The Republican. [volume] (Oakland, Md.) 1877-current, 1894-09-06
TEMPERANCE NOTES.
WRECKED BY DRINK.
The Sad Story of Mothers Heart Broken
by Maynard Son.

by u hayHaru son.
In the late fifties, amid the noun
tains of north Georgia, in the comfort
able home of ID well-to-do farmer, was
young man just past his majority.
He was a splendid physical specimen,
warm-natured as the glow of south
ern sun, tender, as brave man ever Is.
His general lovableness won countless
friends. Little children found in him
comrade and a hero. Personal friend
ship with Christ seemed to be the one
thing lacking to round a character so
naturally attuned to the highest.
lie studied law in the neighbOring
town, was admitted to the bar. The
mother waited and hoped. But the at
mosphcre of "good-fellowship around
him, his own warmth of nature, the
prevailing intemperance of the times
alas. there were no crusaders" then to
raise a voice of protest heard round
the world"-all these were cultivating
tastes and habits that made the mother
anxious.
The California gold fever had reached
even his quiet community, and that
Mecca of youth and pluck and enter
i)I lot uItN hin WIFI INC lTTCSlSLlOlt
force that to us, of later generation,
fills all that time and the western Edo
RADIO with romance. So, one day, the
mothers hayward, yet loving boy, said
good-by to his friends, with hope high
in his heart and ringing in his voice;
took farewell look at the fields where
he had ploWed and soWed and reaped
with farmer boys hardy strength;
wrung the brothers hands, kissed the
sisters tender good-by, and heard the
last word of counsel from the great
hearted father. On the mothers pale
cheeks and trembling lips. as ne kissed
them. his hot tears fell like rain. He
saw the unspeakable sorrow in those
eyes, felt it in her clinging arms. Bnt
''wilful lad will have his way, and the
wind no man can hold" Would he not
come back in few years rich, and they
should all live happy ever after?"
The four years of the civil war made
a great silence between him and his
home. The war over the letters fre-
quent at first, in a clear, bold hand,
giaddening the mothers misty eyes,
became few and unsatisfactory A
lOl bullt VI JslOuSdIiuS anu llOuSduuS
was made several times with the quick
ness and readiness of their peculiar
COnditiOns-madc easily. lost easily
recllessncsS became the order of life.
Glimpses of the old tender, loyablc
nature we're given. Preachers return
ing from missionary tours out there
told of his successes, his losses, his
popularity, his carelessness of life.
The mother wcpt and loved and prayed
and waited.
Fifteen years passed; twenty, twenty
Ave. The father died; the sisters mar
ried: the brothers scattered: the old
home was broken up. To the younger
members of the family the absent
brother became almost unreal.
Faint as a figure seen in early dawn
Down at the far end of an avenue
Going we know not where.
The letters now had almost ceased,
poor fellow The last one the aged
mother carried in her old-fashioned
leather pocIet-book. 1t was an irreg-
ular scrawl, barely legiblc: lines so
wavering that they crossed one anoth-
.er She could never find word of
blame-it was ell love and hope and
prayer with her. Sometimes when her
grandchildren gathered about her she
would tell them of their uncle's fYolic
some childhood and boyhOod. his bright
.sallies Of wit, his daring escapades, his
tender, chivalric love to everything
weak and defeuseleSs. When they
asked: DO YOU think he will ever
come back to see US, grandma?' the
sigh that gave an anVWer made them
feel that they must not talk any more,
but must run away and leave her by
herself-poor CRANE mother. How that
son would have wept to see her old, sad
face. How tenderly he would have
kissed the dear, wrinkled hands that
we're never id.e.
There came a silence of three or four
years Then one summer day, to a
young nephew bearisg the same name,
came letter postmarked Sacramento.
InclcScd was a letter the child had
written over year ago to the distant,
nevcr-scen uncle, and long clipping
froIl Il Sacramento newspaper stating
that at the hospital in that city on Il
certain date, that mothers boy. now
himself miJdle-aged man, nearing
fifty. had. in an attack of delrium
tremcnS. cut his throat. The child'S
letter, carried for many months in the
poor wanderers pocket, the last feeble
link between him and home and hope
was the only clue to the address of his
family. The paper bore testimony to
his success at fortune-making only to
lose again. his noble possibilities and
the traits that won him admiration
and esteem. Can anyone ever know a
mothers thoughts as She pillows her
head at night, not to sleep-but that
her heart may break in the silence of
darkness where none but God can
know, There was no complaining
she knew in whom she had believed
The day after she heard it found the
blessed old saint in her place in God 5
house while the minister talked Of the
power OF prayer. | believe She some
how felt that her prayers for nearly
fifty years could not remain unheard.
God knows.
But the tired body with the weight
and wear of cighty-three years which
she had tried TO make last until she
could see her boy again in the flesh,