The Maryville times. (Maryville, Tenn.) 1884-1944, 1890-02-26
TEMPERANCE NOTES.
MOTHER AND SON.


sArchie's wifey 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 caressess
ask yol this--you his wife.
He's not here to welcome his motl er
What's wrongs Is my dear son i'll!
You came? Yes, dear but remember,
Archie place none other can FILL
Twas business detained him. reckon.
Well well, won't lot it annoy;
No doubt ne is climbing the ladder
or fame he dreamed of as boy.
sHeuSe1 TO rehearse his ambition
At my feet, win his hand on my llnlc
Iwish-but perhaps he is keeping
Atanderer we,com for me.
Prince OF sons, he visits my sumbers
And his kisses awake me at morn.
Forgive me my dear, do grieve your
loved him before you were born.
"You are sweet girl. | don't blame vol
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 ownoast of late,
He is writing 50 often for money,
And hints at things sad to relate
81 thought You were childish and giddy,
Extravagant, too, confess;
But sar no reason to chide you
For extravaganza in your dress
Your pretty print froak Is quite tidy
Your collar as white as the snow
But if you don't spend them for laces,
Where is it the dollars all go?
"Thc carriage9 Oh we'll never mind it,
Wen walk If it isn't far;
I'm quite numb and weary with sitting
So long in the dusty car.
Thanks. dear ArCbie'S 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 grayi
'Not overly strong9 It's mercy
Icame to you now; for l know
All about the needs Of a baby,
And the food that will make him grow.
My Archie was puny and sickly
For years the most Of the time;
kept the breath Of life in him
By doses of brandy and wine.
"Yes, brandy and wine are great blessings
To mothers, In many 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 swallow Of porter
To wash 1t down-Dear, are you ILL
You're not going to lose your baby;
Just give me plenty Of time,
And he shall be strong and rosy,
I'll cure him as cured mine
"You'i rather he'd DE-! Alice Dutton,
I'm surprised, nay, shocked confess.
Are you Christian or pagan wonder,
That you dare stand here and express
Such heathenish views! Will the Father
Work miracles, think, for your SOM
Will He take your sick boy and cure him,
Till your part is faithfully donel
"What harm can the medicine do himi
You fear for his futurel Such fears
Are food for fools and fanatics.
Those long-visaged, so0thsaying 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 1t!
shame on your darling and mine
Why! six generations OF buttons
Have proved themselves stronger than win,
Not once disgracing their manhood.
Don't mention It, Alice, pray;
Your boy is the last of the lineage
Do you think him less noble than they!
Disgrace is unknown to Dutton
In all their ancestral line.
Do you fear that their blue blood is tarnishe
And weakened by mixture with timer
Nay child, your grave apprehensions
Are shadowless as the wind;
Don't weep so, dear, Archie's mother
Never meant to be unkind.
~You are like 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 tits 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 SOM Let us go
To your home at once. Alice! Alice!
Don't touch that vile drunken man,
The loathsome being has fallen
As low as humanity can,
His very breath is pollution;
Redemption for such there is none.
hei-O my God 1t is Archie!
1t is Archie my son, my SON."
Rose Hartwick Thorpe, in Denorest's Ma