The Jasper weekly courier. [volume] (Jasper, Ind.) 1858-1922, 1896-11-13
w. CT. U. COLUMN N,
CONDUCTED BY MRS. NJ. L. HOBBS.
THAT'S THE QUESTION"


palid woman dressed in meagr'
garments, through which the colo
wind ilew its ftful gusts. AROUND
her were huddled three thin, pale
half starved children. There was
no food in the pantry, no fuel IL
the stove. Why was this the case
All that's the question.
In low grog shop in the neigh
boring hamlet, surrounded by
crowd of drunken men, there sat 1
being that had been man. ii,
was rotten with rum. His bloated
fa eva buried in his red hands
III was asleep. He was drunk
ard Why was he a drunkardl
All that the ques ton.
"Mother, why doesn't father
,ome homer" asked one of the three
pale children Of the pallid woman in
the lonely house. All. that's the
question.
81 will start out tor him and
bring him home, mother" ex'
claimed the child.
Grave boyl' replied the parent,
between her sobs. And so in the
cold dark night the fearless child
went out. But why was the mid
night and perilous journey neces-
sary? All that's tina question.
A tap at the door of the grog
shop. A deep mutter among the
men whose unlawful amusement it
had interrupted. The door opened
and the child walked in. Faith
err" he cried, as he leaned over the
sleeping wretch, twill you come
with me?' All, that's the question.
Father and child-drunken beast
and pure, young innocence-hand
in hand, persued their lonely way
over the dark and rocky road that
led to the deserted home. BY the
side of the path was a steep pTeci-
pice. Here the twain paused. The
man sat down to think. What
think you, were passing
through his rum-crazed brain? All.
that's the question.
They were awful thoughts
of murder. He had been
torn away from his haunts by the
firm hand of his little child. His
wife had set spy on his track.
The results should be wiped out
But how? All, that's the question.
Five minutes of silent but awful
suffice. Starting to his
feet the enraged man grasped his
little son by the waist and held him
at arms length over the steep
precipice.
Father" murmured the child,
plaintively, "Shall | never see
mother again." All, that's the
question.
IL don't see why little Johnny
doesn't come.home, exclaimed the
pallid woman in the lonely house as
he first streaks of dawn lit up the
empty pantry shelves, "Can any
larm have befallen him?'
Dawn saw a pale man, trembling
1t every joint, gazing with blood
shot eyes over deep precipice at
title heap OF clothes lying on the
,ruel rocks below. The dru nkard's
brain reeled with horror. Had he
murdered his child? All. tl;ts
the question.
In solitary cell in the insane
lsylum there sits a pale, thin man,
With long white hair and vacant
Eyes. All day long he means
aloud :-"Why did ! do it? Oh,
Why did | do it?" OH my frie nd,
hats the question.
In the Judgment Day, murderers,
saloon keepers, law m ,kers, poll
ticians and voters, distillers and
doctors Of divinity, rumsellers and
religious citizens, sharers in the
profits of legalized massacre, will
stand before a just God. "What
hast thou done? The voice Of thy
brothers. blood crieth unto me from
he ground. Where is thy broth
er?" Oh! THAT'S THE CUES
rION.
Could the youth to whom the
lavor of the first wine is delicious
look upon my desolation; could he
but feel the body Of death with
which / cry hourly, it were enough