Part 1 (1/2)

The Use and Need of the Life of Carry A. Nation.

by Carry A. Nation.

ENCOURAGEMENT FOR CHRISTIAN WORKERS.

”My word shall not return unto me void.”--Isa. iv., II.

”When saddened by the little fruit thy labors seem to yield, And when no springing blade appears in all thy barren field; When those whom thou dost seek to win, seem hard, and cold, and dead-- Then, weary worker, stay thine heart on what the Lord hath said; And let it give new life to hopes which seem well-nigh destroyed-- This promise, that His word, shall not return unto Him void.

For, if, indeed it be His truth, thy feeble lips proclaim, Then, He is pledged to shadow forth, the glory of His name.

True this at present may be veiled; still trustingly abide, And ”cast thy bread,” with growing faith, upon life's rolling tide.

It shall, it will, it must be found, this precious living seed, Though thou may'st grieve that thoughtless hearts take no apparent heed.

'Tis thine to sow with earnest prayer, in faith and patient love, And thou shalt reap the tear-sown seed, in glorious sheaves above, Then with what joy ecstatic, thou wilt stand before His throne, And praise the Lord who used thee thus to gather in His own!

Adoring love will fill thine heart, and swell thy grateful lays, That thou, hast brought some souls to Christ, to His eternal praise, That thou hast helped to deck His brow, with blood-bought jewels bright; Trophies of His wondrous love, and His all-saving might.

Oh, the grandest privilege to be thus used, to bring them in!

Oh, grandest joy to see them safe beyond the reach of sin!

Then mourn not, worker; though thy work shall cause thee many a tear, The glorious aim thou hast in view, thy saddened heart will cheer, Remember, it is all for Him, who loveth thee so well; And let not downcast weary thoughts, one moment in thee dwell, It is for Him! this is enough to cheer thee all the way; Until thou hearest the glad ”Well done”, and night is turned to day.”

--Author Unknown

A MOTHER'S CRY,

Yes I represent the mothers. ”Rachel wept for her children and would not be comforted because they were not.” So I am crying for help, asking men to vote for what their forefathers fought for--their firesides. Republican and Democratic votes mean saloons. There is not one effort in these parties to do ought but perpetuate this treason. Yes, it is treason, to make laws to prohibit crime and then license saloons, that prohibit laws from prohibiting crime. There is not a lawful or legalized saloon. Any thing wrong can not be legally right. ”Law commands that which is right and prohibits that which is wrong.” Saloons command that which is wrong and prohibit that which is right. This is anarchy. There is another grievous wrong. The loving moral influence of mothers must be put in the ballot box. Free men must be the sons of free women. To elevate men you must first elevate women.

A nation can not rise higher than the mothers. Liberty is the largest privilege to do that which is right, and the smallest to do that which is wrong. Vote for a principle which will make it a crime to manufacture, barter, sell or give away that which makes three-fourths of all the crime and murders thousands every year, and the suffering of the women and children that can not be told. Vote for our prohibition president and G.o.d will bless you. Pray for me that I may finish my course with joy, the ministry which I have received of the Lord Jesus.

CARRY A. NATION, Your Loving Home Defender.

The Use and Need of the Life of Carry A. Nation.

CHAPTER I.

MY OLD KENTUCKY HOME AND WHAT I REMEMBER OF MY LIFE UP TO THE TENTH YEAR.

I was born in Garrard County, Kentucky. My father's farm was on d.i.c.k's River, where the cliffs rose to hundreds of feet, with great ledges of rocks, where under which I used to sit. There were many large rocks scattered around, some as much as fifteen feet across, with holes that held water, where my father salted his stock, and I, a little toddler, used to follow him. On the side of the house next to the cliffs was what we called the ”Long House,” where the negro women would spin and weave. There were wheels, little and big, and a loom or two, and swifts and reels, and winders, and everything for making linen for the summer, and woolen cloth for the winter, both linsey and jeans.

The flax was raised on the place, and so were the sheep. When a child 5 years old, I used to bother the other spinners. I was so anxious to learn to spin. My father had a small wheel made for me by a wright in the neighborhood. I was very jealous of my wheel, and would spin on it for hours. The colored women were always indulgent to me, and made the proper sized rolls, so I could spin them. I would double the yarn, and then twist it, and knit it into suspenders, which was a great source of pride to my father, who would display my work to visitors on every occasion.

The dwelling house had ten rooms, all on the ground floor, except one. I have heard my father say that it was a hewed-log house, weather-boarded and plastered as I remember it. The room that possessed the most attraction for me was the parlor, because I was very seldom allowed to go in it. I remember the large gold-leaf paper on the walls, its bright bra.s.s dogirons, as tall as myself, and the furniture of red plush, some of which is in a good state of preservation, and the property of my half-brother, Tom Moore, who lives on ”Camp d.i.c.k Robinson”

in Garrard County, this d.i.c.k Robinson was a cousin of my father's.

There were two sets of negro cabins; one in which Betsey and Henry lived, who were man and wife, Betsey being the nurse of all the children.

Then there was aunt Mary and her large family, aunt Judy and her family and aunt Eliza and her's. There was a water mill behind and almost a quarter of a mile from the house, where the corn was ground, and near that was the overseer's house.

Standing on the front porch, we looked through a row of althea bushes, white and purple, and there were on each side cedar trees that were quite large in my day. There was an old-fas.h.i.+oned stile, instead of a gate, and a long avenue, as wide as Kansas Avenue, in Topeka, with forest trees on either side, that led down to the big road, across which uncle Isaac Dunn lived, who was a widower with two children, Dave and Sallie, and I remember that Sallie had all kinds of dolls; it was a great delight of mine to play with these.

To the left of our house was the garden. I have read of the old- fas.h.i.+oned garden; the gardens written about and the gardens sung about, but I have never seen a garden that could surpa.s.s the garden of my old home. Just inside the pickets were bunches of bear gra.s.s. Then, there was the purple flag, that bordered the walks; the thyme, coriander, calamus and sweet Mary; the jasmine climbing over the picket fence; the syringa and bridal wreath; roses black, red, yellow and pink; and many other kinds of roses and shrubs. There, too, were strawberries, raspberries, gooseberries and currants; damson and greengages, and apricots, that grew on vines. I could take some time in describing this beautiful spot.

At the side of the garden was the family burying ground, where the gravestones were laid flat on masonry, bringing them about three feet from the ground. These stones were large, flat slabs of marble, and I used to climb up on top and sit or lie down, and trace the letters or figures with my fingers. I visited this graveyard in 1903. The eight graves were there in a good state of preservation, with not a slab broken, although my grandfather was buried there, ninety years ago. My father had a stone wall built around these graves for protection, when he left Kentucky. I am glad that family graveyards have given place to public cemeteries, for this place has changed hands many times and this graveyard is not pleasant for the strangers who live there. We who are interested in these sacred mounds, feel like we intrude, to have the homes of our dead with strangers.

{ill.u.s.t. caption = MY OLD HOME WHERE I WAS BORN IN GARRARD COUNTY, KENTUCKY.