"What d'ye say, landlord? Shall he make the speech?" said another, who was eager for sport.
"Please yourselves," replied the landlord, "and you'll please me."
"Very well. Now for the speech, old fellow! Here! mount this table."
And two or three of the most forward took hold of his arms.
"I'm not just in the humor for making a speech," said the temperance man, "but, if it will please you as well, I'll sing you a song."
"Give us a song then. Any thing to accommodate. But come, let's liquor first."
"No!" said the other firmly, "I must sing the song first, if I sing it at all."
"Don't you think your pipes will be clearer for a little drink of some kind or other."
"Perhaps they would," was replied. "So, provided you have no objection, I'll take a glass of cold water—if such a thing is known in this place."
The glass of water was presented, and then the man, who was somewhat advanced in years, prepared to give the promised song. All stood listening attentively, Edwards among the rest. The voice of the old man was low and tremulous, yet every word was uttered distinctly, and with a pathos which showed that the meaning was felt. The following well-known temperance song was the one that he sung; and while his voice filled the bar-room every other sound was hushed.
"Where are the friends that to me were so dear,
Long, long ago—long, long ago?
Where are the hopes that my heart used to cheer,
Long, long ago—long ago!
Friends that I loved in the grave are laid low,
Hopes that I cherished are fled from me now,
I am degraded, for rum was my foe
Long, long ago—long ago!