The Universal Reciter Part 28

ONLY SIXTEEN.

"When last seen, he was considerably intoxicated.... and was found dead in the highway."--_Republican and Democrat of_ May 17.

Only sixteen, so the papers say, Yet there on the cold, stony ground he lay; 'Tis the same sad story we hear every day-- He came to his death in the public highway.

Full of promise, talent, and pride, Yet the rum fiend conquered him; so he died.

Did not the angels weep over the scene?

For he died a drunkard--and only sixteen, Only sixteen.

Oh! it were sad he must die all alone: That of all his friends, not even one Was there to list to his last faint moan, Or point the suffering soul to the throne Of grace. If, perchance, G.o.d's only Son Would say, "Whosoever will may come."

But we hasten to draw a veil over the scene, With his G.o.d we leave him--only sixteen.

Only sixteen.

Rumseller, come view the work you have wrought: Witness the suffering and pain you have brought To the poor boy's friends. They loved him well, And yet you dared the vile beverage to sell That beclouded his brain, his reason dethroned, And left him to die out there all alone.

What if 'twere _your_ son instead of another?

What if your wife were that poor boy's mother, And he only sixteen?

Ye free-holders who signed the pet.i.tion to grant The license to sell, do you think you will want That record to meet in the last great day, When the earth and the heavens shall have pa.s.sed away, When the elements, melted with fervent heat, Shall proclaim the triumph of RIGHT complete?

Will you wish to have his blood on your hands When before the great throne you each shall stand, And he only sixteen?

Christian men! rouse ye to stand for the right, To action and duty; into the light Come with your banners, inscribed "Death to rum."

Let your conscience speak. Listen, then, come; Strike killing blows; hew to the line; Make it a felony even to sign A pet.i.tion to license; you would do it, I ween, If that were your son, and "only sixteen,"

Only sixteen.

THE WATCHWORD.

THE GRIDIRON.

THE CAPTAIN, PATRICK, AND THE FRENCHMAN.

_Patrick._ Well, Captain, whereabouts in the wide world _are_ we? Is it Roosia, Proosia, or the Jarmant oceant?

_Captain._ Tut, you fool; it's France.

_Patrick._ Tare and ouns! do you tell me so? and how do you know it's France, Captain dear?

_Captain._ Because we were on the coast of the Bay of Biscay when the vessel was wrecked.

_Patrick._ Throth, I was thinkin' so myself. And now, Captain jewel, it is I that wishes we had a gridiron.

_Captain._ Why, Patrick, what puts the notion of a gridiron into your head?

_Patrick._ Because I'm starving with hunger, Captain dear.

_Captain._ Surely you do not intend to eat a gridiron, do you?

_Patrick._ Ate a gridiron; bad luck to it! no. But if we had a gridiron, we could dress a beefsteak.

_Captain._ Yes; but where's the beefsteak, Patrick?

_Patrick._ Sure, couldn't we cut it off the pork?

_Captain._ I never thought of that. You are a clever fellow, Patrick.

(_Laughing._)

_Patrick._ There's many a thrue word said in joke, Captain. And now, if you will go and get the bit of pork that we saved from the rack, I'll go to the house there beyant, and ax some of them to lind me the loan of a gridiron.

_Captain._ But, Patrick, this is France, and they are all foreigners here.

_Patrick._ Well, and how do you know but I am as good a furriner myself as any o' them.

_Captain._ What do you mean, Patrick?

_Patrick._ Parley voo frongsay?

_Captain._ O, you understand French, then, is it?

_Patrick._ Throth, you may say that, Captain dear.

Captain. Well, Patrick, success to you. Be civil to the foreigners, and I'll be back with the pork in a minute. [_He goes out._

_Patrick._ Ay, sure enough, I'll be civil to them; for the Frinch are always mighty p'lite intirely, and I'll show them I know what good manners is. Indade, and here comes munseer himself, quite convaynient.

(_As the Frenchman enters, Patrick takes off his hat, and making a low bow, says:_) G.o.d save you, sir, and all your children. I beg your pardon for the liberty I take, but it's only being in disthress in regard of ateing, that I make bowld to trouble ye; and if you could lind me the loan of a gridiron, I'd be intirely obleeged to ye.

_Frenchman (staring at him)._ Comment!

_Patrick._ Indade it's thrue for you. I'm tathered to paces, and G.o.d knows I look quare enough; but it's by rason of the storm that dhruve us ash.o.r.e jist here, and we're all starvin'.

_Frenchman._ Je m'y t--(_p.r.o.nounced_ zhe meet).

_Patrick._ Oh! not at all! by no manes! we have plenty of mate ourselves, and we'll dhress it, if you be plased jist to lind us the loan of a gridiron, sir. (_Making a low bow._)

_Frenchman (staring at him, but not understanding a word.)_

_Patrick._ I beg pardon, sir; but maybe I'm undher a mistake, but I thought I was in France, sir. An't you all furriners here? Parley voo frongsay?

_Frenchman._ Oui, monsieur.

_Patrick._ Then, would you lind me the loan of a gridiron, if you plase? (_The Frenchman stares more than ever, as if anxious to understand._) I know it's a liberty I take, sir; but it's only in the regard of bein' cast away; and if you plase, sir, parley voo frongsay?

_Frenchman._ Oui, monsieur, oui.