“I am not Mrs. Nation; I have no hatchet; I am not crazy.”
These words came from the lips of a Lewis woman, as she met her
husband face to face in a hotel barroom the other evening, says
the Lewis _Pilot_. They were directed to the bartender and
the loungers, as the former handed the woman’s husband a glass
of whisky.
She continued: “That man has not done a day’s work this winter,
and I am worn out trying to support him and the rest of the
family. I want to know if something can not be done to keep him
from destroying his own life and starving his family?”
The woman was thin and pale. Her lips quivered as she spoke.
Her frail body could hardly stand the strain of the unfamiliar
environment. As she finished the little girl by her side burst
into tears, the bartender took back the whisky, the abashed
husband stood with bowed head, one by one the loungers left
the room. Presently the bartender, gazing at the poor woman,
solemnly vowed that the man should not drink at his bar again.
It was a pathetic scene; it was the last resort of a desperate
woman. As she left the hotel with her husband and the little
girl there was a lesson too painful for any pen to picture.
(1753)
=Last Words=--See DEATH COMPELLING SINCERITY.