THE SPIRIT OF SUNDAY-LAW ENFORCEMENT.
By Editor
We do not believe in cigar-smoking or selling, or the use of tobacco in any form, but we do contend that according to every principle of human justice it is as right to sell them on Sunday as on any day. With these prefatory remarks we present the following as a fair illustration of the Sunday-law enforcement propaganda, from the Mirror and American, of Manchester, N. H., of Dec. 30, 1903:— It appears that there are in Philadelphia certain city ordinances or laws which prohibit the sale of merchandise on the Sabbath, and there is also a Sabbath association organized to see that these laws are enforced, which, in order to detect and bring to punishment offenders, employs a corps of agents or informers, who, like most of their class, are anxious to make a showing of zeal and efficiency. Some of the results appear in the reports of the police court proceedings published in the papers of the city, and the following pathetic story is a sample:— 'Then came a shrinking, kind-faced woman of about sixty years, Mrs. C. R. Kelly, of 127 South Fourth Street, who, with her poor, much-worn attire, and depressed, over-apprehensive expression made a most melancholy picture. Even Agent Vail, before a question had been asked, was visibly touched. The woman had once been handsome, no doubt, and with her iron-gray hair, her dark eyes, and her figure of grandmotherly symmetry, was still attractive. Across her straight, rather delicate nose were old-fashioned gold spectacles, that looked as if they were an heirloom of better days; on her head was a plain, black bonnet, such as were worn thirty years ago; and around her shoulders a faded, gray shawl, which was also of a past generation, its shabbiness only redeemable by the cleanliness and neat adjustment. The troubled light in her eyes was clouded with tears as she made her brief statement. 'One of the professional informers first testified that a cigar had been sold to him in her shop. 'Yes,' answered the old woman, 'it was sold to you by a little girl, almost a baby, who happened to be alone in the shop a few minutes, and didn't know better. If I had been there it wouldn't have been sold. The child was misled into selling it. 'Judge, I have nine orphan children in the house:—' 'You are a widow?' queried the magistrate with deep compassion. 'Yes, for six years past, with nine children, and my husband was three years sick before he died.' 'These words were uttered with almost a sob.' 'The few things I could sell on Sunday wouldn't pay me'— 'No more testimony—I don't want to hear any more,' exclaimed the magistrate, moving indignantly in his seat. 'You are discharged. We can't oppress the widow and the orphan here, blue laws or no blue laws.' 'An unusual moisture shone in his eyes as he turned the next leaf of the docket. 'The old woman walked slowly out, and every one in the court room looked after her in silent respect.' Unless the city officials of Philadelphia are greatly misjudged they are about as corrupt a set as can be found in this country, and about the only vice or crime they interfere with upon the complaint of any one is 'Sunday-selling,' of the kind described in the above report. If this be true, it would seem9that an association for the enforcement of other laws was much more needed in the Quaker city than one to prevent poor widows from peddling cigars and candy on the Sabbath. At any rate it may be safely said that a reform organization can spend its money to better advantage than in hiring spotters to drag such widows as Mrs. Kelly, of 127 South Fourth Street, into court.