Newberry Library - Furber, Lucy M. (sister), to Isaac Stevens Metcalf, Isaac Stevens Metcalf family papers, 1842-1845

Furber, Lucy M. (sister), to Isaac Stevens Metcalf, Isaac Stevens Metcalf family papers, 1842-1845

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Open book Furber, Lucy M. (sister), to Isaac Stevens Metcalf, Isaac Stevens Metcalf family papers, 1842-1845

Title Furber, Lucy M. (sister), to Isaac Stevens Metcalf, Isaac Stevens Metcalf family papers, 1842-1845

Creator Metcalf, Isaac Stevens, 1822-1898

Date 1842-1845

Place United States

Subjects Bowdoin College, Brothers and sisters, DuQuoin Coal Company, Illinois Central Railroad Company

Format Business records, Correspondence, Diaries, Genealogies, Invoices, Manuscripts, Personal narratives, Records

User-Contributed Transcription 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 streetsWould drive Intemperance from their The jest of every boy he meets, - land; While they with stick or stone or clubI come, not to recieve applause, Will give him many a cruel rub.Not to descant upon the lawsNot with an Introduction long This is not all the Tyrant does.-Which should, 'tis said, prepare the song;- The sad effects of his abuseI come, my friends, just as I am, Are seen throughout the drunkard's Trying to do the good I can. lifeI'll call aloud, upon my muse- In cruel treatment of his wifeHer aid, I hope, she'll not refuse;- And family of children smallBut yet, my friends, you can't expect Who live in sorrow, one and all.A story new, if you repeat The fiery and malignant natureOn all that has been said and sung Of this dread enemy of man,By every body, old and young Seems thus imputed in every creatureUpon this all-important theme; On whom he lays his heavy hand.My subject of itself is stale,- The drunkard oft, with fury wildNo 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 sillyOne 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 dissembleIt 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 cornerHe grasps a man and holds him long Was sharply by his conscience thornedReeling and staggering, round & round, And as he staggered home one night,Then throws him wildered on the ground Aware that he did not requiteOr 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 warmWhile he, with horrid oaths will mutter When I am out in such a storm."Curse him, he threw me in the gutter.

Transcription Status Needs review

Transcription Note This document was transcribed by volunteers as part of the Newberry Transcribe crowdsourcing initiative.

Archival Collection Title Isaac Stevens Metcalf papers, Midwest Manuscript Collection

Link to Catalog View finding aid | View record

Call Number Midwest MS Metcalf Box 1 Folder 31

BibID 821787

Rights Status No Copyright - United States

Contributing Institution Newberry Library

Newberry Open Access Policy The Newberry makes its collections available for any lawful purpose, commercial or non-commercial, without licensing or permission fees to the library, subject to these terms and conditions.

IIIF Resource Type Canvas

Size 2828px × 3469px 56.17 MB

Filename 998217878805867_mms_metcalf_box_01_fl_31_002_002.tif

Unique Identifier NL11FE3S

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