The Monitor. [volume] (Woodstown, N.J.) 1884-1892, 1889-09-06

was gone, and at last his midnight reel
carried him to miserable howell in which
a heart broken woman and children ex-
| listed
THE ANGELS WING.
Tom had reached the bottom. So low
| had he descended that he would scrub
out saloons that he might get the dregs
of alcoholic stimulants. He was Bum
mer Blinkcr now with rum colored
nose and eyes bleared and bloodshot.
Many times he inhabited the "drunk
room" at the station house, and when he
was brought in the desl, sergeant would
say, "Hello. Blinker; you here again.
Why don't you brace up and be some
one? You used to be u pretty good kind
of fellow
Tom would only humble and drop
down into a corner to sleep. In po-
lice court he was chronic and was
fined time and time again.
One cold and dismal night, when the
snow was on the ground and all nature
was ice clad, Tom was in low barroom
asleep Some cruel jokers had painted
his swollen face with lamp black ard
were having rare sport with the drunken
man. When he awoke and realized his
condition he became angry, and the re-
suit was that he was badly beaten and
thrown out of doors. Then lie staggered
homeward. That night while the father
was at the barroom 2-year-old baby
Mary, whose eyes and dimples were like
mothers used to be, was taken suddenly
i'll with that night dread of all mothers
the Group, and in a few hours its little
life was ended. While the mother bent
over the form OF her child and bathed
its face with her tears, Tom staggered in
and threw himself on to char, with
besotted oath; then, as sleep overcan1e
him, he fell to the floor, where he la
till morning with Mary's faded and torn
shawl under his head for pillow.
All night long the mother sat beside
Ter dead and sent her prayers hcaren-
ward When mornings light appeared,
and Tom, benumbed with cold and rar-
TALLY sobered, saw his dead child and re-
allied that he had not been near TO wipe
the death damp from its brow, or help it
battle for life, then an old feeling, be-
come new, came to him. Down on his
knees, with his face buried in the tat
tered bed clothing, he sobbed as only
great strong men can sob, and Mary, the
wreck Of long ago, placed her wasted
arm about his neck. and with Ter wan
face against his, unmindful Of the lamp
black, the fumes of vile liquor, mingled
her tears with his. But no promises Of
reformation did Tom make
Kind neighbors furnished a little coffin,
and when Tom, trembling in every i NIB
from dissipation. dropped hot, burning
tears on the little face upturned, and
with his shaking hand caressed the tiny
white hands peacefully crossed on the
bosom Of white, people wondered IF
this will be lesson TO him" The fu-
neral was unprctentioas. Every clod
that fell on tho coffin struck blow on
Toms heart For two days Tom re
manned at home, and on the third, when
he started away, he took his wife in his
arms and kissed her as he did in times
gone by. And when he returned Mary
listened for his step, oh, go anxiously,
and, when she heard it, thanked God it
was the step Of sober man.
from the police station, from the police
court. lie quit drinking and went to
work. Go to one Of the largest factories
in the city. Pass among the whirring
wheels and ringing hammers. See that
tall, broad shouldered man with a CHEEKY
face, bc2rimed not with lamp black, but
with the result of honest labor! That's
Tom BlinEer
When the whistle sounds he takes off
his apron, buttons his stout coat about
him and with Il brisk swinging walk and
a CHEEKY whistle starts for home. Fol
low him to Il neat little cottage and
watch the picture that the light throws
upon the curtains at the window. See 4
happy wife in tidy attire throw her arms
around his neck and kiss away the dirt
of the factory. See happy children
clamoring TO kiss papa. See them at
their evening meal-and then If Tom
does go out after supper-Mary and the
children go along. The neat cottage
isn't Toms yet, but it will be some day,
for he is the old time Tom, sober, hard
working and honest.
Out in Crown Hill is q little mound of
earth that Tom and Mary visit every
Sunday. On this mound in summer the
flowers ever bloom, and winters fierce
gale that rends the oak and shakes tie
evergreens sinks to u low sweet and ten
der lullaby as it passes over the spot
where rest the remains Of Blinker's baby.
-Ipdiapopo1is Eav-G