The Cecil Whig. [volume] (Elkton, Md.) 1841-current, 1871-11-18
AN ANGEL IN A SALOON:
The Power of Innocence and Truth.
BY JOHN Il. COUGH.

lady in deep mourning, and followed by a
child, entered one of the fashionable sa-
looms of the city of n. The writer
happened to be passing at the time, and
impelled by curiosity, followed her in to
see what would ensue. Stepping up to the
bar and addressing the proprietor, who
happened to be present just then, she said:
"Sir, can you assist me-! Ihave no home,
no friends, and am unable to work.
He glanced at her and then at the little
child, with a mingled look of curiosity and
pity. Evidently he was somewhat sur
prised to see woman in such place beg
ging. but without asking her any questions
gave her some change, then turning to those
present, he said:
Gentlemen, here is a lady in DISTRESS
Can't some of you help her a little?''
They all cheerfully acceded to this request
and soon purse of two dollars was raised
and put in her hand.
Madam" said the gentleman who gave
her the money, "why do you come to
saloon? 1t isn't proper place for lady;
and why are you driven to such a step?'
"Sir, l know it isn't a proper place for
me to be in, and since you ask why am
driven to this step. I will tell you in one
short word,' pointing to bottle behind
the door labelled "whisky. that is
"HdI ullSeu lIlC W lulS- w ilSh1
81 was once happy and surrounded by
all the luxuries that wealth could procure,
with a fond indulgent husband. But in an
evil hour he was tempted, and not possess
ing the will to resist that temptation, fell,
and in one short year my dream of happi-
ness was over, my home forever broken
and desolated, and the wealth some called
mine, lost, lost. never to return, and all by
the accursed wine cup.
"You see before you only wreck of my
! former self, homeless and friendless, and
! nothing left me in this world but this lit
| tie child" and, weeping bitterly, she
affectionately caressed the golden curls that
shaded face of exquisite loveliness. Re-
gaining her composure, and turning to the
! proprietor of the saloon, she continued:
"Sir, the reason occasionally enter Il
! place like this is to implore those who deal
i'll the deadly poison to desist, to stop Il
business that spreads desolation, ruin, pov-
! erty and starvation. Think one moment
of yonr loved ones, and then imagine them
in the situation l am in. appeal to your
better nature; appeal to your better heart,
for | know you possess kind one, to retire
! from business SO ruinous to your patrons.
"Did you know that the money you
receive across this bar is the same as TAX
ing the bread out of the mouths of the fam
ished wives and children of your custo-
mers that it strips the clothes from their
backs, deprives them of all the comforts of
life, and throws unhappiness misery, crime
and desolation into their once happy homes?
Oh, sir, / emplore, beseech and pray you
to retire from business you blush to own
you are engaged in before your fellow men,
and enter one that will not only be profita-
| BILE to yourself, but to your fellow men also.
/ You will excuse me if have spoken too
plainly but l could not help it when
thought OF the misery and unhappiness it
has caused me.
! Madam, l am not offended" he an.
swcred, in voice tremulous with emotion,
"but thank God from my heart for what
you have said
! Mamma" said the child-who mean
time had been spoken to by some of the
| gentlemen present-taking hold of her
mothers hand, "thcse gentlemen wish me
to sing Little Bessie for them. Shall l
do so?''
Yes, my darling, if they wish you to-
replied the mother.
They all joined in the request. and plac-
ing her in chair, she sang in a sweet,
childish voice, the following beautiful song:
Out in the gloomy night sadly I roam,
| have no mother dear, no pleasant home;
Even if poor little Bessie should die.
! Weary and tired I've been wandering all
Asking for work, but I'm too small they
On the damp ground must now lay my
head
Fathers drunkard and mother is dead.
We were so happy till father drank rum,
Then all and trDuhla hauun.
Mother grew pale and wept every day
Baby and | were too hungry to play;
Slowly they faded, till one summer night
Found their dead faces all silent and white;
Then with big tears slowly dropping said,
Fathers drunkard and mother is dead.
Oh! if the temperance men only would find
Poor wretched father, and talk very kind,
If they would stop him from drinking, why
then,
should be SO very happy again!
Is it too late, temperance men? Please try,
Or poor little Bessie must soon starve and
All the day long I've been begging for
Fathers drunkard and mother is dead!
The games of billiards were left unfin-
ished, the cards were thrown aside, and the
ter; all had pressed near, some with curl
osity some with sadness, and some with
pity beaming from their eyes, entranced
with the musical voice and beauty of the
child, who seemed better fitted to be with |
angels above than in such place.
The scene l shall never forget to my
dying day, and the sweet cadence of her
musical voice still rings in my ears, and
every word of the song, as it dropped from
her lips. sank deep in the hearts Of those |
gathered around her.
With her golden hair falling carelessly
around her shoulders, her face of almost
ethereal beauty, and looking SO trustingly |
and comfortingly upon the men around,
her beautiful eyes illuminated with light |
that seemed not of earth, formed picture
of purity and innocence worthy the genius
of poet or painter.
At the close of the song many were weep |
ing; men who had not shed a tear for years,
now wept like children. One young man |
who had resisted the pleadings of loving |
mother and entreaties of friends to lead a |
better life to desist from a course that was |
wasting his fortune and running his health,
now approached the child, and taking both |
her little hands in his, while tears streamed
down his pale cheeks, exclaimed with deep |
emotion.
'God OlesS you, my lCtle anger, you |
have saved me from ruin and disgrace,
from poverty and drunkard's grave. If
ever there were angels on earth, you are |
one; God bless you, God bless your and |
putting bill in the hand of the mother, said
''Please accept this tritle as token of
regard and esteem, for your little girl has |
done me kindness no wealth can ever
repay. And remember whenever you are
in want, you will find in me true friend"
and at the same time he gave her his name |
and address.
Taking her little child by the hand she
turned to go, but pausing at the door said:
"God bless you, gentlemen. Accept the
heartfelt thanks of poor friendless woman
for the kindness and courtesy you have
shown her." Before any one could reply |
she was gone.
A silence of several minutes ensued, |
which was at last broken by the proprietor
who exclaimed
Gentlemen, that lady is right, and | |
have sold my last glass of whisky; if any
of you want more you will have to go else |
where"
"And | have drank my last glass of