Democratic Sentinel, Volume 13, Number 41, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 1 November 1889 — A Baby Drunkard. [ARTICLE]

A Baby Drunkard.

A blue-eyed baby drunkard. She was the center of a group of officers at the police station Friday afternoon. Call Officer George Hamilton had led the little waif into the station house by the hand, a little frail, golden-haired girl. j. He had arrested her on West. Peter street, where some kind-hearted gentleman had seen her tottering about, and had taken her in charge until the officer arrived. She was barely 5 years old, and her face still retained that innocent, childish appearance, which dissipation was so fast robbing her of. She was clad in a neat calico dress, was barefooted, and wore a broadbrimmed straw hat, through the rents in which little tangled, yellow curls found their way. She was laughing immoderately, and talking in a wild reckless manner. The police officers were asking her questions, and although she would talk plainly enough there was nothing rational in what she said. She was drunk. Her breath was laiden with the odor of beer and whisky, her fair blue eyes were bloodshot, and the baby could scarcely stand on her tiny feet. She would laugh and joke at the patrol-men, who, in their big hearts, pitied the little baby, and talked to her in the kindest manner. They did not confine her in a cell, but let her play about the office until the effects of the poisoning drink had passed off. She seemed at home, and soon adapted herself to her surroundings. When she could talk more rationally she said: “My name’s Johanna, and they call me ‘Little Jo.’” “ Who do you live with ?” asked one of the officers, who had interested himself with the little waif. “I live with my sister. My mamma’s dead. She died four weeks ago, and my papa is in Cherokee County. He’s cornin’ to see me when I gets 12 years old.” “Where’s your hofiie?” “It’s on Lowe’s alley and corner of Rhodes street. That’s where my sister lives,” replied the little child. “Who givo3 you beer, little one?” asked one of the listeners. “Everybody,” she replied. “I drinks beer and toddy all the time. My sister can drink this house full of beer,” the baby prattled on, “and I love beer. It’s nice, ain’t it ?” and she laughed merrily. “There’s a case,” said Dr. Foote, as he turned away, “for the home of the friendless. There is where that baby should be taken before her young life is wrecked.” When the child was sobered up she was taken back to her home, from which she had a few hours before wandered in a drunken stupor. —Atlanta ( Ga.) Journal.