davidaulloa/AmericanStories huggingface dataset:
The clarion. [volume] (Jackson, Miss.) 1883-1888, 1885-06-24
Tate, Agoin' By

"NNhy, here's Tate" observed old
FarwelI from the tavern platform. His
remark served double purpose-it ac-
costed Tate Sykes, and also let the other
frequenters know of his approach. He
added, with the peculiar infection of
maudlin sympathy, How do you find
yourself, after yesterdayT'
"Middlin' well," said Tate, gravely;
but walking on.
"Why, look a-here, We amt agoia' Jy,
be yeg Wig, boys, here's Tat agoua' byP'
Farwell's tone had changed from SEN
timent to intense astonishment, as if it
couldn't be that Tate was passing their
mutual haunt. Tate Sykes, whose nos
trils loved the scent of liquor that float
ed through the open door, and who
always turned in for one glass. 1t
oftener became more.
But two days before, sad-eyed, tat
tered woman burst in upon their reyels,
her face full of agony.
where's my man? Where's Tate
Sykes p Then imperatively, Come
home, Tate Bess wants you. She
dying"
Tate had some manhood left, for he
set his glass down with a groan, and
followed his wife out, bare-headed, in
an unwonted stiffness.
That was the last they saw of Tate al
| the tavern until then, and he was going
| by. Farwell felt that it was unnatural.
What had gone wrong? Farwell scratch
ed his slightly muddled head for the
clew, then slapped his knee emphatically
when he thought he found it,
Hold on, Tate. Mebbe you thought
l 70. Laa,, +Iorf, n ff.x-r t.af,,i
as we was old friendsF'
| Tate stopped, but did not reply. His
hands were clenched, and great strug-
Gle was written on his face. He looked
1 ike one ready for conflict, and he was
men he had drunk With, but with the
powers of darkness. FarweH broke the
awkward silence.
"We felt for We, Tate. Il we'd had
the money we'd done the handsome
thing with flowers and sieh- | wouldn'i
beggruded comm down with a hack u
span o horses; fact Tate: but | hadn't
| the needful; you know that, old boy.
There amt a man in the county I'd helr
out sooner, but | couldn't Ie hadn'i
orter lay it up agin US, Tate
Boys" said Tate boarsely. with fre
quent pauses to conquer emotion, y
didn' 't-expect ye-to follow my little
gal-to--to the grave; and yer pesies
wonld-o been-too late. Yesee, II hao
been-all thorns for her-alluz-them
her father planted 2
| A deep sob sweIled his brawny chest
He sank upon the low platform, leaned
his head against decaying pillar, and
wept Ike q child.
The boys were silent Old Farwel
laid his pipe aside, and rose with ths
majesty of a purpose
There, there, Tate, don't ye take OF
The clarion. [volume] (Jackson, Miss.) 1883-1888, 1885-06-24
We Shall Meet Again.

These are the last words heard from
four young men as they took their part
ing drink and each went his way. They
were separated by distance and years yet
they met again in many ways little
thought by them.
They meet with rum as before. Their
example lived and was followed by others
when they were gone. They soon meet
others, who joined them in drinking
poisonous liquor to their destruction.
They meet the blood-shot eyes, the
swollen face, the boisteeous conduct, and
found many comparative strangers the
same as themselves. They all belong
to one class-that of drUllkGrds.
The hereafter will afford them many
meetings They will meet the
upbraiding conscience. The same con-
science that told them in youth to let
rum alone. The same conscience that
warned them in vain, although disre-
garded and scared, yet never dead but
living to condemn forever. Young men,
when you look back over your blasted
lives all these things will meet you-the
recollection of the great wrong you have
done both TO yourselves and your fami-
lies will meet you-and when you see
your former companions drunken and
vile you will know that you gave your
influence to make them so. A mother :
prayers, a loving sisters former entrea-
ties will all meet you again. When you
see the wives and children of your
associates in want you viii know that
you did all you could 20 make them so
When you see the boys of your friends
of other years grow up with the bad
habits of their fathers. you will remem-
Der that they are all following your
example faithfully, which will continue
to curse soth father and son. Your
conduct, your example, your habits
will meet you often as you hasten on to
the close OF the journey of life. What
dreadful memories viii rise before you
memories and remorse, that viii render
later years of life unhappy and bring
dispair regret and anguish upon you
even inc ternity. Yes, we shall meet
again. Az OLD MAN.
The clarion. [volume] (Jackson, Miss.) 1883-1888, 1885-06-24

excess Of pain; not for wisdom, since
II produces dullness, stupidity and some
times insanity; not for riches, because
the result is poverty; not for honor,
since It brings disgrace: not for fame or
for any purpose that Is worthy of the
energies and devotion ola being en-
dowed with the wonderful powers and
faculties which our Creator has bestowed
on man.
To what may we attribute the power
Of wine and its allies, all alcoholic
drinks? In view Of the evil results.
whence comes its attractiveness, its
power TO hold so many victims, worthy
OF better fate, for sacrificial offerings
TO Bacchus2 The jolly impulses are sud
denly set free'in the human soul By the
use of alcoholic drinks, the dethrone-
ment of reason and expulsion of eau
tion, are kept prominently in the front,
whilst the evils are concealed, are re-
mote and not expected to be reached by
any of the victims. Wine is mocker.' -
Il promises health, it gives sickness, it
promises wisdom, it gives folly, it prom
ises happiness, it gives eternal banish-
ment from God and from heaven.
The use of alcoholic drinks Is an evil
too foolish for sensible men, too degrad-
ing for honorable men, too wicked for
righteous men, too Intoxicating for sober
men, too costly for economical men, too
Improbable for exUravagant men, and
too sinful for any man who would not
willingly cut himself oil from all hope
of eternal life.
The clarion. [volume] (Jackson, Miss.) 1883-1888, 1885-06-24

so man. She's gone, an parting's hard /:
but we can't call her back Come IN
and have a drop O something TN tone
you up. Come, all. I'll stand treat"
They started eagerly toward the bar
room, except Tate. There was fierce
longing in his blood-shot ewes, and every
breath he drew of the imprewuated air
increased his thirst; but, to the surprise
of all. Tate sykes declined the drink.
even impIored Farwell not to urge him.
Farwell paused, angrily; the faces of
the others darkened, also. Their muir
murs would have been les gentle, only
they remembered that Tate's child was
dead, and most of these men. alas were
fathers, too. They meant some time TO
turn about, but their good resolutions
decayed with the old tavern By and
by they would drop into drunkard's
graves, their souls going Jrhere-
Don't never ask me to drink" cried
Tate, ''for can't, Don't ever call me
in here again, for if do, | shoot myself
wouldn't be lit to live if | forgot the
VOWS l made by that little grave. Sit
down bit; I'll tell We how | came TO
this"
Then Tate began in a strange hoarse
voice;
''Ye all know why Meg came after me
that night. She said Bess was dyin,
thought she had-left us-when ] got
home, she was so white and still. "She
wanted you Tate, says Meg. "She
couldn't be easy tn out ye She telled
me to 90 fetch father; she'd wait O.
Tate, how l ran, and now its too late.
She's gone; without her dying wish !"
Meg cried softly, whisperin' this bit by
bit betwixt the tears. | can't tell you
what felt, boys, settin' there beside my
leetle gal. There Want nothing comfor-
table for such as she, in that poor room
1t goes without sayin' there couldn't be,
and me spendin' what did here.
"Well, boys, whilst l was lookin' at
her, all of a sudden, the color flashed
into her sweet face, and them dear"
(Tate's voice shook darling eyes fled
open-but not TO see me, boys; they
looked straight for ard, beyant and up
ard, and says she, startled like, i can't
go alone-it's dark-go part cay 'cith me,
father dearP"
Tate groaned as he had the night he
was summoned from the bar-room When
he could speak, he said
"Them was her last words She give
a great sigh, and left Us. There want
no backin' out for her, boys, even if her
father couldn't go part way with cheerin
words, an seriptur. She had to 90 alone,
in the dark, my poor leetle gal. 1t come
over me then, what | was and what !
might a ben. There's one other left
me; please God FU 90 part 0 tte 1ray
rith her,"
Tate had arisen. He stood erect rs he
uttered his vow, in a clear, distinct voice
that reached even the man behind the
bar. The fierce appetite had gone from
Tate's eyes, they glowed with his new
born purpose. None Of his old com
rades detained him as he turned and
left the old tavern forever.-New York
Observer
The clarion. [volume] (Jackson, Miss.) 1883-1888, 1885-06-24
Under the SNOW.

Under the snow the 3ect paerrs e-lae.
Men with flushed faces and Iaatcs by the'I
I-rsiae their racers 70 marvellous speed.
Passing e7acl other with eaaopios stess5.
These are the riders shat wiuter days -
IN swift line OF beauty over the snow
over rhe snow thc tirei footmen Eo-
some from thr.r shops are watkins home
slow.
This IS the season when farmer ard sQn
Rest by the trc>Iic for laiior IS orues
over n town the farmer viii drive.
BeaJiug his fingers % Keep them s-ls-e-
over the snow the hUuEry wlA Uo-
Once they were wealthy, yoa never may
know
II tro,,i,e.'or sickness. or pain brouEbJ them
low
Theirs is the class go dresd the cold snow.
All. II 1se knew what had led the1a OF late
To let 80 tacir foorholt and auaTre4 With
fate.
Under thc snow vherc the flowers weary 50,
Nothing uan hlndev-tle wurid is matst So.
The rircst az aar,iets @, suns aIuc one aaS'
= surc 10 md winter in passing away
Under the snow 80 our loved sleep as one,
Resting and Silent with tteN dUty done
Under the snow we VIII soon AL pc placed
Folded our hands, ana torm hcavenward
Dreaded or hopeful, our turn VIII arrive,
In 5oy or in sorrow with friends Ict1 alive
Yes. an are immortal, but mortal as wei,
And the DAY Of oar summons 10 creature can
tell.
III
over the snow are she pleasures we fati
Under the snow may he iny more reHueds
Rlcudcd at last with the earth under snow.
Who shall sleep sweetest, the sish OF the
low
Who shall live longest. the great or the
sUaiIe
Like the end of "a king is the end Of Us all
Under the snow I'm honor lCf'S -p.
living sud lowing and spending lie So.
That years after going some fond friends
viii say;
For one ne was noble, and brave every day.
A y. .~I-.
part
That stamped his fond image OF good in nay
heart.
Under the snow Breathe il once low,
\ rest for an sorrow. q balm for all woe
\ meeting hgy uuf with the loved gone before.
A parting 50 brief that be soon Will be Ger.
Heaven grant us thc blessing when wc are to
20.
That our lives De- as stainless and harmless as
snow.
Harry IEndreth
The clarion. [volume] (Jackson, Miss.) 1883-1888, 1885-06-24
Beer for Workingmen.

In England there is man NAMED
William Bailey, a wealthy man dong 6
large business. He had once been q
farm laborer. Some years ago, as he
was walking across a hay field he saw
some men moving, and he crossed over
to them and asked if he might NOW
One of the men said yes, and handed
him q scvthe. Soon one of them re
marked: "Why, you have moved be
fore?'
eyes, ! have" said Bailey; and al
frstI drank beer regularly; but while
/ was moving and drinking my beer
the idea suddenly came to me thai
| could NOW Just as well without beer.
"Oh / couldn't work without beer,
said one Of the Iaborers; j couldn't gel
on"
after began to NOW without beer
| soon discovered that ] could get OF
without moving" replied Bailey.
eve should like that very well. " said
the man.
"Oh, no, you cannot do without your
beer, and you will 60 on moving al
your lives, without raising to anything
better, just because you viii have your
beer"
There Is many Worklngman now put
ting all his savings into the hands of the
saloon keeper, instead of keeping them
himself, and that is the reason he does
not get on.
II have backed as many as sixty tons
of coal in day since / took the pledge,
said a a London 'coal whipper." But
before that. if had done so much,
should hardly Leye been able to craw
home, | should have been certain to LOSE
the next days work.
We might cite the testimony of ma
sons, bricklayers, laborers, furnacemen
moulders, glass-blowers, sawyers, porters
plasterers, in fact all trades on sea and
| land, doing the hardest work, and ex
! posed to the severest cold. These all dc
their work better without beer.
We often meet men who say Il drinl
to make me work To such a one, al
old man replied as follows: "Hearken
once | was prosperous farmer. | haC
a good loving wife, and two as fine lad.
as the sun ever shone upon. Bat ",
drank ale to make Us work. Those two
lads now lie in drunkards graves, anC
my wife died of a brSken heart, anC
1 lies beside them. / am Seventy years 0.
/ age, and because | used to drink ale tC
make me work, it makes me work nov
| for my daily break. Yes drink, drink
and it will be sure to make you work.
The clarion. [volume] (Jackson, Miss.) 1883-1888, 1885-06-24
Capt. Put Darden, fer Governor

EDITOR CLARION: | have been a con-
stant reader Of your paper from my boy
hood. 1t was the first paper | ever
read. My father was a subscriber for
more than thirty years, and until he
became too blind TO read. He and his
sons have always been of the same
politics as The CLARION, and while |
have never been a newspaper contribu
tor, | have always felt Il lively interest
in the politics of the State. Ny inter
est has deepened this year until it
prompts me to attempt TO write an arti-
Gle to represent the feelings of the peo-
pie in this section on the gubernatorial
question. | have investigated the ques
ton to considerable extent among the
farmers, and they invariably declare in
favor Of Capt. Put Darden. While
hear no particular accusations against
other aspirants they claim that we are
entitled to the executive Office, if we
have a man in our ranks who is cOmpe-
tent. We feel that Capt. Darden has
no superior for the position. That no
one Is more thoroughly acquainted with
the condition of the farmers and the in
terest of the State; and this knowledge
has been obtained by coming directly in
EUuLdtL VIII t4cSC W l4O COntIAOuNN LliO1l
labor and skill to make the State pros
porous and great. With this knowledge,
we feel that it would be injustice to Us
for the convention to ignore our de-
mands. As a general thing, the press,
that is supported by the laborers, has
heretofore treated our demands with
eminent contempt until we feel that
''forbearance has ceased to be virtue"
and we demand that they recognize our
rights We don't propose to only say
that we want Capt. Darden for Cover
nor, but we say we must have him, and
will not be satisfied with any one else.
We further know that the demand is
reasonable and no objections can be
urged against it. Furthermore, we con-
stitute eighty per cent. of the voting
strength of the State, and we know if
the wishes Of the masses is truthfully
and honestly represented, that Capt.
Darden would be nominated on the first
ballot. But if trickery and wire-pulling
prevail, then the wishes of the people
may be perverted. If you want to get
correct, idea Of Darden's standing, leave
the towns and go out in the country,
and you will find that the papers do not
represent the true sentiment. live on
the line of Newton and Scott and |
know you may score them for Darden.
June 18th, 1855. T.
The clarion. [volume] (Jackson, Miss.) 1883-1888, 1885-06-24
Extract from Address to be Delivered
before the Band of Hope, Utica.
p. Il. LEATHERMAN.

The inebriate, in his work of self
destruction endures more hardships and
suffering than the apostle Paul bore, for
his devotion to righteousness, purity and
holiness. And Paul's suffering was no
light burden to be borne, In Affections,
in necessities, in distresses, in imprison-
ments, in tumults, IN labors, in watch
ings and fastings." The inebriate dies
daily in the flesh by relaxation of the
muscles, and their loss of power TO obey
the will; by stupor, By nausea, by rack
ing pains in the head, by insanity. He
transeresses the laws of his country, is
deprived of his liberty, suffers from
imprisonments, from want, from neglect,
from the remorse of an outraged con-
science, from the torturing pains of a
slowly poisoned and sadly afflicted body.
Many such end their useless and un-
happy existence, by suffering the death
penalty for crimes so enormous that the
ingenuity Of man can devise no other
appropriate penalty But what. ahl
what, must such man suffer in endless
ages for unpardoned sins against their
Creator and for what7 Not for pleas
ure. because the indulgencc brings an
The clarion. [volume] (Jackson, Miss.) 1883-1888, 1885-06-24

Here are figures showing what some
rich men have done. Johns Hopkins
gave g. .148, 900 to the university which
he founded. His gifts for benevolent
purposes amounted to s. 900, 900.
Judge Packer gave S3,lOo,O coo to Le-
high University. Cornelius Vanderbilt
gave 1000 900 to the Vanderbilt Uni
versity. Stephen Girard gave S8. 8.000,-
600 to Girard College John G. Green
and his residuary legatees gave Il ,500,-
900 to Princeton College. Ezra Cor
nell gave LOO. 600 70 Cornell Univer-
sity. Isaac Rich bequeathed the great
CT part of his estate, (which was ap-
praised at 81, 700, 600, to Boston Uni
yersity; on account OF the great fire
and shrinkage IN value, and other I'M
fortunate circumstances, the university
will realize less than 800 900 from this
magnificent bequest. Amasa Stone
gave 5000 600 TO Adelhert College by
direct gift and by bequest. W. w
Corcoran gave $4,000 70 Columbian
/ University in money and land. Ben
Iamin Busy gave real estate worth
$500, 600 to Harvard University. Sam
uel Williston, William J. Walker. and
Samuel 4. Hitchcock gave between
800, 600 and 500, 900 each 70 Amherst
College. Whitmer Phoenix gave the
bulk Of his property, amounting to
about $50, 900. to Columbia College.
j. b. Trevor gave $1,000 to Roches-
ter Theological Seminary. Matthew
Vassar gave $500, 900 to Yassar Col
/ lege. Gardner Colby gave $4,000 to
+ Colby University and 500, coo to New
ton Theological Seminary. j. b. Col
gate gave $500, 600 to Madison Univer-
sity. George l. Seney gave $3.50, 900 to
Wesleyan University The Grocer fam
/ ily gave $4,000 to Grocer Theological
{ Seminary.
The clarion. [volume] (Jackson, Miss.) 1883-1888, 1885-06-24

school fund be collected from the fetr
and distributed 10 the many, though
contributed by some counties and divi-
ded among all; though paid, in part. by
rery many who cannot patronize any
free schols, yet there Is one more plan
Of partial relief, Viz: Let the fund be
dlstTtbuted pro rata to the edisoGbLe chill
dren Of the State, whether they attend
school or not, though living too remote to
attend any free school-yea whether their
their father pays one dollar tax or more,
pray let Us receive small portion Of
the sum 20 cruelty wrung from the tax
payers.
have written more than intended,
but | cannot forbear referring in the
kindest terms possible to the author of
an article in the issue of THE CLARION.
on 3rd inst, relating 10 the increase of
school tax, etc. II seems that this
cheeky carpet-bagger, not satisfied with
the irreparable injury inflicted by him
and his kind while sojourning here after
Sherman's departure, still seeks TO
plunder our people for the benefit of his
constituents, and now from his roost in
Chicago, urges and recommends all
sorts of extravagant expenditures of the
peoples money, knowing full well that
not one in 4 thousand Of his quondam
friends here pays more than a poll tax
CANTON, Mss, June llth, 1885.
The clarion. [volume] (Jackson, Miss.) 1883-1888, 1885-06-24

One reason, you hear all the patrons
say, why our public-schools are not any
better is because the teachers are incom-
petent. This is n fact of which there is
little or no doubt. Everybody knows
this and none better than the teachers
themselves. The cause is plain to be
seen. The boys and girls, young men
and young women, who constitute the
great majority of teachers in our public
schools. are not teachers at all, but
merely drop into the business for a short
time in order to make little money to
spend in preparing themselves for their
life work. We have in the school very
few professional teachers. Very few,
did ! say. Have we any? Are there
any teachers in the public schools who
have prepared themselves for the bust
ness and intend to make it lifework?
OF course there are not, and for the
very good reason that the pay is not suf-
fcient to make it possible to depend on
for a living. But you hear it said the
pay is as good, or better, than the teach
ers. So it, is, while they are employed.
That is, the teachers now in the schools
are not worth more than S2j to $40 per
month but they are worth more than
S100 to Sl60 per year. No man can
live on this amount. Then any one
teaching in the public schools must look
somewhere else for a living. Here, then,
is where the difficulty is; and when the
State begins to pay teachers enough to
live decently on at the business she will
be able to find teachers who are compe-
tent, but not till then. A man who is
competent to teach school can do some
thing else in which there is a living for
him and his family.
The remedy is, fewer schools, longer
terms and better paid teachers. The
number of schools can be reduced one
third, the time can be extended to eight
or ten months, and the teachers employed
and paid according to qualification, il
we elect men to the next Legislature who
have brains enough and proper con
ception of the Importance of general
education. G. T. II.
The clarion. [volume] (Jackson, Miss.) 1883-1888, 1885-06-24
Stealing Dimpfes-

L was go 2g e Kiss the dimples from out the
lit = creeks,
Where they ripple and they dance every
time she laughs or speaks;
She said l shouldn't do it, but l held her fast
and tight
And kisseI and kissed the rosy little face
with all nay might.
And then a pair Of eyes twintoed very gravely
out,
And a pair of little lips gathered up a doIefnl
pout,
With little dropping cornegs-no wonder,
you viii say,
To see such bonny, bonny dirhples stolen al
away.
1 thought should have kept them for Just a
little while;
But little teeth were soon peeping through q
little smile,
And then laugh like sunshine was over al
her face,
And every dimple / had stolen was bacl
again in place.
The clarion. [volume] (Jackson, Miss.) 1883-1888, 1885-06-24

A more beautiful farming country
does not exist than that along the
southern shore of the Baltic. No fenc-
es mark the boundaries of the fertile
farms which stretch away over the roll
ing hills to the distant horizon, all
aglow with yellow grain. At intervals
a clump of trees, often seen intensely
dark against the ripe grain. shows
where a farmhouse stands, and giant
windmills swing their sails on the high
est hill tops. The highway. a finely
built chaussee, leads straight across
the country, only curving TO pass
through some village. Mountain ash.
birch, and cherry trees border the road
in an unbroken rank. Ia the bitches
and by the road grow countless varie-
ties OF wild flowers perfect paradise
for the botanist. From the highest
hill the eye meets to the south a sue
cession of grain fields. To the north.
beyond the soft undulations OF the cul-
tiyated hills. the Baltic shimmers in tho
strong sunlight, a narrow line, sharp
at the horizon. The dimensions Of the
brick barns prove the accustomed mag
nitude OF the harvest; the luxury Of the
farmers houses tells Of inherited sue
cess. Harpsr'S Msga<ias.