A SNAKE IN A CIDER BARREL.
{"newspaper_name": "The Washingtonian.", "edition": "01", "page": "p1", "byline": ""}
{"character_count": 1442, "word_count": 265, "ccnet_language_score": [0.9879999756813049], "ccnet_perplexity": [873.0999755859375], "fasttext_language": ["en"]}
In small and retired village in the north
east part of the State of Connecticut, lives
wealthy farmer. This man processes to be a
humble follower Of Jesus Christ He is fond
Of the Intoxicating bowl. His parents are still
living, both of whom are strictly temperate
as are most of the inhabitants of the place.
The blush Of shame would mantle his cheeks
were they not bloated with cider. Of this ar
ticle he has long kept large quantity on
hand. His neighbors at last began to discuss
the subject, as to the quantity he daily con-
sumed. All agreed that he was not a tempe
rate man. He was a man Of wealth, and the
church must not interfere. Finally he resolved
that no more cider should be drank on his
premises. The glad news of his reform sent
a thrill Of JOY to many hearts. For season
he ran well-yet his face, nose, and mouth,
retained the same scottish aspect as before.


Oh! ye temperate drinkers! ye tipplers and
all who drink "behind the door," take warn-
ing! because your sins will find you out. This
man, SO conscientious that he would not have
a barrel of cider tapped in the cellar, procured
a piece of leaden pipe and sucked cider from
the bung hole. The poisonous qualities Of the
lead mixing with the cider, received into his
stomach, all but took his life. With great
difficulty his physician restored him TO health.
Tipplers take the friendly warning; never
profess to be what you are not. Death turks
in the cider barrel.