The Republican. [volume] (Oakland, Md.) 1877-current, 1888-09-08
SHE DID 1T.
A Little Temperance Story, with Pretty
Large Moral.

"A LIttle temperance story, with q Pretty
Large Moral.
al tell you what, Mrs. B." bringing
his fist down, after listening awhile,
you may talk Temperance and pro-
hibition till you're worn out and that's
all the good it will do, while there
isn't single place in the town where
a man can get warm in winter, or get
drink in summer, or water his horses
in either season. What's more, when
we did have a town pump, you Temper
ance people took it up because it
brought too much teaming down your
main street; so a man can't water his
horses from the time he leaves home
until he gets to market, unless he
drives round by saloon and then he's
plaguey mean if he don't spend nickel
after using their pals and things"
1t was the close of an August day.
Mr.. Barstow had very evidently
watered his horses on the way home.
He was excited enough to be unreason-
able, and he so evidently had the
truth on his side now that Mrs Barstow
quietly put the early supper on the
table and let the subject drop for the
time.
There was no lack of theoretical
Temperance work in Maple Ridge. A
town was never more flooded with
pledges and Temperance literature.
There were the usual rival Temper
ance lodges, a very useful library and
two or three bands of earnest women
who met in each others parlors and
meant well. But there was that long
stretch of dusty road into the city and,
for miles out into the country, know
of but one hospitable farm-yard where
water stood ever ready for the stran-
ger and his beast.
Mrs. Barstow had worried over her
husband of late. A kinder man did
not live. His farm, market-garden,
contributed largely to the city's needs,
and he could well be proud of the
daily loads of fine fruit and vegetables
in their season. A description of one
day does for all. A hasty breakfast
eaten at four, or even three o'clock, is
the preparation for the long drive.
The horses are fed again at the mar
ket, where the first few hours are
filled with confusion. Cabbages fly
through the air, as they are tossed
into the grocers' wagons. Orders are
shouted across the lines of vehicles.
The air is filled with clamor; the
street with more quiet medley of
men, women, children and animals,
through which an occasional street.
car struggles. There is wonderfully
little ill-will shown, however. The
teamsters cramp little here, drive up
bit there, and accommodate each
other cheerfully. But, by eleven
o'clock, the rush is pretty well over.
Grocery wagons have ratified off to
make ready for the early trade. The
hucksters have next filled their carts
with the culled fruits, the women from
the crowded tenement houses have
spent their days pittance, and the
men have time to realize how tired
they are and how high the sun is. Then
the dry lunch they have brought lacks
flavor, there is tedious ride before
them, and they long for the pail I'M
der the pump at home, where they
may dip head and hands and get a
good cooling off. Here and there are
watering places, but they are in front
Of saloons.
There is Temperance eating house,
but it does not merit a second theught,
unless it is to wonder why Temper
ance houses are so apt to be dirty and
uninviting. They must not drive
down the boulevard and out through
the park to the Talcott fountain, for
traffic teams are not allowed there al
though they most need it. Come, Mr..
Barstow, come boys, settle down to u
ten-mile drive with no prospect of an
honest drink till you get to the end of
it, unless you are fortunate enough to
find street-sprinkler filling up and