The Marietta journal. [volume] (Marietta, Ga.) 1866-1909, 1873-06-27

/ few years ago on any sunny morn
ing a heap Of filthy rags might be
seen stretched on some of the bales
Ola paper warehouse in a neighbor-
ing city, with strong smell of stale
tobacco and whisky hanging about
Fit. Turning it over (which you
could do as though il were log,
any time after 10 o'clock in the
morning), you would find the swol-
len purple face of what. had once
been a handsome young man, but
there was little hope that the blear-
ed eyes or thick tongue would give
an intelligent answer. The porters
passing by would push him aside,
but not roughly The time had
been when he had been a jolly, gen
erous young fellow and favorite
in tho office. young Rodgers -
some one would give you his history
in FIVE minutes: "Taken to rum
no chance poor devil. Stokes (the
proprietary could not turn him out
to starve, SO still gave him nomi-
nal salary and suffered him to hang |
about the house lest he should take |
to worse courses than Drinking
There were hints, zoo, of a widowed |
mother. away off in the country,
who had been dependent on him,
and sweetheart, a pretty, clinging
little girl, both Of whom he had long
ago abandoned. But there was
nothing to be done. The end,
through the usual horrors Of delirium
tremens, was apparently not far of.
One day, as Rodgers was creep
ing to the nearest bar for his morn
ing bitters, a man, whom he barely
knew by sight, took him by the ell
bow and walked with him into a
quieter street. "They tell me you
are Richard Rodgers's son" he said.
"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 mo to try ~ "Oh, you can
try, muttered the lad with an i'm,
beetle laugh. This nameless friend,
nothing daunted, took him to a
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 a prisoner,
keeping liquor from him, and trying
to supply It by medical treatment.
A physician he employed, but he
= as not able to pay for nurse
Any one who has had to deal with
victim Of mania-a-potu can guess
how difficult and loathsome a task
he had set himself. Ungrateful
enough it was at first, for Rodgers
struggled against his tormenters
with the ferocity of-just what he
was--a starving animal. AS reason
began to return and his unnatural
strength to vanish, he would beg
them in his intervals Of reason not
to fail him, but to work out The ex-
pertinent either to success or death.
ut is my last chance" he would
cry; "for Gods sake be patient"
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"
asked friend Of Rodgers afterwards,
"were you trusted alone y mot for
two years." he answered laughing.
II was out of Jail but in Jail bounds.
Do you remember that lank, muscu
lar young fellow who had a deskbeside
me in the Office 2 He took it with
the condition that he could leave it,
to dog me night and day, to my
meals and to my bed. This was the
son Of the man who saved me. He
was taken from a lucrative situation
in order that he might become my
Iiailer God bless him How /
used to curse him! 'Can'tyou trust
my honorG would cry I'm not
convinced that your honor has not
the consumption, the Scotch-Irish-
man would say. "We'll put no bur
dens on it until it has regained its
health"
seYour friend was a wealthy man,
no doubt, and so able 10 give both
time and money to your case -
HOn the contrary, he was but the
owner Of small hat-store, and sup
ports his family out ofthat. He is
rich or noble only in the deed and
spirit Of friendship" All this was
years ago. Rodgers is now an in
dustrious, honorable man, married
to his old love, with his gray-haired
mother by bis hearth, bringing to il
the perpetual benediciion of being
| nant old age. His friend sells hats
makes no speeches nor bruits Of
deeds Of any sort in the world. No
body has recognizedin him hero.
| Yet, who for the sake of q dead,
or living friend would go and do like
wise 7--Net0 York Tribune.