The Republican. [volume] (Oakland, Md.) 1877-current, 1890-02-22
TEMPERANCE NOTES.
MOTHER AND SON.

MOTHER AND SON.
"Archie's wife? Yes dear but where's Archie?
My first kiss is waiting FOR him,
For since his goodbye that sad morning,
Past the years my tears have made dim,
No kiss has lain over his kisses,
No love has come into my life.
But he-who has had his caresses?
ask you this-you, his wife.
"He's not here to welcome his mother.
What's wrong? Is my dear son ill.
You came! Yes, dear, but remember,
Arches place none other can fill.
Twas business detained him. / reckon.
Well, well, won't let it annoy;
No doubt he is climbing the ladder
OF fame he dreamed of as boy
He used TO rehearse his ambition
AT my feet, with his hand on my knee.
Iwish-but perhaps he is keeping
A tenderer welcome for me.
Prince of sons, he visits my slumberS,
And his kisses awake me at morn.
Forgive me, my dear, do grieve you?
loved him before you were born.
''You are a sweet girl. 1 don't blame you
For taking first place in his heart.
1t has seemed TO NEEDN'T be offended,
I'm his mother and know every part
OF his nature, and somehow his letters
Have been rather GowncaSt Of late,
He is writing so often for money,
And hints at things sad to relate.
81 thought you were childish and giddy,
Extravagant, too, confess;
But see no reason to chide you
For extravaganza in your dress.
Your pretty print frock is quite tidy,
Your collar as white rs the snow
But if you don't spend them for laces,
Where is it the dollars ell 20?
The carriage? Oh, well, never mind it,
Wen walk II it isn't far;
I'm quite numb and weary with sitting
SO long in the dusty car
Thanks dear. Arches arm would be stronger.
To think shall see him to-day,
My tall, handsome son! How is baby?
Are his eyes blue like yours, or grayl
Not overly strong! It's mercy
came to you now; for know
All about the needs of baby,
And the food that will make him grow.
My Archie was puny and sicllly
For years, the most OF the time;
kept the breath Of life in him
By doses of brandy and wine.
ayes, brandy and wine are great blessings
To mothers, in many a way;
Without them couldn't have raised him
To love us and bless US to-day.
And the little rogue learned to like them;
Why, he'd take the bittereSt pill
With only n swallow of porter
To wash it down--Dear. are you illt
You're not going to lose your baby;
just give me u plenty of time,
And he shall be strong and rosy,
I'll cure him as | cured mine.
ga You'd rdther he'd DIR! Alice Dutton,
I'm surprised. nay, shocked, confess.
Are you Christian or pagan. wonder,
That you dare stand here and express
Such heathensh views! Will the Father
Work miracles think, for your son?
win He take your sick boy and cure him,
Till your part is faithfully done?
What harm can the medicine do himH
You fear for his future: Such fears
Are food for fools and fanatics
Those long-viSaged, SoOthsaying seers
Who trail their prophetic horrors
Through all the bright places of life,
Who sit, like Deaths head, at the banquet,
TO herald the oncoming strife
''Tis shame on your son to suggest It'll
A shame on your darling and mine!
Why six generations of buttons
Have proved themselves stronger than wine
Not once disgracing their manhood.
Don't mention 1t, Alice, pray;
Your boy is the last of the lineage
boy you think him less noble than they!
Disgrace is unknown to a button
In all their ancestral line.
Do you fear that their blue blood is furnished
And weakened by mixture with thine?
Nay child, your grave apprehensions
Are shadowless as the wind;
Don't weep So dear, Arches mother
Never meant to be unkind.
"You are like a fair, gentle daughter,
Your face is so tender and sweet.
You are like-but where are we going?
Why turn down that terrible street?
This house! Why, child, It's "a howell!
See that drunken man stretched in the way {!
Don't show me runs wretchedness, Alice,
I'm worn out with travel to-day.
You surely don't seek your companions
Among those so wretchedly low?
You, wife of my son, and the mother
Of my sons son? Let us 20
To your home at once. Alice. Alice!
Don't touch that vile drunken man,
The loathsomc being has fallen
AS low as humanity can.
His very breath is pollution;
Redemption for such there is none.
He!-O my God, it is Archie!
1t is Archie, my son, my SON.
Rose Hartwfck Thorpe in DemOrcst's Mag
aZine