Show A WAIL frol THE JAIL one of the victims of provo whisky tells his life my name is patrick sullivan I 1 am thirty seven icare of age and was born of poor but irish parents my parents emigrated to america about three years before I 1 was born they had not been liere long before my father secured the position of an alderman in kew york city he retained this position for about twenty years and by this means I 1 spent my early life in the lap of luxury I 1 received my early education at a ram shop on the bowery which was owned by my father I 1 learned to smoke chew and drink and I 1 flatter myself that at seventeen years of age I 1 knew as much of politics as many of my seniors aho vho had been in the ring nearly all of their lives at the early age of six I 1 could tell alie quality and name of any liquor sold in new york city from the me quick rum up to tle finest of brandies amid euch scenes of splendor and happiness was my early life spent 1 knew no care and had no thought of the future everything seemed to move along as pleasantly as the flow of the foaming lager from the keg but alas a change came upon the scene my father came into the den one day with the terrible exclamation the ring is bush ted me it was but too true the bubble had collapsed father did not long survive the terrible my mother followed soon after the verdict of the coroners jury in each case was died from the influence av derink I 1 became discouraged and lost all ambition I 1 was turned out of house and home and became a wandering vagabond a tramp on the highway of life when I 1 look back upon those happy days tears fill my eyes its not the whiskey I 1 have wandered oer the cold cruel world and have been in many a happy grog shop and partaker partaken par taken of many a fiery draught but I 1 have never found anything to compare with the liquor of those good old times either in strength or flavor they all lacked something if the prussic acid was all right there wa not enough tobacco or turpentine if the tobacco and turps were all right there was not enough prussic acid and so it goes from bad to worse I 1 was almost giving aup in despair when 1 struck the lovely city of provo nestling at the foot of the grand wasatch mountains and on the shores of the clear crystal utah lake I 1 arrived in town about midnight via the R G W fast freight line it was a cold cheerless uncomfortable night the snow fell in torrents and the wind whistled through my beard As I 1 pulled my weary limbs from the cold hard iron brake and listlessly meandered up jovn I 1 waa indeed a pitiable object here wasl a stranger in a strange land eiith only a quarter in my pocket I 1 ic solved to blow this last vestige of cash in for drink how eagerly I 1 watched the bar keepers pour forth the sparkling fluid liow I 1 pinched that last quarter as it left my reluctant fingers I 1 the benzine don ah what at could it be possible that I 1 had found there m the wild west the drink of jay boyhood days I 1 took another gla yes it was true in mv delight I 1 hugged the bar keepers and had of a thousand dollars it would been his I 1 wandered forth jato th e street a new man there w ne life in me in my joy I 1 let forth a terrific yell what was that feeling that came upon me an iron hand had grasped me by the nape of tho neck and I 1 knew no more when I 1 awoke again the sun was shining in through iron bars and my bead felt jike a bushel basket delightful sensation I 1 had not experienced such a feeling since byj boyhood days I 1 was thunderstruck thunder after to learn that I 1 atvas accused of being full I 1 indignantly charge but in spite of my protestations 1 wad hurled forth to shovel snow my wounded vanity cried forth in rage at the indie anity that had been heaped on my defenseless fen seless head since then I 1 have he come more used to it and I 1 have become more resigned to mv situation it is rather hard to be locked up for every little drink of the oray thua I 1 might indulge in but then it wont last long I 1 cant bear to tear myself away from the even though I 1 am insulted and despised and will doubtless be hurried to a premature grave what care I 1 how boon I 1 maybe called to lick the bucket as long as I 1 know it was while I 1 was at my post of duty viz trying to encourage the home manufacture of strychnine in a liquid form farewell PAT CITY JAIL provo jan 13 1890 |