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into a thimble, in the whole winter. I asked my scholars the other day who the President of the United States is and there was not one in school who could tell. I have been pretty economical in the disposition of this sheet of paper, thus far, and I don't know but I can afford to waste a nought of it to write off my Temperance song. I have written it in a hurry and have several alterations and corrections etc. to make in it, nevertheless, notwithstanding. I come before the Temperance band, Sometimes he'll lead him round the Those steadfast souls, who heart and hand streets Would drive Intemperance from their The jest of every boy he meets, -

                              land;                                                                        While they with stick or stone or club

I come, not to recieve applause, Will give him many a cruel rub. Not to descant upon the laws Not with an Introduction long This is not all the Tyrant does.- Which should, 'tis said, prepare the song;- The sad effects of his abuse I come, my friends, just as I am, Are seen throughout the drunkard's Trying to do the good I can. life I'll call aloud, upon my muse- In cruel treatment of his wife Her aid, I hope, she'll not refuse;- And family of children small But yet, my friends, you can't expect Who live in sorrow, one and all. A story new, if you repeat The fiery and malignant nature On all that has been said and sung Of this dread enemy of man, By every body, old and young Seems thus imputed in every creature Upon this all-important theme; On whom he lays his heavy hand. My subject of itself is stale,- The drunkard oft, with fury wild No marvel, therefore, if it fail Will fall on parent, wife or child, To interest you like a dream. And with harsh words and cruel blows, Yet though we call the subject old Will give them all the abuse he knows. And half the story's not been told When he is heard approaching nigh, About the Tyrant Alchohol His children all in terror fly, Whom we with one consent enroll His wife in silence standing by. As the most peace-destructive foe The strange effects of rum are such, Which this revolted world can know. Some are excited overmuch;- The doings of this Tyrant King But different ways the demon takes, - From first to last, I fain would sing Others desponding, sad it makes;- But could not for my weight in gold, Sometimes it makes one very silly One half his cruelties unfold:- And then again it makes him wily: But if you'll all with patience wait, Sometimes he's mad and very cross, I will endeavor to relate Sometimes he's pleased & sometimes witty; A few of his heartsickening deeds Sometimes he's filled with deep remorse, At which the heart so often bleeds. Sometimes all other men he'll pity. When once a wretch is in his power One day he'll lie, cheat and dissemble It is his chief delight to shower The next with grief and shame he'll tremble. Trouble and woe upon his head. One day abuse his poor wife Dolly, Rob him clothes and home and bed. The next repent, bewail his folly. Sometimes with iron hand and strong One man I heard of, who when corner He grasps a man and holds him long Was sharply by his conscience thorned Reeling and staggering, round & round, And as he staggered home one night, Then throws him wildered on the ground Aware that he did not requite Or else, perchance, a man he'll pitch The patience of his faithful wife, Half crazed & wild, into a ditch, Hoping to calm his inward strife, And keep him there till some kind Said he, "If my wife's up, I'll lick her,

                  heart                                                                                              For why should she sit up and wait,

With pity filled shall take his part, Burning out wood and candle light? And with a tender hand shall come If she's abed, I'll surely kick her,- To rescue him and lead him home; She ought to keep my supper warm While he, with horrid oaths will mutter When I am out in such a storm." Curse him, he threw me in the gutter.