Part 12 (2/2)

There, lay down, you are very sick.”

”Only once, just once, let me put my arms around your neck, and kiss you, just as I used to kiss papa. I had a papa once, when we lived in the big house--there, there. Oh, I did want to see you, to thank you for the bread and the cakes; I was very hungry, and it did taste so good--and little Sis, she waked up, and she eat and eat, and after a while she went to sleep with a piece in her hand, and I went to sleep; hav'n't I been asleep a good while? I thought I was asleep in the Park, and somebody stole all my corn, and my mother whipt me for it, but I could not help it. Oh dear, I feel sleepy now. I can't talk any more. I am very tired. I cannot see; the candle has gone out. I think I am going to die. I thank you; I wanted to thank you for the bread--I thought you would not come. Good bye--Sissy, good bye. Sissy--you will come--mother--don't--drink--any more--Mother--good b--.”

”'Tis the last of earth,” said the good man at our side--”let us pray.”

Reader, Christian reader, little Katy is in her grave. Prayers for her are unavailing. There are in this city a thousand just such cases.

Prayers for them are unavailing. Faith without works, works not reform.

A faithful, prayerful resolution, to work out that reform which will save you from reading the recital of such scenes--such fruits of the rum trade as this before you, will work together for your own and others'

good. Go forth and listen. If you hear a little voice crying _Hot Corn!_ think of poor Katy, and of the hosts of innocents slain by that remorseless tyrant--rum. Go forth and seek a better spirit to rule over us. Cry aloud, ”Will he come,” and the answer will be, ”Yes, yes, he is here.”

The commendation given to these stories, as they were published in the _Tribune_, was an inducement for me to ”keep the cry of _Hot Corn_ before the people,” for I saw that they appreciated my labors; and I set about collecting other materials, and writing out notes made during many a night-watch among the habitations of men, yet the abodes of misery, with which this city abounds.

Many an anxious mind, after conning the preceding chapters, has yearned after further knowledge touching the things therein hinted at. Many have asked to know more of ”Sissy,” and Little Katy's mother. It is a laudable curiosity: it shall be gratified in due time. I have other stories--other scenes where you may stop a moment and drop a tear, and then we will walk on with our Life Scenes. First we will finish that of Maggie's mother.

CHAPTER VII.

MAGGIE'S MOTHER.

Let go thy hold--the gla.s.s has run out its sands--the wheel goes down hill.

There is a time to mourn.

Reagan took the pledge, and took up his residence at that house of the dest.i.tute. At first, he did not ask to live with his wife. He said, he was not worthy of her. He begged Tom to write to Maggie: ”I know it will make her happy to learn that I am here.” So it did. The rose had another rival now. Her cheeks blossomed afresh. Reagan worked busily--he did up a great many little jobs of joiner-work; and when there was nothing more to do at that, he said, let me go into the bake-shop, shoe-shop, anywhere. I will sit down with those women and use the needle, rather than be idle, or venture out where tempters will beset me. So he went on for some time, till he grew stronger and gained more confidence--his wife strengthened him by her counsel, and then he ventured out to work where he could earn good wages. It was curious to see him go quite out of his way, around a whole square, perhaps, to avoid going by one of his old haunts.

”I have suffered so much,” said he to me one day, ”from the temptation of these places, where the liquor is placed in our sight on purpose to allure and whet our depraved appet.i.tes, that it is no wonder that the poor inebriate loses his balance and falls into the abyss. If there was no liquor in sight, there would be no danger of our falling back into old habits. I never should think of going to look after it. The danger is when it is thrust right under my nose. Oh, that these rum shops might be shut up, or at least, kept out of sight!”

This was the earnest prayer of one who knew the demon power of temptation which one, who is trying to reform, has constantly to combat with.

Those who sell liquor know the advantage to them of this temptation. So they fix up the street corners with all the enticing attractions of artistic skill. The cool ice water; the free lunch; the ever-burning light for the smoker's convenience; the arm-chair and easy lounge, and cool room in summer, or well heated one in winter; the ever open, always free resting-place for the tired walker, or ennui-tormented genteel loafer, are only a few of the inducements to just ”step in a moment;”

and then the old appet.i.te is aroused by the sight and smell of liquor in the glistening array of cut gla.s.s, and by the influence of a score of old companions standing before the bar--they will stand before another bar hereafter--or sitting at the little white marble tables, sipping or sucking ”sherry cobblers” and ”mint juleps” through a gla.s.s ”straw.”

Woe to the tired walker who has been tempted into one of these invitingly open rooms. If he has the power to resist his own inclination to drink, he may not have enough to resist the persuasion of half a dozen of his acquaintances, or the force of crazed brains and strong hands, by which he is dragged up and held, while they merit the curse denounced upon those who ”put the cup to their neighbor's lips.”

Perhaps he will be taunted with meanness for coming in to drink water and rest himself, ”and not patronise the house.”

From this, those of us who desire to see those places of temptation shut up, may take the hint.

Let reading rooms be opened, free to all who choose to come in and read the papers, drink ice water, and enjoy their rest in the shade, or partake of the comforts of a warm room, for a five cent fee. A coffee and tea room, strictly so, may be attached. How much better than drinking such liquor as those who visit all our public places must do, or be set down as mean. ”Let them stay at home,” is a common answer to those who say they fell by the temptations of such places.

”Suppose,” said Jim Reagan to me one day, ”that we have no home. That was my case when I was a young man. I lived in a common boarding-house; in my little uncomfortable room I would not stay; where else had I to go but the public bar room, and there I learned to drink; I was a good fellow then; a genteel young man, and married a genteel young girl; I did not go down all at once--it was step by step, slow but sure--to Cale Jones's grocery and the Centre street cellar.”

True, thought I, as I entered the front door of the first hotel in this great metropolis, the largest in America, and looked through the splendid marble hall, two hundred feet long, lighted by glittering chandeliers, into the immense drinking saloon of that fas.h.i.+onable place of resort; and I said to myself, ”some of these fine forms of men, clothed in fine linen and rich broad cloth, may some day fall as low as thee, poor Jim Reagan. You began your course in just such a genteel drinking room.”

”Yes,” says he, ”and the first drink I ever took in one, for I was brought up a temperance boy, I was dragged up by the strength of two companions, and held while the bar-keeper baptised me, as he called it, by pouring the liquor down my throat, over my head, and saturating my clothes till the smell made me sick, and then they gave me more to settle it. 'A hair of the same dog,' said they, 'will cure the bite.'

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