The Abbeville press and banner. [volume] (Abbeville, S.C.) 1869-1924, 1910-06-29
The TEMPERANCE PROPAGANDA,
CONCERTED ATTACK ON DRINK
WINNING ALL ALONG LINE.
Drink Did It.

most original author that ever lived
could present as unique a situation
illustrative Of human misery as n
that came under my notice during a
recent visit to the Pacific Coast" re.
marked D. R. Hughes, an attorney.
my brother Is connected with a
newspaper at Seattle, and one night
while in his Office the story came of
the shooting of Judge Emory, of the
Superior Court. by a young man
named Chester Thompson. The dead
man and the father of his murderer
were bosom friends, perhaps each was
the others closest comrade and asso-
ciate. That had been their condition
for twenty years. The boy who killed
the Judge vas his friend. The way
it came about was this:
"One evening the young man called
to see some girls at the residence of
the Judge. Because of his fathers
relationship with the family. the boy
had always been welcome. This even
ing, however, he had been drinking a
little and the Judge-very mildly
and Observation-Disclosures him. The
young man said something he should
not have said, and the Judge indig-
nantly ordered him from his house.
Enraged at his humiliation the boy
drew his pistol and fred, killing the
friend of his father.
Now, comes the terrible part of
it. When the Superior Court met
there was a new Judge on the bench,
and resolutions were offered in re-
spect to the memory of the one who
had been so suddenly called away.
Lawyer after lawyer spoke touchingly
of the dead jurist, and now and then
the audience glanced at Mr.. Thomp-
son, the father of the young man who
was so soon to be tried for the killing
of the Judge. He was very promi-
nent and were the situation different
that he would speak would be a mat
ter of course. But here, what could
he say? The man he loved was dead;
the son he loved had killed him. At
last all those who cared to speak, it
seemed, had finished, and the exer-
cises were about to be concluded.
Then, TIL mpson arose and delivered
the address which has become a
classic on the coast. I was fortunate
in obtaining a copy Of it. Here it is:
ct think I car fully realize the
situation of n who, lost in the
desert, In a land of sand and dust and
drought, p%erishing of thirst. comes
in passing to and from some desert
spring and knows not which end of
the path leads away from or towards
the water, and who must choose or
perish.
Some of my brother attorneys
in great kindness have begged me to
speak in this hour, some have urged
me that silence Is best. If I speak 7
may regret 1t. If I refrain, I know
I shall regret It. Words sometimes
have strange power and make des-
TIMES. The greatest wizard of words
in u day but a few days ago told
rs of the magician who put forth
some words and they became live
things. and ran about. Some of
them made their way into the hearts
of men and stirred them to the doing
of mighty things. But there are
times when words seem to lose their
power. They do not become alive,
and will not go into the hearts of
men.
"'No august Power looks out upon
age-long darkness now and says, "let
there be light" and light comes out
of darkness. No pale, sad man goes
down to the door of a tomb now and
says, Lazarus. come FORTH" and sees
the cold doors open, the cerements
fall away and the sleeper waken and
come forth.
"'I knew Judge Emory well. For
sixteen years we were friends. I
knew he was my friend. and he knew
I was his friend. Sixteen years ago
in beautiful grounds out by the shore
of Lake Washington I watched the
old herioc play of knighthood where
mounted men tilted with lances and
Knocked the Journeys of the old chiv-
alric days. 1t was a game I knew
we'll, having witnessed it in the old
summer land of the South.
Emory was one of the successful
knights who bore away the trophies
of that field, and I was chosen to
present to the successful knights the
memorials of their triumph. That
evening, in a beautifully decorated
hall, hung with heraldic banners,
Meade Emory knelt before me, and
there in the presence of the smiling
girl, who afterwards became his wife,
I placed upon his young and curly
head the laurel wreath that marked
his victory.
"'We were friends and ever after,
and if words would do their duty now,
there is so much I would like to say
of him who sleeps. But words have
lost their power; they will not take
life for me, and run about, and go
into the hearts of men, and move
them as I would wish. 1 cannot
speak, but I can feel, and He who
watches while we mourn, knows that
if there were one, and but one, feeble
lingering ray Of light left in my dark
ened and silenced home, I'would give
it to illuminate the hearts of the
widowed wife and orphaned children
of this nan who has passed from us,
though I and mine should sit in dark
ness while ever life shall last.
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