Julius and his companions were readily excused by the superintendent, on explaining the cause of their delay.

After supper was over, Mr. O’Connor said: “Boys, this is the last time you will be all together. To-morrow probably many of you will set out for new homes. Now, how shall we pass the time?”

“A speech from Corny Donovan!” cried one boy.

“Speech from Corny!” was heard from all parts of the hall.

“Corny, have you anything to say to the boys?” asked the superintendent, smiling.

Corny was a short, wiry little fellow, apparently twelve, but in reality two years older. He was noted among the boys for his drollery, and frequently amused them with his oratory. He came forward with a twinkle of merriment in his eye.

“The Honorable Corny Donovan will speak to the meetin’,” said Julius, acting as temporary chairman.

Corny took his place on the platform, and with perfect gravity took out a small, red handkerchief, and blew his nose explosively, in imitation of a gentleman who{71} once addressed the boys at the Lodging House. The boys greeted this commencement with vociferous applause.

“Go in, Corny!” “Spit it out!” were heard from different parts of the hall.

“Boys,” said Corny, extending his right arm horizontally, “I’ve come here from my manshun in Fifth Avenoo to give you some good advice. You’re poor miserable bummers, ivery mother’s son of you. You don’t know much anyhow. Once’t I was as poor as you.” (“Hi; hi!” shouted his auditors.) “You wouldn’t think to look at my good clo’es that I was once a poor bummer like the rest of yez.” (“Yes we would. Where’s your gold watch?”) “Where’s my gold watch? I left it at home on the planner. Maybe you’d like to grow up gentlemen like me. But you can’t do it. It ain’t in you.” (“Oh, dry up!”) “Boys, where’s your manners? Don’t you know no more’n to interrupt me in my speech? Me and Mr. O’Connor have brought you out here to make men of you. We want you to grow up ‘spectable. Blackin’ boots won’t make men of you.” (“You’re only a bootblack yourself!”) “I only blacked boots for amoosement, boys. I’d have you know I used to leave my Fifth Avenoo manshun in disguise, and pass the day round Printin’ House Square, blackin’ boots, ’cause my doctor told me I must have exercise, or I’d die eatin’ too much rich food.” (“Rich hash, you mean!”) “No,{72} I don’t. I never allow my cook to put hash on the table, ’cause you can’t tell what it’s made of, no more’n sassidges. There’s lots of dogs and cats disappear in New York, and it’s pop’larly supposed that they commits suicide; but the eatin’-house keepers know what ’comes of ’em.” (“You bet! That’s so, Corny!”)

“Now I want you boys to leave off bummin’, and try to be ’spectable members of s’ciety. I don’t want yer to spend yer money for cigars, an’ chew cheap tobaccer, just as ef you was men. Once’t I saw a four-year-old bummer sittin’ on a doorstep, smokin’ a cigar that was half as big as he was. All at once’t his rags took fire, and he went up in a balloon.” (“Hi! hi!”)

“I tell you, boys, the West is the place for you. Who knows but what you’ll git to be Congressmen, or even President?” (“Hear the boy talk!”) “I didn’t mean you, Jim Malone, so you needn’t say nothin’. They don’t make Congressmen out’n sich crooked sticks as you be. Maybe you’ll keep a corner grocery some time, or a whiskey shop, an’ lay on the floor drunk half the time.” (“Pitch into him, Corny!”) “But that ain’t what I was a goin’ to say. You’ll be great men, ef you don’t miss of it; and if you’re good and honest and industrious like I am,” (“Dry up! Simmer down!”), “you’ll come to live in fine houses, and have lots of servants to wait on you, and black yer boots, instead of blackin’ ’em yourself.” (“I’ll take you for my bootblack, Corny,”{73} interrupted Julius.) “No, you won’t. I expect to be governor before that time, and maybe you’ll be swallered by the bear that scared you so this afternoon.” (Laughter from the boys.) “But I’ve most got through.” (“Oh, drive ahead, Corny!”) “If you want to be great men all you’ve got to do is to imertate me. Me and Mr. O’Connor are goin’ to watch you, to see that you behave the way you ought to. When you’re rich you can come back to New York, and go to the Lodgin’ House and make a speech to the boys, and tell ’em you was once a poor bummer like they be, and advise ’em to go West, if they want to be somebody.

“Now, boys, I won’t say no more. I’m afeared you won’t remember what I’ve said already. I won’t charge you nothin’ for my advice.”

Corny descended from the platform amid the laughter and applause of his comrades.

Mr. O’Connor said: “Boys, Corny’s advice is very good, and I advise you to follow it, especially as to avoiding cigars and tobacco, which can only do boys harm. I am not sure that any of you stand a chance of becoming a Congressman or President, as he suggests, but there is one thing pretty certain—you can, if you are honest, industrious, and improve your opportunities at the schools which you will have a chance to attend, obtain a respectable position in society. Some of the boys who in former years have gone to the West have become prosperous,{74} having farms or shops of their own. I don’t see why you can’t be just as successful as they. I hope you will be, and if, some years hence, you come to New York, I hope you will visit the Lodging House. If I am still there, I shall be glad to see you, and have you speak to the boys, and encourage them, by the sight of your prosperity, to work as you have done. Now I would suggest that you sing one or two of the songs we used to sing on Sunday evenings at the Lodging House. After that you may go out for an hour, but you must keep near this hall, as the evening is coming on.”{75}