Mississippi leader. (Jackson, Miss.) 1892-1895, 1894-05-01

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made so before they were born by brutal,
drunken fathers.
And, worse than all the rest, many of
/ them have inherited love for liquors
and are growing mp to take the places
and do the deeds of their fathers.
They will fill the ranks of the awful
army of drunkards that moves in I'M
broken columns down to death.
1t has taken nearly year for the street
to empty itself of its years work.
And close in the rear come the van
guard of the next years supply.
And if that is what liquor does in our
country and in one year, what must be
its results in all the world through the
long centuries?
Thus far we have listened to the story
that figures tell, but they cannot tell all.
They give only the outline of the ter
rible work that is going on around us.
! They cannot picture to us the wretched
squalor of drunkard's home.
They cannot tell us how many unkind
and cruel words strong drink has caused
otherwise kind and tender hearted hus-
bands and fathers to utter to their dear
ones.
They cannot tell how many heavy
blows have fallen from the husbands
hand upon those whom it is his duty to
cherish and protect.
They cannot tell how many fond ex-
pectations and bright hopes, which the
fair young bride had of the future, have
been blasted and turned to the bitterest
gall.
They cannot number the long weary
hours of night, during which she has
anxiously awaited and yet fearfully
! dreaded the heavy football at the door.
Figures cannot tell how many scalding
tears the wives shed, nor how many
prayers of bitter anguish and cries of
agony God has heard them utter.
They cannot tell how many mothers
have worn out soul and body in provid-
ing the necessities of life for children
whom drunken father has left desti-
tute.
They cannot tell ms how many moth
ers' hearts have broken with grief as
| they saw darling son become a drunk
ard.
They cannot tell us how many white
! hairs have gone down in sorrow to the
grave mourning over drunken children.
They cannot tell us how many hard
fought battles the drunkard in his sober
moments has fought with the terrible
appetite; how many times he has walked
his room in despair, tempted to commit
suicide because he could not conquer
the demon.
We cannot search the records of the
other world and tell how many souls
have been shut out of that holy place
where no drunkard enters and banished
/ to the regions of eternal despair by the
demon OF drink.
What man, what woman, what child,
would not vote to have that whole street,
with its awful traffic in the Internal
stuff, sunk to the lowest depths of per-
dition and covered 10000 fathoms deep
under the curses of the universe?
The man does not live who can tell
the whole story of the woes of the liquor
traffic. Exaggeration is impossible, for
the tired fancy falters i'll its loftiest flight
/ long ere it reaches its reality. The
minds eye cannot take in the countless
miseries that follow in its train.
/ Were | an artist | would borrow
pencil from Raphael and dip it in the
/ fountain Of human SORROWS, and | would
| paint picture of the evil Of intemper-
ance.
would put into that picture every
conceivable thing that was terrible and
revolving.
would paint health in ruins, hope de-
stroyed, affection crushed and prayers
silenced.
would paint the chosen seats of fra
ternal care, of tilial piety, of brotherly
love and of maternal devotion, all va
cant and gone.
l would paint all the crimes of every
statute and every hue, from foul muir
der standing aghast over the open grave
of its victim, which it has no means to
cover, to the meanest deception still con-
tdent of success.
l would paint a dark, dreary, cheer
less valley, and call it the Valley of the
Shadow of DEATH" and people it with
ever living slaves.
would paint landscape of trees
shadow should be pain.
| would paint a mountain whose lofty
summit should be covered with storms
of perpetual desolation, in whose chilly
atmosphere no mortal could dwell, where
bleak, bitter, black clouds of vengeance
should hold high carnival, and fierce
hghtnings should fash through, with
| lurid. startling light.
would paint a deep and fathomless
chasm where awful darkness holds eter-
nal sway.
would paint deep, dark river, rush
ing, foaming angrily on over craggy
rocks, hurrying everything on its heav-
ing bosom toward an awful Niagara of
| death.
Its waters should be the tears of weep
ing eyes and the blood from bleeding hu-
man hearts.
In its turbid current no living thing
should dwell, and ON it's storm tossed
waves nothing but human wrecks should
be seen.
would paint deep and gloomy cav
ern where sunlight never strays, where
foul odors fill the air and the dying
means of murdered men resound through
its sepulchral vaults.
would fresco it with Shiny serpents
and creeping centipeds, and on the walls