Hutchinson gazette. [volume] (Hutchinson, Kan.) 1895-1902, 1897-01-14

curtains, and Mortified at what was
done, withdrew the sword from the
dead body and attempted to take his
own life. In the time Of Oliver Crom-
well the evil was so great that offend
ers were compelled to wear what was
called "the drunkard's cloak" namely,
a barrel with one end of 1t knocked
out and a hole in the opposite end,
the arms thrust through holes at the
sides Of the barrel. Samuel Johnson
made merry Of his own inebriacy. Oh,
this old song! All the centuries have
Joined in. Among the first songs ever
sung was the Song of the Drunkards.
Again, this Song Of the Drunkards is
an expensive song. The Sonntags and
the Parepa Rosas and Missions and the
other renderers of elevated and divine
solos received their thousands of dol
lars per night in coliseums and acad-
emies Of music. Some of the people Of
small means almost pauperlzed them
selves that they might sit few even
ings under the enchantment Of these
angels Of sweet sounds. paid seven
dollars to hear Jenny Lind sing when
1t was not easy to afford the seven dol
lars. Very expensive is such music,
but the costliest song ON earth is the
drunkard's song. 1t costs ruin Of
body. 1t costs ruin of mind. It costs
ruin Of soul. Go right down among
the residential streets of any city and
you can find once beautiful and luxu-
rious homesteads that were expended
in this destructive music. The lights
have gone out in the drawing-room, the
pianos have ceased the pulsation Of
their keys, the wardrobe has lost the
last article of appropriate attire. The
Belshazzarean feast has left nothing
but the broken pieces of the crushed
chalices. There 1t stands, the ghast-
Hest thing on earth, the remnant of a
drunkard's home. The costliest thing
on earth is sin. The most expensive
of all music is the Song Of the Drunk
ards. 1t is the highest tariff of me-
tions-not a protective tariff, but a
tariff Of doom, a tariff of woe, tariff
Of death. This evil whets the knives
of the assassins, cuts the most of the
wounds Of the hospital, makes neces-
sary most Of the almshouses, causes
the most of the rawlings of the insane
asylum and puts up most of the iron
bars of the penitentiaries. 1t has its
hand to-day on the throat Of the Amer
lean republic. 1t is the taskmaster of
nations, and the human race crouches
under its anathema. The Song Of the
Drunkards has for its accompaniment
the clank of chains, the chattering
teeth Of poverty, the rattle of execu-
toner's scaffold, the crash of ship
wrecks, and the groan of empires. The
two billion twenty million dollars
which rum costs the country in year
in the destruction of grain and sugar
and the supporting of the paupers and
the criminals which strong drink causes
is only small part Of what is paid for
this expensive Song of the Drunkards.
Again, this Song Of the Drunkards is
a multitudinous song-not solo, not
a duet, not quartette, not a sextette;
but millions on millions are this hour
singing it. Do not think that alcohol
ism has this field all to itself. It has
powerful rivals in the intoxicants of
other nations; hasheesh, and arrack,
and pulque, and opium, and quavo, and
mastic, and wedro. Every nation, bar
barrie as we'll as civilized, has its pet in
toxicant. This Song of the DrunkaTds
is rendered in Chinese, Hindoo, Arab
ian, Persian, Mexican-yea, all the Ian
guages. All zones join 1t. No conti-
nent would be large enough for the
choir gallery if all those who have this
libretto in their hands should stand
side by side to chant the international
chorus. Other throngs are just learn
ing the eight notes Of this dreadful
music which Is already mastered by
the orchestras in full voice under the
batons in full swing. All the musicians
assembled at Dusseldorf, or Berlin, or
Boston Peace Jubilee, rendering sym
phonies, requiems, or grand marches
of Mendelssohn or Wagner or Chopin
or Handel, were insignificant in num-
bers as compared with the innumer-
able throngs, host beside host, gallery
above gallery, who are now pouring
forth the Song Of the Drunkards.
Again, the Song. of the Drunkards
is a suggestive song. You hear a nur-
sery refrain, and right away you think
Of your childhood home, and brothers
and sisters with whom you played, and
mother, long since gone to rest. You
hear a national air, and you think of
the encampment of 1863, and the still
night on the river bank, and the camp
fires that shook their reflections up and
down the faces of the regiment. You
hear an old church tune, and you are
reminded of the revival scenes amid
which you were brought to God.
Nothing so bringa up associations as
a song sung or played upon instrument,
and the Drunkards' Song is full of sug-
gestion. AS you hear 1t on the street
quite late some night, you begin to say
to yourself, 81 wonder If he has
mother? Is his wife waiting for him?
VIII his children be frightened when
he enters the front door and staggers,
whooping, up the stairs? What chance
10 thara for TINT vnt1nn man atnried