The leader. [volume] (Brookhaven, Miss.) 1895-1905, 1902-05-28

1t produces weakness not StTengtn,
sickness not health, death not life,
makes wives widows, children orphans
and fathers fiends. 1t covers the land
with idIeness, misery and crime. 1t
supplies the penitentiaries and fur
nishes victims to the scaffold. 1t is the
life blood of the gambler, the element
of the burglar 1t countenances the
liar, respects the thief, esteems the
blasphemer. 1t violates obligations,
reverences fraud, defames benevo-
lence, hates love, scorns virtue and
ISLANDERS innocence. 1t has stained our
fair and beloved Mississippi with the
life blood of quiet and peaceful citi-
zens. Consider the woeful train that
follows this frighful outlay if you
would find it's hideous total. With one
hand the liquor business steals it's mil
lions from the pocket of poverty and
with the other it sows its myriad of
woes. 1t ruins character, engenders
vices of the deepest dye, desolates
homes, blights youth in its promise
and woman's Innocence, wrecks body
and brain.
Close up the drinking places of our
land and use the fifteen hundred mil
lions of dollars thus saved in building
homes for the homeless, buying clothes
for the ragged, supplying schools and
books for the ignorant, food for the
hungry, nurses for the sick and help
for the needy generally, and the ex-
pertinent would work glorious1y.
Intemperance demoralizes the bal
lot, brides justice and legislation,
breeds riots, assassinates law, poisons
society. 1t has been indicted for every
ofense in crimes black catalogue and
been convicted on every count. Sum
up the villainies and count the cost of
rum. Count the cost of a human tear
as it scalds down the cheek of agony,
and multiply it by rivers; count the
cost of ruined homes and life made
waste, multiply them by myriads, and
these into centuries; count the cost of
an endless eternity in hell, and go ask
the wife whose husband has squan-
dered all in a saloon, as she sits to-day
wailing among the weeds of disappoint-
ment. Ask her what rum has cost.
Ask the mother whose son has fallen
victim to runs enticement, and i'll
stead of her once promising boy she
beholds a besotted fiend, groveling in
the gutter. Ask her the cost of rum
in the gilded mockery of trade. Ask
the widow as she sits with streaming
eyes, at the close of blasted life and
mourns for the happy days of girlhood.
Ask the orphan that shivers and sobs
on the strangers door stone. Ask the
drunkard; yes, ask him what rum has
cost. Ask him in the reflective calm
of soberness, when penitence knocks
at his conscience. Ask him as he sits
amid the desolation of a drunkard's
doom, looks back over a blasted life
and mourns for the might have been.
Count the cost of rum if you would;
yes, count it if you can, but count it
not in the mockery of dollars. Would
you find death in all it's hideousnes?
Would you seek life going out amid
the most excruciating woe? Go to the
howell, the home of the drunkard.
There never was an individual, who
on dying bed regretted that he had
repented of sin, accepted Jesus as an
atoning Savior, confessed that he had
endeavored to live the life of Chris
tian.
On the contrary, there are millions,
more than can be numbered, who have
found that in the hour of death that
faith in Jesus has dispelled all the
gloom from the dying chamber and has
inspired the departing soul with the
most triumphant and rapturous joy.
1t is the Christian alone, and not those
addicted to the use of strong drink,
who can say with Paul, when upon the
pillow of death: Il have fought a
good fight; have finished my course;
I have kept the faith. Henceforth,
there is laid up for me crown of
righteousness, which the Lord, the
righteous Judge, shall give me at that
day and not unto me only, but unto
all them also that love His appearing"