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PEOPLE’S F RIE N D VOLUME 1.) THE PEOPLE'S FRIEHID. PUBLISHED EVERY SATURDAY MORNING BY A. B. S. MOSELEY, HOME, GA. SUIJSCRIPTION, One year in advance ------- $2.00 One square, first insertion ... - SI.OO Subsequent insertion, eaeli - - 50 Liberal contracts made for six or twelve months ad yertisements. TO DRINK; on, NOT TO DRINK o BY MARGIE P. MOSELEY. O To the author of “Soundings,” Mrs. Li.de Meriwether, a* a slight token of love for her disinterested, xcomanly sympa thy and her unswerving truths nines, and in admiration of her brilliant ge nius, this story is dedicated. —o — CHAPTER XVI. —o— * 2 N eager circle had gatli ered in the parlor to welcome the bri da 1 j •S' pair. Alice was superb in her youth and beauty. Ed ward worthy of the guild less lovely being whom he t was so soon to call by the ex halted title of wife! It boots not to describe the truscan of the bride nor the outfit of the groom. We leave such discussions to the montan-ma kers, and those writers, who, not dar ing to attack vices and tell men and women what is right, and why it is right, are compelled to write such de scriptions in order to till up. j proceed to the more important issues of life and morality. It is custom a x t »r< present brides as the happiest <»t all eonceivol le be ings. It is a false representation, as 1 are most of the light in which it has , pleased men to present woman. I hex mav be gay, brilliant, excited and w> ty, but they are not happy. The calmness of iputude, the eertamtx of secured pleasure is lacking. There i< always a trembling doubt, a dread, an uncertainty in the heart of a girl taking upon herself the name of wife, which precludes the possibility of happiness. There is a trembling hope of happiness, but the thing itself is not realized until the years have brought a true knowledge of the char acter of the biing whom she has taken ‘•for better or for worse." How often it is for the belter! Would it be so with Alice? She rsktd herself the question as surrounded by In r friends, she alighted irom the carriage in front of t' i church. The attend ants formed themsclv< < in procession, preparatory to < nter the sacred edifice, \ crowd staod around tin doors. As Alice passed in. a little boy handed her a note saving, “read it before you go in there. so (tod’s s.ikt Slit was startled and anxious, l-dwi.rd the note and the boy. He also started violently, his lips grew white, and bis bix'WS contracted as be said to the child, • what ilo you want, xxi.ami:! this note? The b y did not answer, bat ran np idlv down the steps. Alice had with-, ROME, GEORGIA, SATURDAY, AUGUST 30, 1873. drawn her hand from the arm of her lover, and was opening the note, but he said; ‘'wait, do not try to read it now, it is nothing of importance, and you will keep them waiting. The last of the attendants have reached the altar!” But I must read it!” f “You cannot Alice, do you not see what an awkward scene it would pro duce?” Edward cast an imploring look up on Dr. Hawthorne who stood beside his niece, whispered something in his ear, and the Doctor quietly took the paper out of the fingers of his niece, and walked into the church. Alice was nonplused. But what could she do ? “That was not wrong Edward,” said the young girl with trembling lips; “I have a right to see that paper; please go and tell my uncle to return it to me, for I have seen a part of it, and I must know what it means!” She was very pale, and her lips trem bled perceptibly. Edward remonstra ted, plead, and showed her the impro priety of standing there and keeping the company waiting. At last Dr. Hawthorne came out took her by the arm, and nodding to Edward, they proceeded to the altar. The Doctor priPinucd to support the bride, who lie miorined the guests, was “threat ened with a fainting spell.” The pale face of the young girl warranted the assertion, and he.r inaudible response to the minister was attributed to ill ness. What had she read in that n ? Did it* crmvcTrrs pYodficc that terrible effect? After the ceremony the party returned to the mansion, and Alice, seemingly at ease furinating and graceful as usual, played her role with out betraying any signs of the disagree able scene enacted upon the porch of the sacred edifice. To all eyes, sav ing those of her husband, she was the same, but Edward saw a something, which was a source of fear and annoy ance to him. What had she read? The guiltless are without fear, but Edward was guilty of one shame, and his conscience told him that his bride had learned that. He was prouder than the generality of his sex, he de sired to be thought worthy of her, as she was of a true man, but his own ac tions had rendered this desire an im possibility. How he regretted that he had not openly confessed his crime of drunkenness to Alice, ami thrown himself upon her generosity for for giveness, instead of marrying her un der false pretensions. He was paid for it now? by having the crime expos ed, as he feared, and loosing the per fect confidence of the one being, who, above all others, he desired should trust him. He was nervnus and un comfortable, and after a short time, and while Alice sat at her harp, he stole from the room and beckoned Dr. Ha.vdhorne to follow him. \\ hen they were alone, he said; “I fear there is some malicious slander contained in that letter, of which Alice read a part at the church door. ’ “Why so? asked the Doctor. “Becans . there has b< eii a cloud upon her face ever s’hcc ! • ()] . well, rax <!• r boy, tin inno rent have la'thing to tear. Edward glanced at the physician, then dropped his <yes, as l.e r< plied; “But slander Ims Often bu n the ruin ol innoce’ie and xvi; ever this is. has aits. 1 cd me where 1 am mo-,1 vuhvr abk ; f vI Ci til 1 110. It:;'. for Alice to doubt my m nor.’’ “Well she hasn't re.: 1 much of it!" “No. but he will i\ ..d it. and there is no knowing v.lmt < •'• et it imp. pr - duce !“ “But ’he needn t rend it. “How can you help it ? of corns*, she I j will call for it as soon as. the compa- : ny disperses!” ■ “Calling for, and getting it, are two different things, if you prefer she should not read it, here it is, do as you please with it!” “But that isn’t right 1” said Edward his fine face growing crim on, at the bare idea of suppressing tlr letter. “Oh, you silly boy, you'll get over this foolery,! A woman Id s no busi • ness knowing everything her husband does, and if some malicious; rascal has sent this letter, exposing' some of your peccedilloes, I thiaklt^s** l ' I only be just to yourself/and tv yo-r wife to destroy it!” “You do,” exclaimed Edward open ing his eyes and looking fixedly at the Doctor, who was known to be a man of honor; “would you destroy in such a case?” “Certainly, and so would any other man!” “But if I were in the place of my wife, I should not like such n disposi tion to be made of the letter"? I should think a man unprincipled, who could suppress it!” “Perhaps so,” said the Doctor scorn fully, but when it is gone, she can’t help herself, jtnd she will have no tes timony against you, you can loose it, and it would be better for you and for her! I really think that if you have anyregard for your happiness, and you think the contents of th A letter would make her unhappy, it : s your dntj io * it?' >. T ■—* - “But I do not know what if con tains !” “Then read it,” answered the Doc tor handing him the letter. Edward’s face flushed, he stepped backward and placed his hands behind him, saying; “I can’t do that!” “Then I’ll read it to you!” “No, I can’t hear it!” But the Doctor read it aloud, until Edward could not bear to have the uncle of his wife know more of the contents, ami seizing the paper, he held it in the flame of the gas light, and watched the ashes curl and crisp and fly away. “Done like a man,” exclaimed the physician, “and let inc tell you my boy, there are many things xvhich it is best for a man to keep from his wife; you h '.XV begun in the right road, and I tell you. you had better continue in it, for Alice is one of your fool sort of women, who think men ought to be as puritanical as her sex, and she really hates vice. If you go,astray occas ionally, I tell you now, you'd better wipe out your tracks!" “Excuse mo Doctor for saving so, | but I think this is bail advice. I will keep this from Alice, but God being my helper I will never do another thing which she would disapprove.” -Al. 1... talkbefc . Well, I’ll tell 1 vou must k< p dark on the sub'- Edward agreed, but he left that iv m feeling that, in hiding one blot, ho had < nl.x lli .l another to Lis char- ro c. XTtNrr.D.i * A Life Long Pledge. Mat.y persons object to «!.♦• life long 1 lidce of' ur < •-*]< r, an i -lan I aloof iuin us or .-I'liint of it. They are not wiiiing • t W .an s.e no jii>n io a I • ue to.'.h-'.kn forever fi-’.n - : k *n evil a.-i. oxicating d: inks. Certain yi > hit.;- lensthu ■■ i • This aii wi'i and muse admit. TbvD.it this alone can stop it; this forever is neces sary to keep it stopped. If we mean by our work in this temperance cause to ban ish the curse, we must enter the work nm til it is done; and if done before we die, then we must still keep the pledge, or else .it will return, and our work is vain. The same objectors xvi!) tell us that a drunkard, who takes the pledge, keeps it for awhile and then diinks again, had better never have joined; his last state is worse than the first. Yet they persist in their right to set him the example, by refusing to take a life-long obligation themselves. Ask them if it is wrong to drink ardent spirits as a beverage, they will answer ‘yes,’ and yet contend it is not light to take a pledge to abstain forever from this wrong. If in to tal abstinence alone there is safety, then it must be for life, or the surety is gone. If total abstinence must come to kill it, then total abstinence must remain, or it springs to life again. Some time ago an old toper an habitual drunkard, said to us‘ ‘Sir if you give iny child a life long obligation, I will prosecute you. He shall not be bound ’by a life-long pledge.’ Said he, I have no i objection to a temporary pledge. I joined the Sons ofTemperance one for three years. i Said we: Sir did you keep the pledge 1 ? I i did. I have too much honor and will to 1 break my pledge, he answered. Then, do you not believe a life-long pledge would have been better; for, as you would uever have broken it, you would to-day have been a sober man; when now you are a confirm ed drunkard? We do not look uuon a professed temperance man as consistent, who objects to phdge hostility to intemper ance for life. As it will require more than the time of this generation to kill the evil, and ever lasting abhjnence to keep ix. k'ilk'4 any thing less than a lifelong pledge is a com promise with the enemy uo soldier shall be willing to make. If it is right to be a tem perance man to-day, it will be wrong not to be one twenty-five years from now. Wrong, no change of time nor lapse of years can make it right. No organization has any right to release a man fr in right, and ‘grant him a license to return to his former aourse of intemperance and de bauchery. It is in this light we have made our life-long pledge, and hold it up as one of the best features in cur institu tion. The vow of a Templar is registered in Heaven. Will you ask the recording angel to inscribe it temporarily there, or write it deep in the rock forever? Let us study well our obligation and duty to the coming millions of our race, and we will ask no shorter pledge than this fleeting life, which to Him vc serve, is but an instant compar ed to eternity. The life-long obligation of a Good Templar is not a burden, but a bright ornament placed upon us by the band of hope, to guild the future of human happiness, and silver o’er the nieht shad ows of human sorrow. The r.estal fires of ancient temples went out, night nor day, fed by virgin hands, their flames were j steady, bright and eternal. May our life-long obligation be studied ; 1 by every Templar, and kept sacred as a dia- ' monlcla-p upon our brows.—Good Tern plan’s Advocate. How k Wife Felt. A man titxvliose house I was a guest, , told me h* had been a hard drinker and cruel husband: had beaitn his ; pot >r xvifo til! she bad almost become i usod to it. “But.” said he. “the very ■ moment 1 si"ned the pledge I thought 1 of mv xxife—xvhat will my xvif.- say to i i this ? Strang ■ that I should think of, j my xvifethe first thing, but I did; and, las Iw-' going' home .1 said to myself, 1 'Now if I go home and tell h>. i all of a | sudden that I >c signod the pk<lge, i she'll faint away, or sb* 11 up and do I :-om thing; I nn-< bre:■!•: it to her by 'degrees.’ Only think of it; why, the ' night before I d have knocked her doxvn just as like as not, if she hadn’t lookvd to pl .ee me, an.l now I xvas planning to 1 reak good i v, io her i gently, for fear it x >uld upset 1.-- .•/’ As n, ar as I could gather ironi xvhat told me, he found bis wife sitting * over the * Liliis, waiting for him. U “Nm I think that “Well. Ned, what Why, I thi ‘ - that ■ m.: a to—to—Nam v, Im. an id—” i “What’s the matte-, Ned.- Anything tl.e mutter?" (NUMBER 32. “Yes,” said he, “the matter’s just this—l’ve signed the Temperance pledge, and so help me God, I’ll keep it!” She started to her feet, and she did faint away. I was just in time to catch her, and as she lay in my arms, her eyes shut and her face so pale, thinks I, she’s dead, and I’ve done it now. But she wasn't dead; she open ed her eyes, and then she put her arms around my neck, and I didn’t know she xvas so strong as she pulled and pulled till she.got me down where I hadn’t been before in thirty years —on my knees. Then she said, ‘O God! help him!’ and I said 'Amen!' and she said, ‘O God! help my poor Ned.jmd strengthen him to keep his pleugo! and I hollered ‘Amen !’ just as loud as I could holler. That was the first time we ever knelt together but it xvas not the last. Sad, Sad. THE FOOTLESS CHILD THAT XVAS BEATEN AND STABBED FOR NOT WALKING UP STAIRS. One daj’ recently a respectably-dressed man carried a well-grown child muffled up and anparently sick, iuto French’s Hotel. He placed the child on the stairs and be gan to talk to it in a very unkind and rough way. The attention of the guests was attracted, and they gathered around. You are able to walk up stairs by your self, the man said, and I. will not carry you. Oh, oh, the child sobbed, do carry me up; please, pa, do. You know ever since I was run over by the car and lost both of ■ tny fi’C.t I can’t waif. u>»..-fairs ak>ne. The poor child began to sob more than before, and the brutal man gave it a severe thump over the side of the head. The child moaned piteously. The indignation of the bystanders xvas excited, and one of them said to the man, is that your child ? What’s that to you? the man answered; I won’t tell you, He’s —my—father, the child sobbed, and—lie—killed —my—mother—just—as he’s —going—to—kill—me. The man doubled his fist and made as though he was about to give a savage blow. Ono of the by-standers interferred and said : Say, if you don’t stop this, I’ll call a policemon. I never saw such a brutal father in my life. The man began to fumble, and the child cried out; he’s got a knife. He’s going to stick you. Sure enough the man produced a knife and opened it. 'The crowd slipped oft'one by one. except txvo. Bring an officer, one of these cried to a friend. If I am arrested, the man said, it shall be for something, and thereupon he plung ed the knife into the body of the child. The child shrieked, I’m murdered, I’m murdered, and a crowd rushed to the spor. The man quietly raised the child in his arms, and removing his hat, said ; Gentleman, this is a wooden child. I'w a ventrik’quist. and any little offering you may be pleased to make will be xery ac ceptably. —-St. Low's Dispatch. The total outlay for the hist years stock of drinks—including native and foreign wines and liquors malt bevc rages—cxcccdi <1 The profits on this outlay f° dealers foot up the handsome stun of sso<>,- 00').0(H), making the total exp! mill ure of the United States for drink $652,- 000,000. From three tofbur thousai. l able-bodied men arc employed behind the counte rs of saloons. I hose li censed to sell liquors make one in 2-16 of the population, «J>d as each of thc-.e has one or two vios, it is est.mated that every 120 of tae citizens is en gag* din drink selling. Leaving out xx< men and chihlren, and making due alloxvance for t* etotalcrs, the drink' . s ;•!( It-- ilitmHxelve nnilions in num ber and on average evcey eighty ('.•ink rs support a drinking cstabli.-h --’ mt-Hi and < • usume !*’“,■ hundred r.nd .Tic iis <jt si»ii!*s, e’jj'hfx' L'aiiuja . xvinc an-l txvo tl.ousaml -ailons >i ;, er annually, and pay about sixty d< H;ns each.— (itsnl Temp!