The Arkansaw traveler., 1885-01-03
REFORMING A DRuNKARD.
tPeck's Sun,l

the SHW man. or several years tnlS office has been a sort of house of refuge for men who have lost their grip on the world, and they come in with conf- dence that is truly charming, relate their grievances, get a slap on the shoulder, a word of cheer and little money to buy bread, aud 1t is worth a good deal to see with what new courage they go out to battle with the world. The fact that three out of four of them go to the near- est saloon to buy bread has not been a cheerful thing to their benefac.or, but we can't superiutend the purchase of bread by a man who is hungry. God bless them all, whether they buy bread or beer. They are happy for moment anyway, and they are grateful. But the last week the writer has had an experience that has knocked his faith in mankind higher than Gilderoy's kite, and he has almost wished that every drop of intoxicating drink was burned, and that another drop would never be made. About four weeks ago the writer received letter from a man who. was on the verge of suicide, begging for something to do by which he could earn loaf of bread each day. The man was about forty years of age, who had been lawyer in Canada. He had been cursed by a love of drink, had separated from his wife and two children, and he had wandered until he was foot sore and weary, insufficiently clothed, penniless, Respondent He had drank to the dregs the bitterness of lost man. hood, and what should he do, steal or starve? He had not drank a drop in three months, never would drink another drop, and only wanted strong arm to lean on until he could show himself to be man. His letter was touching, as well written as any lawyer could write, and it was so full of touching allusions to his wife and babies, who were sufferers from his own dissipation, that-well, we sent for him. He came to the office ex- pecting temperance lecture, and a little advice, and dismissal. O. but he was seedy. The winter had just come, and caught him with summer pants on, so thin that the November winds walked through them unmolested. His coat was thin and soiled, his spectacles were
 broken by Sn unfriendly lamp post. his feet were almost bare. But he had splendid face, and his heart was tender, and he was the soul of honor. Instead of temperance lecture, the only ques- ton asked, after he had told his story was, "Have you got through drinking forever 2" He said, as he called upon his God to witness, and with the image of his wife and little ones before him, that he would never drink again. That settled 1t. He was taken to the writer's home and fitted out with suit o. good clothes, from socks to collar, and from drawers to overcoat. He was given a sum of mosey and told to put in a week walking about the city and familiarizing himself with every street and every place of business. That should be his first weeks work. He was furnished a re- spectable boarding place, and as the writer was going away shooting for week, his protege was ordered to report the following Monday. He reported, and he was the happiest man in the world. The later days of the week tue
 business manager, who had taken great interest in him, had given him some commissions to execute, and he had done them well. To think that any man would
 take stock enough in him to clothe him and give him money and set him to work,
 after he had betrayed every friend he ever had, including his wife and children. seemed too much for him to realize, and
 he was so happy and grateful that it was
 genuine pleasure to see him, and talk
 with him, and hear him plan to
 send Christmas presents to the dear ones in Canada, and when we men, toned that if he kept On being as successful as he had been it would not be long before he could send for the wife and babies and have home here. How his heart swelled at the thought, until it seemed as though he would burst our uRdershirt and overshirt, and vest and coat and overcoat, which were covering his swelling heart. For about three weeks he worked as man never worked before. He seemed to realize that he was taking advantage of the last oppor- tunlty to become man among men. He worked hard days and slept good nights. and dreamed of the loved ones who would soon be with him, and he seemed to be thoroughbred brand plucked from the burning. Gratitude was no name for the feeling he had. He would have walked through burning hell for the man who had fired him into thase clothes and given him work to do. But one day he came into the office and there was an indescribable smell permeating the atmospe ere, such a smell as comes from medicine given to a man who has been on drunk, and the doctor wants to brace him up, and steady his nerves. Nobody knows what is in that medicine, but 1t is dead giveway on a man. He could not look his boss in the face, and his voice was husky, his eyes peculiar, and his assumption of dignity made him silly. He would laugh when there was nothing to laugh at, and his memory was gone. From the most truthful man, he became thoroughbred liar at once, and he was trying to play it on the old man. Trying to deceive an old bald headed traveller who had seen more drunkards than anybody. He had been drunk, and it was all up with him. When a man is a young drinker, he can get drunk and get over it the next day, and he may play it on his friends, and make them think it is oniv an incident hut whAn Q vnac has