The Columbia herald. [volume] (Columbia, Tenn.) 1850-1873, 1873-06-20
The story Of Rodgers.

The Story Of Rodgers.
One of our family papers breaches
strong temperance sermon, by simply
telling the story of a woman who, after
struggling with the preternatural
strength of a loving wife and mother for
years against the demon of drink that
possessed her husband, conquered it,
and made him once again a freeman.
In his last illness brandy was prescribed
which he was strong enough to use only
as medicine but after his death she
''turned to it in her grief, and died, not
many months later. ahopeless, helpless,
drunkard."
Let us tell companion story as true
as this but of as different complexion
as daylight to night. A few years ago
any sunny morning a heap of filthy rags
might be seen stretched on some of the
bales of paper warehouse in neigh
boring city, with strong smell of stale
tobacco and whisky hanging about it.
Turning IL over (Which you could do as
though it were log, any time after 10
o'clock in the morning,) you would find
the swollen, purple face of what had
once been handsome young man, but
there was lite hope that the bleared
eyes or thick tongue would give an in
telligent answer. The porters passing
by would push him aside, but not
roughly. The time had been when he
had been a jolly, generous young fell
low and favorite In the office. Young
Rodgers :; some one would give his his
tory In five minutes Taken to rum,
no chance, poor devil Stokes Che pro-
prietor) could not turn him out to
starye, so still gave him nominal sala-
ry and suffered him to hang about the
house lest he should take to worse
courses than drinking" There were
hints, too, of widowed mother, away
off in the country, who had been de-
pendent on him, and a sweetheart, a
pretty, clinging little girl, both of whom
long ago he had abandoned. But there
was nothing to be done. The end,
through the usual horrors of delirium
tremens, was apparently not far off.
One day, as Rodgers was creeping to
the nearest bar for his morning bitters,
man, whom he barely knew by sight,
took him by the elbow and walked with
him into queiter street. "They tell
me you are Richard Roder's son." he
said. g Dick Rodgers was the only
friend had for years, and for his sake
I'd like to save his boy. Are you will
ing for me to try?" g Oh, you can try, )"
muttered the lad with an imbecile laugh
This nameless friend, nothing daunted,
took him to chamber in his own house
and put him to bed. There he and his
sons kept watch and guarded this poor
wretch for months, like prisoner, keep
ing liquor from him, and trying to sup
ply it by medical treatment. A physi-
clan he employed, but he was not able
to pay for nurse. Any one who has
had 70 deal with victim of mania-a-
potu can guess how difficult and loath-
some a task he had set himself. I'm
grateful enough it was at first, for
Rodgers struggled against his torment
Ors with the ferocity of-iust what he
was-a starving animal. AS reason be-
gan to return and his unnatural strength
to vanish, he would beg them in his in
tervals of reason not to fail him, but to
work out the experiment either In sue
cess or death. I" It is my last chance, -
he would cry; 8" for Gods sake be pa
tent" This friend, with his son, did
work it out through all the foul unmen-
tionable details, and the end was not
death, but success. How soon, ask
ed a friend of Rodgers, afterward,
I" were you trusted alone?" mot for
two years, he answered, laughing. 81
was out of jail but in jail bounds. Do
you remember that lank, muscular
young fellow who had desk beside me
in the office? He took it with the con-
dition that he could leave it to dog me
night and day, to my meals and to my
bed That was the son of the man who
saved me- He was taken from lucra-
tive situation in order that he might be-
come my jailer. God bless himl How
I used to curse him Cant you trust
my honor 2" I would cry. "Pm not
convinced that your honor has not the
consumption, the Seotch-Irishman
would say. Well put no burdens on
it until it has regained its health"
g Your friend was wealthy man, no
douBt, and SO able to give both time
and money to your case ?" "On the
contrary, he is but the owner of small
hat-store, and supports his family out
of that. He is Itch and noble only in
the deed and spirit of friendship" All
this was years ago. Rodgers is now an
honorable and industrious man, married
to his old love, with his gray-haired
mother by his hearth, bringing to it the
perpetual benediction of benignant old
age His friend sells hats, makes no
speeches no bruit of any sort in the
world. Nobody has recognized in him
a hero. Yet, who for the sake of dead
or living friend would go and do like
wise ?-NeD York Tribune