Democratic Sentinel, Volume 13, Number 34, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 13 September 1889 — "AH! THATS THE QUESTION." [ARTICLE]

"AH! THATS THE QUESTION."

An Amazing Temperance Tale Told by a Xawan Street Barber. I “You’re a reporter ?” observed a new barber as a Sun man leaned back in 'his chair. “I’ve done considerable •writing myself,” he continued, as he filled the reporter’s eyes with lather. “Yes, indeed. I’ve written a poem that was published in the Barbers' Journal, and I am at work on a temperance story that will paralyze the rumsellers. Shall I repeat it ?” As the barber had by this time begun operations on the reporter’s chin with his razor, protestation would have been unavailing, and the author continued : “It begins like this: In a lonely house—a small house furnished bare—there sat a thin, pallid woman dressed in meagre garments, through which the cold wind blew in< fitful gusts. Around her were huddled three thin, pale, half-starved children. There was no food in the pantry, no fuel in the stove. "Why was this the case ? Ah! that’s the question. “In a low grog-shop in the neighboring hamlet, surrounded by a crowd of drunken men, there sat a being that had once been a man. He was besotted with rum. His bloated face was buried in his red hands. He was asleep. He was a drunkard. Why was he a drunkard ? Ah! that’s the question. “ ‘Mother, why doesn’t father come home?’ asked one of the three pale children of the pallid woman in the lonely house. Ah! that’s the question. “ ‘I will start out for him and bring him home, mother,’ exclaimed the child.

“ ‘Brave boy!’ replied the parent, between her sobs. And so into the cold, dark night the fearless child went out. But why was this midnight and perilous journey necessary ? Ah! that’s the question. “A tap at the door of {he grog-shop. A deep mutter among the men whose unlawful amusement it had interrupted. The door opened and the child walked in. “ ‘Father!’he cried, as he leaned over the sleeping wretch, ‘will you come home with me? Ah! that’s the question. . “Father and child—drunken beast and pure innocence—hand in hand pursued their lonely way over the dark and rocky road that led to the deserted home. By the side of the path was a steep precipice. Here the twain paused. The man sat down to think. What thoughts, think you, were passing through his rum-crazed brain ? Ah! that’s the question. “They were awful thoughts thoughts of murder! He had been torn away from his haunts by the firm, pale hand of his little child. His wife had set a spy on his track. The insult should be wiped out. But how ? Ah! that’s the question. “Five minutes of silent but awful meditation suffice. Starting to his feet, the enraged man grasped his little son by the waist, and held him at arm’s length over the steep precipice. “ ‘Father.’murmured the child plaintively, ’shall I ever see mother again?’ Ah! that’s the question. “ ‘I don’t see why little Johnny does not come home!” exclaimed the pallid woman in the lonely house as the first streaks of dawn lit up the empty pantry shelves. Can any harm have befallen him?’ Ah! that’s the question. “Dawn saw a pale man, trembling at every joint, gazing with bloodshot eyes over a steep precipice at a little heap of clothes lying on the cruel rocks below'. The drunkard’s brain reeled with horror. Had he murdered his child ? Ah! that’s the question. “In a solitary cell in the Blackwell Island Insane Asylum there sits a pale, thin man, with long white hair and vacant eyes. All day long he moans aloud, ‘Why did Idoit ? Oh! why did I do it ?’ Ah'! my friend, that’s the question. “I think that will produce an effect,” continued the barber as he finished the narrative. The story is a true one, and I have written it in poetry as well as in prose. If you will come in tomorrow I will give you a copy of the verses. Thank you. Very much obliged, sir. I’ll have them copied out for you. Brush here. Next.”— New York Sun.