The Universal Reciter Part 4

"Why, what ails ye, Sam?" inquired Tall Chicago, as they all stood there.

"I've come down to bid ye good-bye, boys!" he replied, removing his hat and drawing a clean handkerchief from his pocket.

"What! Hev ye turned preacher?" they shouted in chorus.

"Boys, ye know I can lick any two of ye; but I hain't on the fight any more, an' I've put down the last drop of whiskey which is ever to go into my mouth! I've switched off. I've taken an oath. I'm going to be decent!"

"Sam, be you crazy?" asked Port Huron Bill, coming nearer to him.

"I've come down here to tell ye all about it," answered Sam. "Move the cha'rs back a little and give me room. Ye all know I've been rough, and more too. I've been a drinker, a fighter, a gambler, and a loafer.

I can't look back and remember when I've earned an honest dollar. The police hez chased me around like a wolf, and I've been in jail and the work-house, and the papers has said that Ugly Sam was the terror of the Potomac. Ye all know this, boys, but ye didn't know I had an old mother."

The faces of the crowd expressed amazement.

"I never mentioned it to any of ye, for I was neglecting her," he went on. "She was a poor old body living up here in the alley, and if the neighbours hadn't helped her to fuel and food, she'd have been found dead long ago. I never helped her to a cent--didn't see her for weeks and weeks, and I used to feel mean about it. When a feller goes back on his old mother, he's a-gittin' purty low, and I know it. Well, she's dead--buried yesterday! I was up there afore she died. She sent for me by Pete, and when I got there I seen it was all day with her."

"Did she say anything?" asked one of the boys, as Sam hesitated.

"That's what ails me now," he went on. "When I went she reached out her hand to me, and says she, 'Samuel, I'm going to die, and I know'd you'd want to see me afore I pa.s.sed away!' I sat down, feeling queer like. She didn't go on and say as how I was a loafer, and had neglected her, and all that, but says she, 'Samuel, you'll be all alone when I'm gone. I've tried to be a good mother to you, and have prayed for you hundreds o' nights and cried about you till my old heart was sore!' Some o' the neighbours had dropped in, and the women were crying, and I tell you, boys, I felt weak."

He paused for a moment, and then continued:

"And the old woman said she'd like to kiss me afore death came, and that broke me right down. She kept hold of my hand, and by-and-by she whispered; 'Samuel, you are throwing your life away. You've got it in you to be a man if you will only make up your mind, I hate to die and feel that my only son and the last of our family may go to the gallows. If I had your promise that you'd turn over a new leaf and try and be good, it seems as if I'd die easier. Won't you promise me, my son?' And I promised her, boys, and that's what ails me! She died holding my hand, and I promised to quit this low business and go to work. I came down to tell ye, and now you won't see me on the Potomac again. I've bought an axe, and am going up in Canada to Winter."

There was a dead silence for a moment, and then he said:

"Well, boys, I'll shake hands with ye all around afore I go. Good-by, Pete--good-by, Jack--Tom--Jim. I hope you won't fling any bricks at me, and I shan't never fling any at any of ye. It's a dying promise, ye see, and I'll keep it if it takes a right arm!"

The men looked reflectively at each other after he had pa.s.sed out, and it was a long time before any one spoke. Then Tall Chicago flung his clay pipe into a corner, and said:

"I'll lick the man who says Ugly Sam's head isn't level!"

"So'll I!" repeated the others.

SATAN'S ADDRESS TO THE SUN.

MILTON.

This famous speech affords opportunity for the grandest declamation. It is studded with points--anger, hate, scorn, admiration and defiance. The student should read, and re-read and ponder over every line, until he catches the exact meaning intended to be conveyed--then, following the examples already given, he should declaim it repeatedly:

O thou, that, with surpa.s.sing glory crown'd, Look'st from thy sole dominion like the G.o.d Of this new world; at whose sight all the stars Hide their diminish'd heads; to thee I call, But with no friendly voice, and add thy name, O Sun! to tell thee how I hate thy beams, That bring to my remembrance from what state I fell, how glorious once above thy sphere; Till pride and worse ambition threw me down Warring in Heaven against Heaven's matchless king: Ah, wherefore! he deserved no such return From me, whom he created what I was In that bright eminence, and with his good Upbraided none; nor was his service hard.

What could be less than to afford him praise, The easiest recompense, and pay him thanks, How due! yet all his good proved ill in me, And wrought but malice; lifted up so high I 'sdain'd subjection, and thought one step higher Would set me highest, and in a moment quit The debt immense of endless grat.i.tude So burdensome still paying, still to owe: Forgetful what from him I still received, And understood not that a grateful mind By owing owes not, but still pays, at once Indebted and discharged; what burden then?

O, had his powerful destiny ordain'd Me some inferior angel, I had stood Then happy; no unbounded hope had raised Ambition! Yet why not? some other Power As great might have aspired, and me, though mean, Drawn to his part; but other Powers as great Fell not, but stand unshaken, from within Or from without, to all temptations arm'd.

Hadst thou the same free will and power to stand?

Thou hadst: whom hast thou then or what to accuse But Heaven's free love dealt equally to all?

Be then his love accursed, since love or hate, To me alike, it deals eternal woe.

Nay, cursed be thou; since against his thy will Chose freely what it now so justly rues.

Me miserable! which way shall I fly Infinite wrath and infinite despair?

Which way I fly is h.e.l.l; myself am h.e.l.l; And, in the lowest deep, a lower deep Still threat'ning to devour me opens wide, To which the h.e.l.l I suffer seems a heaven.

O then at last relent: Is there no place Left for repentance, none for pardon left?

None left but by submission; and that word Disdain forbids me, and my dread of shame Among the spirits beneath, whom I seduced With other promises and other vaunts Than to submit, boasting I could subdue The Omnipotent. Ah me! they little know How dearly I abide that boast so vain, Under what torments inwardly I groan, While they adore me on the throne of h.e.l.l.

With diadem and sceptre high advanced, The lower still I fall, only supreme In misery! Such joy ambition finds.

But say I could repent, and could obtain By act of grace, my former state; how soon Would height recall high thoughts, how soon unsay What faint submission swore? Ease would recant Vows made in pain, as violent and void.

For never can true reconcilement grow, Where wounds of deadly hate have pierced so deep: Which would but lead me to a worse relapse And heavier fall; so should I purchase dear Short intermission bought with double smart.

This knows my Punisher; therefore as far From granting he, as I from begging, peace; All hope excluded thus, behold, instead Of us outcast, exiled, his new delight, Mankind created, and for him this world, So farewell, hope; and with hope, farewell, fear; Farewell, remorse! all good to me is lost; Evil, be thou my good; by thee at least Divided empire with Heaven's King I hold, By thee, and more than half perhaps will reign; As man, ere long, and this new world shall know.

PATRICK'S COLT.

ANONYMOUS.

Patrick O'Flanigan, from Erin's isle Just fresh, thinking he'd walk around a while, With open mouth and widely staring eyes, Cried "Och!" and "Whist!" at every new surprise.

He saw some labourers in a field of corn; The golden pumpkins lit the scene with glory; Of all that he had heard since being born, Nothing had equaled this in song or story.

"The holy mither! and, sirs, would ye plaise To be a tellin' me what might be these?

An' sure I'm thinkin' that they're not pratees, But mebbe it's the way you grow your chase."

"Ah, Patrick, these are mare's eggs," said the hand, Giving a wink to John, and Jim, and Bill; "Just hatch it out, and then you have your horse; Take one and try it; it will pay you well."

"Faith an' that's aisy sure; in dear ould Ireland I always had my Christmas pig so nate, Fatted on b.u.t.termilk, and hard to bate; But only gintlemen can own a horse.

Ameriky's a great counthry indade, I thought that here I'd kape a pig, of coorse, Have me own land, and shanty without rent, An' have me vote, an' taxes not a cint; But sure I niver thought to own a baste.

An' won't the wife and childer now be glad?

A thousand blissings on your honor's head!

But could ye tell by lookin' at the egg What colour it will hatch? It's to me taste To have a dapple gray, with a long tail, High in the neck, and slinder in the leg, To jump a twel' feet bog, and niver fail, Like me Lord Dumferline's at last year's races--"

Just then the merry look on all their faces Checked Patrick's flow of talk, and with a blush That swept his face as milk goes over mush, He added, "Sure, I know it is no use To try to tell by peering at an egg If it will hatch a gander or a goose;"

Then looked around to make judicious choice.

"Pick out the largest one that you can hide Out of the owner's sight there by the river; Don't drop and break it, or the colt is gone; Carry it gently to your little farm, Put it in bed, and keep it six weeks warm."

Quickly Pat seized a huge, ripe, yellow one, "Faith, sure, an' I'll do every bit of that The whole sax wakes I'll lie meself in bed, An' kape it warrum, as your honour said; Long life to yees, and may you niver walk, Not even to your grave, but ride foriver; Good luck to yees," and without more of talk He pulled the forelock 'neath his tattered hat, And started off; but plans of mice and men Gang oft agley, again and yet again.

Full half a mile upon his homeward road Poor Patrick toiled beneath his heavy load.

A hilltop gained, he stopped to rest, alas!

He laid his mare's egg on some treacherous gra.s.s; When down the steep hillside it rolled away, And at poor Patrick's call made no delay.

Gaining momentum, with a heavy thump, It struck and split upon a hollow stump, In which a rabbit lived with child and wife, Frightened, the timid creature ran for life.

"Shtop, shtop my colt!" cried Patrick, as he ran After his straying colt, but all in vain.

With ears erect poor Bunny faster fled As "Shtop my colt!" in mournful, eager tones Struck on those organs, till with fright half dead He hid away among some gra.s.s and stones.

Here Patrick searched till rose the harvest moon, Braying and whinnying till he was hoa.r.s.e, Hoping to lure the colt by this fond cheat; "For won't the young thing want his mither soon, And come to take a bit of something t'eat?"

But vain the tender accents of his call-- No colt responded from the broken wall; And 'neath the twinkling stars he plodded on, To tell how he had got and lost his horse.

"As swate a gray as iver eyes sat on,"

He said to Bridget and the children eight, After thrice telling the whole story o'er, "The way he run it would be hard to bate; So little, too, with jist a whisk o' tail, Not a pin-feather on it as I could see, For it was hatched out just sax weeks too soon!

An' such long ears were niver grown before On any donkey in grane Ireland!

So little, too, you'd hold it in your hand; Och hone! he would have made a gray donkey."

So all the sad O'Flanigans that night Held a loud wake over the donkey gone, Eating their "pratees" without milk or salt, Howling between whiles, "Och! my little colt!"

While Bunny, trembling from his dreadful fright, Skipped home to Mrs. B. by light of moon, And told the story of his scare and flight; And all the neighbouring rabbits played around The broken mare's egg scattered on the ground.