Newspaper Page Text
We have, in the few preceding pages,
given some of the scenes daily and night
ly exhibited in many of the haunts of dis
sipation ; and we have now but one more
scene to present to the reader, and our
task is finished. In a lonely part of the
erty among the abodes of misery, was
one which was now the dwelling-place
of the once happy Louisa Staples. It
was one cold night in November, that
Louisa sat gloomy and desolate within
the decayed walls of her miserable hut:
a few wretched pieces of furniture were
scattered round the room, and near a
rode pallet of straw, in one corner, where
three poor helpless children were repo
sing, big drops of rain were falling from
the rotten ceiling. The wind howled
dreadfully, and every blast seemed to
shake the wretched hovel to the centre.
The only light which rendered visible
this abode of misery, came from a few
dying embers that lay scattered upon the
hearth. The poor, unha'ppy mother was
half-reclining upon a broken bench,
shielding her infant child with her own
body, from the tempest. What a change
was here! that face that was once radi
ant with smiling beauty, and decked
with nature’s pure red and white, was
now worn with grief and care; affliction’s
traces were seen in her sunken cheek,
her hollow eye, and withered frame. It
was near midnight, and she had counted
the weary hours this night, as oft she had
done before, and he came not. She
thought of her abject and destitute situa
tion, until the last ray of hope had fled;
and she leaned her frail body gently
over her sleeping babe, and kissed it with
a mother’s fond and fervent love, and
thought of her unhappy situation : the
tears flowed afresh from her almost bro
ken heart; exhausted nature sunk be
neath its weight, and she fell into a gentle
slumber. She dreamed of her youthful
days; her dear father stood before her,
—and the friends of her youth again
crowded around her. She saw her hus
band, healthful and innocent as when he
first plighted his vows oflove. The gay
pageant of former days beckoned her on
ward, and promised happiness for the fu
ture. But the charm of this delusion
was soon broken by the sound of footsteps
at tho door; and tho heart of the wife
grpw sick as she heard a heavy fall of a
body and a deep groan. She rushed to
the door, and there lay stretched before
it, her husband, wholly insensible from
beastly drunkenness. She dragged his
body into the hovel, placed him upon the
straw, and fell down by his side, exhaust
ed. But before the break of day, the
drunkard arose. His wife lay sleeping
bv his side, and his poor, hulf-starved
children slumbered around him. He
rises from his bed, and steals lightly across
the room. The weekly earnings of his
older daughter,—the beautiful Mary Mor
ton, who had been put out to service,—
had been paid the past day, and the moth
er had carefully laid by the sum in a box,
to buy bread and milk for the children.
See, the wretch has broken it open, and
has secured every penny: he has taken
out a pair of scissors,—he approaches
softly, to his wife, and gazes, for a mo
ment, upon her pale face, as she sleeps.
Will ho pity her distresses, and reform ?
No! Tho wretch has seized her rich au
burn curls, and, merciful heaven I he cuts
them from her head ! Still she sleeps,
and stealthily he leaves the hovel.
Charles Morton is no longer admitted
into even tho most common bar-room; ;
all have spurned him. He is an irre- ;
claimable drunkard, and so horrid is his
appearance, that the boys hoot at him as
he shuffles by, and cry* out, “ See, see, <
there goes the drunkard!” His footsteps I
were directed to one of the most filthy i
rum-cellars in the city,—the resort for i
tho vilest and miserable. He groped his i
way down the broken steps. An old I
woman with fiend-like look, was stand- 1
ing behind the bar, selling new rum to a ■
half dozen ragged, bloated customers • <
but Morton pressed through them all, and <
holding the beautiful curls in his hand, I
he said, 1 have got them at last, and now i
I hope you will be satisfied. That looks i
well, said tho woman, snatching them (
from his hand, and now I will again sup- i
ply you with your liquor, like other men. ,
In this abode of infamy we will leave
him, and again return to Louisa. The
mother and her children awoke next
morning, but she had no money to buy
them bread. Her little boy, four years
old. grew sick for want of food, and fam
ished; the mother watched by his bed
side, but no one came to administer re
lief.
Mother, how I"do wish father would
come home, and bring us something to
eat, said little James, I feel so hungry.
Mrs. Goodman saw sister Lucy and nu
this morning, and she called us in, ant
gave us two great pieces of cake; bu
sister Lucy wouldn’t eat any, but sin
divided it with me and Jane. But 1
mean to pay her when father comes homt
and give her all my supper, wouldn’t you
mother?
• Yes, dear, replied Mrs. Morton, kissing
him affectionately.
4 »
Mrs. Goodman told her husband, this
1 morning, that this house was too cold and
wet for us to live in, and she thought we
should take cold and die. O, how I wish’
father would move to the little cottage,;
where we lived a great while ago; then
we used to be so happy. He used to:
stay at home in the evening, then, withj
you; and we had enough to eat. Then,;
I always met father when he came home
at night, he always took me in his'
arms, and brought me in the house; and 1
sister Lucy and I sat in his lap the whole;
evening, and he used to kiss us, and call;
ius his dear little children. Why don’t
he do so now, mother ?
i He will, perhaps, one of these days, re
plied the agonized mother, weeping.
, But mother, you are crying,—don’t
cry, dear mother; let me wipe away your
tears with my apron.
The drunkard’s step was heard again
at night, and the mother thought that
; even he might bring relief. When he
, came in, the sick child was dying; but
the ether children, unconscious of their;
brother’s real situation, bounded towards;
their father to welcome him, but he re-j
pulsed them back, and they shrunk tremb-i
I lingly in a corner, terrified at his words.;
Peace, brats ! said he. Must I always
be troubled with your yells?
Oh my husband ! said the unhappy
mother, speak not thus ! Did you but
know what they have suffered,you would]
; pity them.
Pity!—ha! ha! ha! pity indeed! 1
pity no one ; I hate them all, —they are
my bane.
Look on this poor,suffering boy, whom
you have often taken on vour knee and
blessed ; tho hand of death lies heavy on
him. I ask you nothing for myself, but
oh! Charles, for mercy’s sake, fly for aid,
or he will die.
I ask for assistance ? No! never ; ra
ther let him die. Who, think you, would
come to this hovel, to aid a beggar ?
Charles Morton, not a morsel of food
has passed these lips for two whole days!
I ask it not for myself, but for odr help
less children. Answer me, what have
you done with the money you took this
morning?
That is my business.
Oh Charles, I implore you, go and seek
out our former friends, —make known to
them our wants; on my knees I ask this
boon of thee.
Friends? we have none. Those friends
who once hung around our path in our
prosperous days, now spurn us from them.
Hapgood, the recipient of my bounty,
now Inughs at our distresses; last night,
he treated mo like a dog; the villain
struck me to the ground, and spit upon
me; but I will have vengeance,—re
venge! revenge!
As he spoke he seized a knife from the
table, and rushed towards the door.
Madman! where would you go? cried
the agonized Louisa, seizing him by the
hand.
For aid; money we want, —money we
will have.
Nay, nay, you shall not go with mur
der in your soul. Although disease and
poverty hang upon thy body, I love thee
still: rather would I toil from morn till
night in slavery, than crime should stain
your soul!
Do not prevent me, —let go my hand.
You will not ? then I will force you.
Charles made a desperate effort, and
throw his wife prostrate upon the floor,
and rushed like a mad man from the
house. The children uttered the most
piercing cries, when suddenly the door of
the house was opened, and a tall, well
dressed gentleman entered. He raised
the trembling wife from the floor, but the
moment their eyes met, she shrieked, and
fainted in his arms. He was her elder
son. William Morton’s story is briefly
told. He had been absent in the East
Indies more than seven years; during
which time he had accumulated a hand
some property by industry and persever
ance, and had returned home once more
to his parents. Little did he know what
a reception was in store for him. But no
time was to be lost. After the first bursts
of joy at once more meeting his dear
mother, and having learnt from her the
dreadful course of life which his father
had pursued, he began to make immediate
preparations to remove his afflicted fami- <
ly from their present miseries.
Cheer up, my dear mother, said he, all
will be well. Although the past has been
set in clouds, the future shall break forth
in sunshine.
Your lather has just left us, and some
thing whispers in my heart that he would
commit a dreadful crime. Go, go, my
son, and snatch him from ruin.
I Will, I will, my mother. I will soon
.'eturn, and you shall again see him res
tored to peace and happiness.
The youth left the hut, and shaped his
course among those dens of infamv
where ruin falls upon every footstep; but
lis search was vain. He was returning
igain to his mother, with the hope that
lis degraded father might there be found.
\s he passed the long.and filthy avenue
hat led to the abode of poverty, he saw
; a hidious looking being slowly following
him; but he was too much bent on res
toring his father and mother once more;
'to happiness, to heed him. But as he
jdrew near the door of the hovel, the
wretch advanced and seized him by the,
■throat.
Give me vour money, instantly, said!
,|be.
iJ What fiend art thou, said the youth,
1 1 that thus takes advantage of this lone'
I!spot, and my present helplessness, to rob
:;me?
I No words, said the villain, gruffly, but
ijgive me your money.
1 will not. What I have is to aid a
. helpless family, who are now dying in
want.
t I can no longer parley with you,—
■your money, or your file; choose in
stantly.
i Help ! help!
Then die!
As he uttered these words, he drew a j
! knife from his bosom, and plunged it in |
•'the breast of the youth. He fell bleed-
Jing to the ground. The murderer, with
.[hands all reeking with blood, drew forth,
. j the pocket book from the stranger, andj
, would have fled, but he had seized his
i murderer by the arm, and held him in the
convulsive grasp of death. The outcries,
brought to the hovel door Louisa, but
what a horrid sight greeted her eyes!-
I There lay her son, weltering in blood,j
and her husband in vain endeavoring to
extricate himself from his grasp.
Merciful heaven! she cried, Charles]
Morton, you have murdered your elder j
son ! May God forgive you! and she sunk
lifeless to the earth.
At this instant, the neighbors, hearing
the noise, came up, and secured the mur-;
but while they were endeavoring
to restore Louisa, he seized the bloody
knife, and buried it to the hilt in his own
jbody. He fell upon his face, and died in
the gutter.
The next day, a multitude followed the
bodies of Louisa and her murdered son to
the grave, and watered it with their tears.
But the drunkard was buried in silence,
and no one dropped a tear to his memory.
THE WASHINGTONIAN.
AUGUSTA, MAY 4, 1844.
Washington Total Abstinence Pledge.
We, whose names are hereunto annexed, desirous
of forming a Society for our ntutual benefit,
and to guard against a pernicious practice
which is injurious to our health, standing and
families, do pledge ourselves as Gentlemen,
not to drink any
Spirltous or Malt Liquors, >Vlne or Cider.
EDITORIAL COMMITTEE.
Rev. W. T. Biuntuy, Col. John Mim-Edoe,
“ W. J. Hard, Dr. F. M. Robertson,
" C. S. Dod, Dr. D. Hook,
“ Geo. F. Pierce, James Harper, Esq,
Ctp To Dhtast Subscribers.—Post Masters are au
thorized by law to remit money to the publishers of
newspapers and periodicali, in payment of subscrip
tions. Subscribers to the Jf'asAtnjtoniancantherefore
pay for their papers without subjecting themselves or
the publisher to the expense of postage, by banding the
amount to the Post Master, with a request to remit it.
OCT See fourth page, for prospectus of
Vol. 111.
Dr. Shaw’s Lecture and experi
ments on Electricity and Electro-Mag
netism, last evening, at thi Masonic Hall,
were very successful and satisfactory:
his views of Constantinople, and of Christ
Healing the Sick in the Temple, are su
perb. The explosion of Colt’s Subma
rine Battery, the Magnetic Telegraph
and other experiments, gave great satis
faction. He has been induced to repeat
his exhibition again, this evening.
We were glad to see the spirited
challenge of tho Clinch Engine Compa
ny No. 2, in the Chronicle & Sentinel of
Tuesday morning. There is not, in the
whole country, a more efficient fire de
partment than that of our own citv. We
say this upon consideration ; for we have
watched its operations with great interest.
The promptitude, energy, and skill mani-
Tested upon every occasion in which these
qualities are required for the protection
of our homes and property from fire, are.
we do not hesitate to affirm, unsurpassed
in any city of the Union.
The merits of our engine companies
are fully appreciated by the community.
There is great confidence in the public
mind that all will be done that men can
do to save the city from the destroying
['element. Witness, as indication of the!
■ enthusiasm which is felt in the communi-j
! ty on this subject, the beautiful and ap
propriate present of a flag by the ladies
of the Ist. Ward to Engine Company
!No. 6, on the 22d of February.
11 We hope that the challenge will be
accepted as spiritedly as it is offered. In
such a contest defeat even is not dis
(l honor,
It is to us matter of particular regret
: that we cannot approve a certain appen
dage to this challenge. We refer to the
hint contained, not obscurely, in the fol
lowing words: If this is doubted by any
. of the sections, or members of the same,
. and they desire some further inducement
■to meet us, they can be accommodated to
'any moderate amount, by making known
! their desires to either of the undersigned.”:
[This certainly does not look well. The!
whole paper is an official communication |
i from the Clinch Company; and we find t
i it herein publicly proposing a contestybr:
I a wager. Surely our fire companies do
’ not require the jingle of money to arouse]
a spirit of emulation! If the honorable;
contests of the fire companies of Augusta:
are made occasions of betting, and that
by public, formal challenge, they must
llose ground in the esteem of the commu
| nity. The overwhelming public send.,
meat of our city is against all betting, j
It is classed with gambling, by the sober;
sense of the public mind. We do not say
that it is precisely the same as staking
money on games of chance; but it is very
much like it in principle and in tendency.
We hope that this particular in the chal
lenge—which we attribute to a want
of consideration, rather than toadeiiber-t
ate intention of encouraging the practice
of betting—will be withdrawn, or that it
will be declined on the basis of thesenti
-1
ment—“ the stimulus of a bet is not ne
cessary to make us ready to maintain
that we are as ‘good men and true’ as
yourselves.”
Thousauds for Uults.
If respectability of character, useful
ness'of life, and preservation of proper
ty and health, can be estimated by dol
lars and cents; and if to these ends, all
that is necessary be advice infallibly cer
, tain, if followed, to produce them, then
: as our caption declares, does the publish
er of this paper, in offeringit at two dollars
per annum, offer thousands for units !
This kind of proposal would be consid*
’ ered legitimate and strictly correct, if
for such a consideration, he should offer
! to give advice infallibly certain to pro
duce thousands in any of the diversified
1 operations of trade why is it not equal
ly legitimate and correct in this more
noble and praise-worthy mode of attain
> ing the samo object 1 Why not ?
The inquiry is an exceedingly interest
; ing one. Is it because wo are not yet
| sufficiently alive to the fact, that gener
. al prosperity materially depends upon the!
moral condition of society? We are
not ignorant of the influences of charac
ter upon individual success in life, but it
• is apprehended, that in our reasonings
upon the welfare of communities, we
forget that they are made up of individu
als, and are, consequently, prosperous or
the reverse, just as are the individuals
which compose them. If this be true,—
then the virtues which insure prosperity
to a man, are necessary to insure it to a
community of men,—then the vices
which disgrace and ruin individuals, must
have like effects upon a large asssocia
tion of individuals.
,Again, we are fully sensible that the
misconduct of an individual may involve
a whole family in poverty and misery,
but do we reflect that mischiefs like this
brought upon one family, necessarily di
: minishes the prosperity of all the fanm
lies associated with it J If we do,—then
certainly we must see, that to secure the
prosperity of any community, every
means calculated to insure the virtue ol
each of its integral parts is of the first
importance. Is not the advocacy of tem
perance one of these means ?
But ouj subject increases in interest
when we reflect, that if an individual oi
family is scathed by the lightnings of
heavens vengeance for open vice anc;
crime, we humbly acknowledge the jus
tice of the punishment; but when the
whole community share in the effects
ts such an awful visitation,—do we sc
readily perceive that it is because
have neglected the use of the m ear ‘
which might have prevented these atr.
i cities ? or do we not rather, ascribe oli ,
afflictions to any other cause, and s:i j
continue in neglect of the means of << n . I
i versal reformation ?
Whether we have expressed ourselv es
intelligibly or not, must be left to oa
readers to decide; but that the good *.
aim to do may not be over-looked, * s
will explicitly state the conviction rest.
: ing upon our mind, viz: that no eomtm '
nity can prosper which neglects todo,;fj
the extent of its power, what is neces* j
, ry to suppress vice and promote virtu. I
That though gigantic efforts may be p
1 forth by the most gifted minds to build u; ]
and enrich a town, yet if it be rotten j
morals, in temperance, justice and trut; i
| these efforts, sooner or later, directly C 1
indirectly, will meet a terrible and m ol .
!,tifying overthrow! This is no sane i
' picture, but one of plain, demonstrate 1
'.truth, alike open to the eyes of all 1
; will see. Observation, history and tt l
: Bible all paint for us the same pictu-T
Iwith the same colouring. Will we fe i
instructed by it ? If yes! then the sin. !
! pie question now before us, is to deci-- j
whether the Washingtonian is calculate j
Ito suppress vice and promote virtue! J1
jit is, the friends of Augusta will ndvanc j
its prosperity more by encouraging ti* |
circulation of this paper, than they won. ]
by building a railroad, or cutting a cant
If we are determined not to be instruct? '
by the picture presented to our eyes, itv
bo well for us to remember Jonah. V
can escape unscathed for neglecting t
1 duty of calling upon our fellow citizens
turn from the evil of their ways, jus; j
i about as well as he did, and no better 1
for life, prosperity and enjoyment, ar 1
given us alone upon the condition of th |
performance of the duties required i;|
i our hands!
Fellow citizens, let us nobly sustain J
the Washingtonian !
41
Inconsistencies of Men.
A just appreciation of the inconsisten.
cies of human nature are indispensable
to a firm and faithful performance of th?
duties wo respectively owe to one anoti
i er. It will not do to consider every good
rnan a saint; nor every wicked man :
i devil. Good men, like the sun, hav,|
their dark spots; wicked men, like the 1
dark cloud, have their coruscations o 1
blight. This truth should never be for |
■ gotten. To it may be traced every cf I
. fort of moral reform. If the good were j
I immaculate, or the bad irreclaimable, I
such efforts would be uncalled for, or tc *
;. tally unavailing. And if a good actio:
•; is to screen from punishment those whose |
lives are wicked and mischievous, so b; 1
■ parity of reason, an evil action shoui I
destroy the character, established by a I
life of virtue and usefulness. But sue: I
reasoning makes law folly, and moral I
effort madness, and yet such is the char- ]
actcr of the reasoning which condemn* j
the letters of “ Rewarder” to the grog- J
■ sellers, because some of these gentry |
have shewn themselves “ good citizens by j
giving employment to the poor.”
The Editor who noticed the dissatir- ]
faction given by these letters, exposed the j
mistaken chanty from which it sprung, j
by pointing to a man kindly assisting to (
lower one of his victims into the grave
i which his own misconduct had paused to
be dug? We desire still further to es.
pose the error of this charity, that the
friends of reform may be united in those
: energetic efforts necessary to the discom
i fiture of tbe enemies of virtue and hap
, piness. No means of effecting this ob
i ject, appears so likely to be attended with
success, as a further exhibition of tbe
contradictions and inconsistencies
perverted human nature. To this end
: therefore, the following cases, illustrative j
of this characteristic of men, are earn
estly commended to the attention of the
readers of the Washingtonian.
There is a grog seller in the up coun
try, whose benevolence finds employ'
ment in educating the children of th e
paupers made at his own groggeries!
A man of great acuteness of mind,
whose business it was to cheat in buying
and selling, by every species of falsehood
ind deception, was, in the relations of
*on, husband, father, brother, most arr.n
>!e, generous and trust-worthy!