and nauseous atmosphere, with thu
mingled tones Of the chidren's walls, tn
fathers oatbs and the mothers prayer
would make lasting impression on you
soul forever. But il you persisted in CT
tering, the sight would turn your brazil
you would shout with horror at the blenC
cd scene of sorrow, infamy, poverty an
DEATH The father cursing in his drunke
sleep-the children cinging to your hanC
and shouting for bread-and the poo
heart-broken, faithful wife in yon cornc
praying to Heaven for aid. All! well, "
may say tits all a fancy sketch-when Il
husband You shall own returns to your e
poctant arms drunk-when your comfol
able home shall be turned into bovel
dirt, when your Thanksgiving be turned
prayers, and your JOY to sorrow, then y
will know the terrible reality of the drum
ards wife.
In yonder garrett up those ricketty sta
where no light, save of the Pickering III
can make visible 10 the eye the see
within, is a drunkard's wife. She kne
and pours her soul in pitiful sobs out
the God Of her fathers. Oh :! how
wrestles with the angel of prayer, how
scalding tears bum furrows down
cheeks, seconding her earnest prayer
rest. She ceases-her hands drop mott
less-her form falls gradually to the ca
and .he drunkard's wife is at rest
ever. Her prayer is answered-and
Joins her children amid the courts
Heaven.
Oh! woman, exert your influence tr
farthest bounds. Work upon the yout
the land with all your abilities. Imp
the lessons Of Truth, Virtue and Tenn
dnce upon them, or in some future day,
soul may be torn by the sorrows of
poor wife OF the drunkard:
"Then a hard shall pass before thee,
Pointing to his drunken sleep,
To thy widowed marriage pillow,
To the tears which thou shalt weep"