BY A. LAD. Y
WM. J. REYNOLDS
_ __ _____ __ ____ 1 __
> BKOTTPWI ARD PREInW .
_ __ ____ __
THERE is a cheerful sound of yolng
voices in the streets of Boston, fiit.is the
hour for morning school. The somwer
vacation has closed, and it is a miI, bight
day in the early autumn. In a z~dtim
street, which leads to a very bey and
crowded one, there stands a large brick
school house, and the tramping of lively
footsteps tells that hundreds of boys are
hastening to their accustomed tasks. As
they turn the corner of the street, several
boys, large and small, linger at the shop
ANDREW AND HIS PLAYMATE.
window, where are displayed to view a
large collection of toys. A strange, mon-
key-looking image, making shoes, occupies
one side of the window, a large flaxen
headed doll in a pink silk dress sits opposite,
while between the two, the greatest curi-
osity of the whole, is a perfect little model
of the State House ; piazza, dome, and
cupola, all are there.
"See those little steps," cries one boy,
"do they not look like stone steps ? "
"Only look," cried another, at those
green banks in the yard!"
These and sundry other expressions of
delight fell from the lips of the boys, as
they gazed upon the beautiful array ren-
dered more attractive by newness. The
milliner that formerly kept there had just.
moved. The boys lingered on their way
that morning for a few minutes; then
hastened on. It was school time, and
they did not choose to run the risk of be-
ing late. Flocks of boys came from all
directions to that corner, company after
ANDRBW AND HIS PLAYMATE. 7
company arrived, but in the midst of gaz-
ing curiosity, it was evident that they had
learned the manly lesson of being punctual,
prompt, always on hand to meet engage-
All hastened on, save Andrew Jameson,
a small boy who had stood at the outside
of the group. "You will be late, Drew,"
said a pleasant-looking boy, with mild dark
eyes. This was George Marshall, who
lived in the brick house that made the op-
posite corner. Come along," said he, at
the same time giving a gentle pull at the
sleeve of Andrew's blue gingham jacket.
But Andrew took no notice, but remained
lounging at the window. Meantime the
other boy skipped rapidly along the side-
walk, and arrived at the school house door
just as the clock struck. The next minute
he found himself ascending the broad stair-
case, making one of a stream of boys, who,
under the guidance of two lads, larger than
most of the others, are making their weU
to the school room. The teachers are W
AMADrIM AND) aS PAI~YMATA.
ready in their desks. Five minutes more
are amply sufficient to bring all into place
and order, and the door is locked.
Where was Andrew ? With him the
expression I don't care," was a very com-
mon one; in fact it came so often, and was
applied on so many occasions, that some of
the more rude of the boys nicknamed him,
and when he made his appearance, would
cry out, "Jhere comes 'don't care' How-
ever rudely given, the name applied to
him only too welL
That morning, as George Marshall skip-
ped so gaily along the sidewalk, and took
his seat seasonay with the other boys, why
was not Andrew by his side ? Not because
he did not know that he ought to be in
school, but because he did not care. He
heard the foendly summons of George, he
heard the loud strikig of the clock from
the spire hard by. Had l vaai rPard either,
stbl he would not have bem.ignorant, had
he been desirous of being punctual. When
at last he did start from his lounge and go
ANIDRW AND HIS PLAYMATE. 9
to the school, it was only to find the door
shut, as we have already said, and himself
What shall Andrew do next? He lin-
gered at the door, and thought for a mo.
ment, while two or three others, like himself
made their appearance.
"I will go home," said he, talking to
himself, and ask my mother for a note. that
I may be excused."
But did he not, just at this moment,
hear the voice of a little monitor within,
telling him that he ought not to do this I
Yes, he did: and he remembered too,
that he had observed his mother to be
busily engaged that morning; he knew
that she disliked to be interrupted when
busy, though she generally yielded to his
repeated requests. He4cnew that he ought
certainly to take the consequence of leing
late (in that school it was a particularly un
popular thing to be tardy; the boys though
it a disgrace to fail in punctuality;) Ut
Andrew, indifferent boy as .e seet e i
ANDREW AND HIS PLAYMATE.
to have never been in a more careless
mood than on that morning. So he strolled
At the door he met the rosy, good-na-
tured face of cousin Martha, who assisted
Why Andrew," said she, "what has
sent you home ?"
I was late," said he, and want mother
to write me a note."
But she has gone down to the old widow
Woodman's, who is just dying; she will
not return this hour; so you had better go
directly back to school."
No, I will not," said Andrew, displeased
with himself, and consequently with his
cousin. I tell you I will not go;" so
throwing down his straw hat and green
satchel, with some violence, into the corner
of the room, he seated himself rather sul-
lenly, without speaking for some time.
Andrew looks and feels unhappy he saun-
ters into the yard swings on the gate-
then lies down on the sunny door-step -
ANDREW AND HIS PLAYMATE. 11
he is ill at ease -he knows he has been
His mother returned in the middle of the
forenoon. She was much displeased par-
ticularly as it so happened that she was
quite certain her careless son had started
for school in season. She did not, however,
insist upon his going then, it was so late.
Andrew expected her displeasure as a mat-
ter of course; but was pretty sure that she
would not insist upon his going then to
school. True, his memory recalled what
his mother appeared to have forgotten,-
a certain promise made under similar cir-
cumstances, that he should certainly be
sent back. But he had learned the pre.
cious lesson that his mother's power of re-
membrance might sometimes fail, her re-
solves be sometimes broken. So that fore-
noon Andrew stayed at home.
Afternoon came; again the boys were
seen going to school, again they stopped at
the toy shop, again Andrew came verScear
being late. He but just.escaped, and lik
12 qANDRIW AND HIS PLAYMATE.
his seat with the others. Mr. Norton, the
teacher, glanced his eye over the quiet
room, observed if all was in order,
then commenced the business of the after-
The boys may write," said the teacher.
Then immediately began the distribution
of writing materials. They were handed
around by George Marshall, Andrew's
friend of the morning. With a light step
he glided from desk to desk, and with a
quick but gentle movement, placed before
each boy a writing book. A few minutes
more, and at a signal from the desk,
the whole were engaged in writing. The
teacher walked up and down the aisle, be-
tween the desks; sometimes he saw a boy
who did not hold his pen aright; then he
would take hold of his hand, and give it
the proper position. Again, he would sit
down in some boy's scat, and show him by
zeample how to sit, how to move his hand,
aad how to place his book. Each one felt
that he was obseied, and his progress was
ANDREW AND HIS PLAYMATE. 18
noted, and therefore almost the whole took
pains that the teacher should find a con-
But presently he comes to a boy, who,
idle amid the general industry, is sucking
Well, Andrew Jameson," for it is no
other, why do you not write ?"
"Ha'nt got no pen," said Andrew; for
his habit of universal carelessness, his
"don't care spirit affected everything that he
did, and also many things that he said, and
not only caused him to forget his pen, but
also his propriety of speech.
"Where is your pen ?"
"And why leave it there ?"
UI forgot it," said Andrew, hanging la
head at the recollection of the very =y
times he had offered the same excuse. To
do him justice, he did feel a little MMbta
Mr. Norton took up Andrew' wisrg
book, turned back one leaf from the W
last written;- an ugly bkta deformed ft
14 ANDREW AND HIS PLAYMATE.
This might have been accidental, but on
the opposite page was another blot corres-
ponding exactly to the first. Here again
appeared Andrew's spirit of carelessness;
for having made one blot, he had thought-
lessly closed the book and made another.
Turning back a leaf or two or more,
there were seen near the bottom of the
right hand page, some irregular, black-
looking letters; the marks were extremely
heavy and large. The teacher said nothing,
but Andrew would fain excuse himself.
" My pen was bad," he began.
Mr. Norton pointed to the opposite page,
where the corresponding imperfect forms
of the letters were plainly seen.
"Did the bad pen make these too?"
Andrew did not reply, and the boys
who sat near looked at each other and
The teacher passed on. At a signal
from the desk -every boy stopped writing,
wiped his pen and laid it away. The same
ANDREW AND HIS PLAYMATE.
civil, bright-looking boy who distributed
the books, now gathered them again, and
all were in place, awaiting for the next
summons from the teacher.
A class is called upon to read-- An-
drew's class : they begin one after
Another reads presently it is Andrew's
turn---he has lost his place, he has been
leaning listlessly over his deck, apparently
attending, but his book- ah he has but
Just perceived that it is upside down. He
shuffles the leaves, peeps over the shoulder.
of his next neighbor to see where the
place is; the boy by his side roguishly
covers the top of the page of his own book
with his hand.
The head boy may name the page," said
the teacher. In a clear, distinct voice
George Marshall named the page. Andrew
turns to it with some hesitation and begins
to read. He comes to a word a little harder
than the iest, stammers--, then succeeds in
giving a tolerable pronunciation. But di-
rectly he comes to another; he hesitates
_ ___ ____ _
"ANDREW AND HIS PLAYMATE.
again at last stops tries again pro-
nounces it so oddly that the boys laugh.
"You may spell it," said the teacher, and
Andrew began to spell. So by stopping
and stumbling and spelling, he made out to
read a paragraph. When the lessons were
to be recited his failures were still worse.
The Geography class are up. Several
questions have been asked and answered.
"FEor what," said the teacher, addressing
himself to Andrew, is the pass of Ther-
mopylae celebrated ? Now Andrew knows
nothing of the lesson, he has not cared
enough about it even to look at it. But
a boy who sits behind him whispers, for
the stand made by Leonidas with three
hundred Greeks against the Persian army."
Andrew's prompter, however, did not wish
to be discovered, so he whispered very
softly, and Andrew only caught the word
"stand," and that imperfectly. Believing,
that he hadr though in this mean way,
come into possession of the answer, he
aoke up boldly, "for sand.
ANDREW AND HIS PL AYM~AT.
Fon BAWD I" said Mr. Norton, in a
tone very low, yet so distinct that every
boy heard it, at the same time fixing his
clear, penetrating eye upon Andrew.
"Yes, sir," said the other; but dimly
perceiving the somewhat peculiar manner
of the teacher, and hearing the unrepressed
merriment of the boys, he added, in a tone
quickened into defiance, "C told
"You depend, then," said the teacher,
with a look of deep displeasure, "upon
your neighbors for your lessons. You may
And yet nothing would have displeased
Andrew more than to have been called
mean or ungenerous. But then he every
day allowed this spirit of carelessness so to
take possession of him, as to lead him to
the performance of very unbecoming dedh.
It savored something of meanness, surely,
to lend his ear to the whiperings of a
prompter, but haviag availed himself of
AI DMsW AEX HIS PLA2JYMATE.
the service, to expose the one who had
aided him, showed more of selfishness than
of that generous frankness which always
looks, and speaks, and beams in the bear-
ing and deportment of a noble-hearted boy.
But had these suggestions been made to
Andrew, he probably would have replied,
"I did'nt think." His indifferent spirit
seemed to affect every thing connected
with him, otherwise he had many good
qualities. His mother had taken great
pains to instruct him. Whether she had
been equally as persevering in requiring
him. to do the right as she had been solici-
tons that he should know it, might admit of
Few boys had listened to more moral
instruction than Andrew. Clothed in the
gentle accents of maternal love, it is true,
bat possibly wanting in that higher and
mor noble exercise which can resolutely
deny itself t*e pleasure of granting indul-
gencewhen fidulgence would be eviL and
cmm'L enforce that principle of obedience,
ANDREW AND HIS PLAYMATE. 19
which lies at the foundation of all virtue.
At school, also, Andrew had received much
attention; but here, perhaps, more than
any where else, his great failing became
visible, in the constant, petty interruptions
which he made to standing regulations.
Careless of every thing else, he was not
likely to be over careful to preserve order.
Few more difficult things are boys ever re-
quired to do, than uniformly to preserve
that quiet and gentle manner which, when
a large number are assembled together, is
necessary for the good of the whole; alike
for their comfort and improvement. I
can never study in school, there is always
such a noise," says one. "I learn all my
lessons at home," says another, because
I can never understand what I study fI a
noise." Such and similar complaints me
constantly made by the pupils of imper-
fectly regulated schools, where confusion
and discord are suffered to appear. Not
so, however, at Mr. Norton's. That was
a remarkably quiet school, owig B Si
20 ANDREW AND HIS PLAYMATE.
unceasing care of its head. It seemed to
the boys, more especially that part of them
who required to be watched, having no
constant and restraining love for doing
right, that his eye was everywhere in the
room. Each felt that all were continually
One day the keen eye of the master
rested upon one of his pupils, whose habit
of thoughtless transgression seemed in-
curable. He watched for some time his
scholar, who seemed to have forgotten en-
tirely that he was in school. At last their
"Andrew," said Mr. Norton, "that dis-
turbance to which I have been listening
came from you."
The careless Andrew did not know the
length of time for which he had been ob-
served, and replied boldly, "No, sir."
"Yes," said the other; "you have been
talking for several minutes, and just now
whistled through that broken pen-case
which you hold in your hand."
ANDREW AND HIS PLAYMATE.
"But, Andrew," said Mr. Norton calmly,
"I didn't; you may leave it to him,"
turning to the next boy.
This was spoken by Andrew in that fierce
and hurried tone which is natural to the
accused person who would fain clear him-
self, even by an untruth.
"I have no wish," replied the teacher, in
a manner more deliberate than usual even,
" to leave it to any one; my own eyes saw
you." Then, after a slight pause, he added,
"You have sacrificed- first, order; then
truth. You may take your books and go
to your home for the remainder of the day.
I shall send a messenger in a few minutes
to inform your mother why you are sent
"I can tell her myself," said Andrew;
and here it was difficult to say whether his
manner was that of utter carelessness or of
Mr. Norton was much displeased with
ANDRE W AND HIS PLAYMATE.
Andrew, and replied, "I shall send a mes-
senger to your mother; I have had proof
enough to-day that you do not care even to
speak the truth."
Andrew had but just reached his home,
having loitered a few minutes on his way,
and was still lingering on the threshold,
when George Marshall made his appear-
What did you come for ? said Andrew;
did Norton send you ?" He did not care
enough for what was proper, to say Mrr.
"Now don't you go to my mother, will
yon, Georgy Z. that's a good fellow."
George said nothing, but took from his
vest pocket a note, which he held up.
Andrew perceived that it was addressed to
"Now, now, Georgy, just let me have
tbat," said Andrew.
George makes no reply, but perceiving
dhat Andrew has no immediate inten-ion
ANDREW AND HIS PLAYMATE. 8
of going into the house, with a decisive
motion he pulls the door-bell, and the door
is opened almost instantaneously by An-
f" Mr. Norton sends you this note, ma'am,"
said George. She cast her eye upon An-
drew, then upon the note, which she read.
"How I am mortified," said she, ad-
dressing Andrew, "at your carelessness I
You cannot he allowed to stay in school
with other boys; go directly to your
Andrew hesitates and lingers; but this
time his mother was decided. "-You never,"
said she, "do anything as soon as you are
told." Andrew's mother was, as she had
said, greatly mortified, and her feelings
by that means, somewhat aroused; but her
remark was strictly just. Andrew was
greatly in the habit of never doing iamtne
diately the thing he was told. So fixed
indeed had the habit become that it seemed
a part of his nature. Immediately upon
the delivery of the note, and upon reception
ALNDREW AND HIS PLAYMATE.
of the assurance from Mrs. Jameson that
Andrew should not be allowed to go out
that day, George Marshall took his leave,
and in fact was half way back to the
school before the other had concluded to do
as he was bidden. But his mother at last
obliged him to go, assuring him that he
should not leave his room for the remainder
of the day.
Andrew had leisure that afternoon to
think on his ways, and glad should we be
to record that he made a good use of it.
But if he had rightly improved those hours
of seclusion, he would not have been seen
the next day lolling on his seat, playing
with a string with a button tied to the end
of it. There! a monitor is coming to re-
quire him to give it up. Next he goes to
play with bits of paper, his book lying
beside him, open to be sure, but never
looked at. You must give up those pa-
pers," says the monitor, (with a little pride
of authority,) "it is against the rule of the
school to play with them."
ANDREW AND HIS PLAYMATE.
Andrew submits; but presently, with-
out appearing to know what he is about,
he goes to play with his fingers. Very
soon he will be called to recite; but that
abundant leisure which he was compelled
to have the afternoon before has done him
His lesson is neglected, and--but we
will not follow him through his recitations;
we will not listen to his stammerings, his
hesitation, his failures, but will hasten on
to other events.
The house in which Andrew lived was
an old-fashioned one, with a fine Targe
yard by the side of it; few houses in. theo
crowded city had so much play geada
At the upper end of the yard saood a
small unpainted house, with a gable roof-;
a narrow walk made of planks leading
up directly along the side of the yard
opposite the larger house, to the door of
the smaller building. In this house no
one lived; it had been empty some time.
That afternoon which Andrew spent in his
ANDREW AND HIS PLAYMATE.
chamber, he saw a boy, somewhat larger
than himself, not much taller, but stouter
and thicker, and apparently considerably
older, walk up the planks, try the door,
and, not succeeding in opening it, go
around the small house, peeping in the
lower windows, and trying by every means
to get a knowledge of the premises. Not
succeeding in entering the house, he went
away. Presently, however, he returned,
and with him a middle-aged lady of pale
and worn aspect, dressed in showy, but
rather faded garments. She gave the boy
a key, and he readily opening the front
door, both went in.
Presently there came up the yard a girl
about Andrew's size. Her nice calico
dress was much tumbled and soiled; her
hair, partially curled, escaping from be.
neath her straw bonnet, hung in rather a
disorderly manner about her neck. In
one hand she carried a hoop, and a stick
to drive it, and in the other she had an
orange, which she was eating. Finding
ANDREW AND BIS PLAYMATE. 27
the door unfastened, she entered the house,
the whole party having been closely
watched by Andrew.
After a few minutes, however, they came
out, and when he had seen them lock the
door and go away, he thought not much
more about it.
The next day, however, on returning
from school, he saw a furniture wagon
partly unloaded; a portion of its contents
was already carried into the small house,
and a table and some chairs were standing
just within the gate. The girl that An-
drew had seen the day before, was also
standing at the gate, looking on, while the
stout boy was in the act of receiving two
chairs from the man who handed them
to him from the wagon. Displeased at
the man for something, just aa Andrew
came up, the other uttered a dreadful oath.
Eive .sh heedless Andrew started with
serptzbse shocked at what he heard, We
here at. will be remembered, already said.
that-feWr boya were better informed tha~
.- ^-- -- --- i- i- n. J
28 ANDREW AND HIS PLAYMATE.
he, as to what should be, though few were
more reckless in the matter of putting in
practice the instructions received.
Who are these ? said Andrew to a
schoolmate who was with him.
Why, don't you know him ? that's Nick
Saunders; that's a good one! I thought
everybody with two eyes knew him. He
stole a lobster, the other day, from Mr. D's
new provision store; he ran around the
corner of the street, and was just breaking
off the claws, when the owner found him
and made him give it up.
"And that girl," said Andrew, "who is
"What, her with the torn frock and tum-
bled hair ? that is his sister Annette. Did
you never see her I Why, she plays with
all the boys about.
"The other day she went down by
the lumber yard, where we boys were
tilting. She sat on one end of the board,
and Tom Stewart on the other. They
had first-rate tilts, but just as Annette
ANDREW ANSD HIS PLAYMATE.
was away up, WHACK went the board,
right in the middle, and Annette came
down to the ground quicker than a wink.
We thought she was killed, and were
frightened enough; but she jumped up,
picked up her bonnet, which had fallen off,
and ran home.
Andrew laughed, a good deal interested
in the account of his new neighbors.
"The other night," continued his com-
panion, "when her mother sang at the
theatre, she got in there, and stole a gold
pencil. I saw her one day with two gold
rings, but she would not tell any one where
she got them. There! she has them on
her fingers now."
When Andrew went into the house, he
told his mother all that he had heard of
Annette and her brother.
"I have heard him swear myself," said
Andrew's mother, "and think that you had
better not get acquainted with him."
"But how can I help it, mother, if he
lives in the same yard ?"
a0NDRW A22MD HIS P.LAXTMATPE.
"You cannot help it entirely," said his
mother, "but you had better not be inti-
mate with him." But a boy who is indif-
ferent to his lesson, and "don't care" to
improve his time or to please his teacher,
is not likely to be very careful to obey his
mother. It was not long before he became
acquainted with Nick. That very afternoon,
when Andrew, having returned from school,
was sent by his mother to the grocer's, the
two boys met.
"What do they all come to?" said An-
drew's new neighbor, as he took from the
counter a loaf of bread, and a couple of
small parcels in brown paper.
"Well, call it fifty on your book, and let
me have a couple of these cakes," said
Nick, pointing to a large glass case, which
occpied the end of the counter, next to
the street, and was filled with a variety of
pies and baker's cakes.
OWd Mr. Rand, the grocer, loved to
oblige his young customers, but this re-
ANDREMW AND HIS PLrAYMATE.
quest did not look quite right, and his
earnest look when he replied to Nick, "I
cannot do that," prevented that unprinci-
pled boy from repeating his request. So,
taking up the articles which he had bought,
he proceeded home. Andrew overtook
him just as he arrived at the gate. This
was the beginning of their acquaintance.
Curiosity to know something of the strange
boy led Andrew to forget entirely what his
mother had said, and, not to conceal any-
thing, we are obliged to add, that he had
hastened after Nick, and sought opportu-
nity to communicate with him. Indeed,
situated as Andrew was, it would have
required some pains not to have associated
with his new neighbor, and an indifferent
boy does not love to take pains. Nick
loved mischief, and he loved to lead others
into it also. A fitter subject then he could
not have found, than this same careless
Andrew. Many were the hours Andrew
Spent with his new friend, as heedless of
his mother as if ske had not been alive.
_ ____ ___
ANDKREW A.LD HIS PLAYMATE.
Did he know whose command he broke
Did he know who has said "Honor thy
father and thy mother ? Most assuredly
he did know, but he did not think. Had he
thought, he would have been afraid thus to
dishonor his parents; for does not the
disobedient child ever do this *
"But evil is wrought by want of
thought." And let the boy who does not
think, or who, in other words, does not care
to obey his father and mother, and thus
honor them, know that he has taken one
step in that downward and sliding path,
whose end no man knoweth, the path of
One Saturday afternoon, when Andrew
returned from school, he found his father
and mother preparing to leave home. He
saw his father's valise in the entry, and
started back, as, on entering the parlor, he
saw his mother dressed in black.
Andrew," said she as he entered, "Ic
have heard that your grandmother is
ADrBBWW AIND BIS PLAYMATE.
Andrew stopped short in what he was
going to say, for he dearly loved his grand-
mother. Presently he asked.: "Are you
going away, mother "
The funeral will take place to-morrow,"
said she, "and we are going to take the
cars to -.2
"May I go with you, mother ?" said
"No, my child, I have no time to get you
ready to go; we must hasten immediately,
but I think I can trust you at home with
your cousin Martha, who is to take care
of things til we return, which will be on
Monday, I think. Be careWfl to keep out
of tha Milick as much ma- ou can, for
I ajij that on-dra be will get
Ao..-own to the arsP said
K 34iK i bi &;iwhB f'h an4
you ma ~ri it.is not too
heavy o I to make
ASnI REZW A"D lza PXL&ZAAlZl .
before I leave town" added he, tearing to
Mrs. Jameson, "and will meet you at the
Well pleased to be employed, Andrew
trudged off with the valise in his hand,
and on their way to the cars his mother
again enjoined him to take good care of
himself till her return. Mrs. Jameson was
no sooner seated in the cars than she
was joined by Andrew's father. In a few
minutes they started, and, as Andrew saw
the train gliding swiftly away over the
long bridge, he looked wistfully after it till
it was quite out of sight, and then, with a
sedate and thoughtful aspect, he turned
home. He was alone; -he rememered
the happy hours which he had Mllt at
the abode of his grandmothe, ~ aged
form, and gentle, though Vme-woma coun-
tenance, so familiar to his sight -M ho,
more than any other early iDng, ad
inspired him with love anal tion. Be
remembered that shae ma dT~ hSick,
thronging images c his boyish
JWA RWW AND HIS IX8LAYMATE.
thoughts, sweet remembrances of that
cottage home by the ocean aide, the tall
well-sweep, the neat little garden patch he
had helped to weed, summer-day sports,
when he had bathed in the white, dashing
surf, and gathered the rounded, and, as
he thought, beautiful pebbles, from the
smooth, lonely beach. Such sports .do
not boys always love? -perfect liberty to
roam the whole day under the open sky,
and, regardless of danger, to climb the
towering cliff, and venture out on some
old sad sea-girt rock. These enjoyments
had often, at intervals, been Andrew's,
and wow they passed in sudden review
bofeo his mind. Nor were his thoughts
w of the scene of his country sports.
Ba efe d memory recalled many and
am*a memorial of kindness. and love.
They eae, mingled with that so often
heard, mld. and tremulous voice that had
spoken to W of the wicked ways of
wicked meanM. assured him that, The
fear of the Laxd is the beginning of wis,
I I -
8 ANDREW AND HIS PLATYMATE.
dom." Again he seemed to hear those
gentle and loving tones; again he seemed
to be sitting on the low stool by her side,
where he had so often sat-but no; he is
not there-she is dead. He thought upon
these things, and the careless, thoughtless
Andrew leaned his head upon his hand
From choice he stayed in the house
that afternoon and studied his Sabbath
School lesson for the next day. His excited
feelings had subsided into a quiet mood,
and he enjoyed himself and his employ-
ment, though when summoned by Martha
to the evening meal, he remembered that
he had not seen any of the boys that ftr-
noon. Perhaps if he had seen Rn
the yard, his call to play would hUnv
irresistible. As it was, Andrew 'l-'-o
temptation that day to join his ill-mannered
The next morning, the pleasant light of
a Sabbath sun shone into Andrew's apart-
ment, and greeted him with cheerful rays
.ABDRW AND HIS PLAYMATE.
upon his awakening. The first impression
which the death of his aged relative had
made upon his mind had faded; his care-
less, indifferent spirit was beginning to
take possession of him.
Breakfast being over, he repaired to his
chamber. He leaned listlessly out of the
window; presently lie saw Nick go past.
Halloo come down, and let's have
some fun; 'tis a first-rate morning."
"I cannot,' said Andrew.
"And why not? ." said the other.
"I am going to the Sabbath School;"
and as Andrew said this, he felt that he
really did prefer to go to the school to
going with Nick. He knew that a Sab-
bath spent with a wicked, profane boy,
cotiL s t be a well-spent day. Now a
certatb quaint, little verse, which we will
insert here, had been given to Andrew's
class only the Sabbath before, and they had
all learned it and recited it with much
pleasure. Something of the sentiment, if
not the words. and the rhyme, was, we
_- mu __=. a _
nANDRW D HIS PLAYMATE.
are inclined to think, in his mind at the
moment when he replied so decidedly to
Nick. It acted perhaps as a little moni-
tor, saying softly, "don't go." But the
verse-yes, we remember that we have
promised it. Here it is:
A abbath well spent,
Brings a week of content,
And strength for the toils of the morrow;
While a Sabbath profaned,
Whatever else may be gained,
Is sure to bring trouble and sorrow."'
Evidently Andrew was not ignorant, at
least he was not untaught, with regard to
the sacredness of that blessed day whose
weekly return reminds us of that eson
when the Creator of the heavens and the
earth is said to have rested. Doubtless,
as He could not be weary, it was in calm
and blessed contemplation of the works
which his hand had made, and which, from
the depths of his wisdom, he had pro-
AnLDEW ANLr asIB PArLMTXAT.
That he should profane that sacred day
was by no means Andrew's intention; and,
as he spoke to Nick and declined going, he
felt no desire whatever to go.
But the other lingered near the window.
Thrusting his hand into his pocket, he
held out a handful of cents, and Andrew
saw, mingled with the dark coin, some
little white shells, spotted with red sealing-
"I won all this money yesterday after-
noon," said Nick. "There was a lot of us
together, but no other boy was so lucky as I.
We got a bottle of beer at the old man's
stall at the head of the wharf; we had a
e r.aspiece. O, it was such fun!"
Andrew did not turn away-he listened
tol.c ; not that he had ever engaged in
sizair amusements, for, with all his care-
lessnes, he had not disobeyed his mother's
injunction, never to receive a single cent won
in games. We wish we could say as much
of his obedience to her parting wish that he
should avoid Nick.
ANIDREW AND HIS PLAYMATE.
But he lingers still at the window-a
few minutes more and he is in the yard.
Ah if he had only known, when first he
indulged in the habit of indifference, how
that spirit would enter into him, how it
would lessen his strength to do what was
good, and take down the barriers that would
keep him from evil, he would never have
allowed himself to be called the careless
There! now he is at the gate with his
companion-now he is in the street-he
lingers an instant outside of the gate -he
feels that he ought not to go. He has lest
that first, purest, happiest feeling, thaS he
preferred the good, but he knows egAi
wrong in going with Nick. He reme1rs
his mother's parting words--he Hagers
yet a moment-he dares not spedl his
thoughts. Nick has such a provoking way
of making fun of people. Andrew is afraid
of his sneer.
When they arrived at*tre end of the
street, they crossed over, and Andrew, hap
ANwDREW ALND HIS PLTHATE. 41
opening to look back tl.LLLt from
whence they started, sees I n Mar-
tha at the open gate gazing after him.
Too distant to call, he sees her beckon.
But he has put his better feelings away,
and, notwithstanding Martha's evident
anxiety, he continues his stroll. They
turn down towards a wharf, and, in the
warm, yellow sunshine of an autumn day,
they lounge away the time. Andrew hears
the bell for the school, then the bell that
summons the people to worship God* in the
numerous temples scattered over the city,
yet still he lingers, listlessly following af-
ter Nick. One would be puzzled to know
wit great enjoyment he finds in following
a rmde, surly boy of coarse jests and swear-
4e can hardly tell himself wherein he
finds pleasure. In fact, he does wish him-
self at church, particularly when he hears
the bell. Yet still he follows Nick.
Presently they are joined by two more
boys, who wr Nick's companions the
m k u ,
ANDREW AN1D HIS PLAYMATE.
afternoon before. He pulls out of his
pocket his ill-gotten gain, invites the boys
to play, carefully picks the tiny white
shells from among the coin, shakes them
in his hand, gives them a throw on the
ground before him; the game has began.
Andrew sits and looks on. He was
uneasy before, now he is unhappy-he
knows they are gambling. An hour
passes. Nick, triumphant, has doubled his
handful of cents, and refuses to play any
Near the spot where the boys stand is a
large pile of boards, as high as a pretty
large house; the side next to them is
perpendicular, but on the other side l* is
sloping, so that one may go up as if
ascending a very steep, irregular fight of
"How sober you are," said Nick to
Andrew; "ready to cry because your
grandmother is dead. Why, what is
there so strange, that old women should
A RIEW AND H IS PLAYMATE. 43
Shocked and disgusted, Andrew turned
He did feel strangely inclined to go by
himself, and, as Nick had so unfeelingly
expressed it, he did feel "ready to cry."
He turned away, half disposed to leave his
companions, and go home, even then. Ah I
would that he had listened to that inward
voice, which, like a present protecting
angel, had, at every pause, during the
whole of that misspent morning, suggested
thoughts of better things.
And why had he yielded ? Surely it
was not to the pressure of any very pow-
erful.. temptation. Nothing so extremely
inviting had been proposed by Nick to
lure him away. He had followed on, from
his owa habit of indifference, not caring
to take the trouble of looking at his ac-
tions It seems a small thing, but as the
apparently harmless egg of the viper con-
ceals a vile and poisonous reptile, so did
this one habit of Andrew's prove the
fruitful source of sin and sorrow. Andrew I
ANIDREW AND IIS PLAYMATE.
Andrew I pause, and reflect. Duty, father,
mother, venerable and sainted grand-parent,
all forgotten At a single call from Nick,
he followed him, accompanied by the two
"Let's go up to the top of the boards,"
cries one; and they begin to ascend. But
they had not gone more than two or three
steps, before Nick cried, Hush! hush!
there's old ," naming an exceedingly
faithful servant of the public, who wore
upon the front of his hat the formidable
word, POLICE. He was, as was his duty,
patrolling the streets during service-time
on the Sabbath, for the very purpose of
breaking up precisely such parties as Nick
was Jeading now. "Here, quickly before
he sees us-come down on this lowest
step! Let's all sit down that he may not
see us! -no, no, that will not do -le will
come this way -we musftgo round to the
other side, softly,-don't speak,-bend
down when you walk, or he will see the
top of your head !"
ALDR.EW AND HIS PLAYMATE.
All this was arranged by Nick, who
expected every moment to hear the word
of command from the officer, "Go HOME,
BOYS !" a word which he knew must be
obeyed. They succeeded, however, that
time, in keeping out of sight behind the
pile of boards, until Mr. had walked
past, looked down to the epd of the wharf,
and walked back again, Nick slyly peep-
ing out, as often as he dared, to watch
the movements. When the policeman was
fairly out of sight, the boys ventured out,
and began to ascend the pile of boards.
Now they are at the top-they walk back-
wards and forwards. The clear breeze of
autiamn plays around them the softened
s~en.ams fall quietly; the bright waters,
gemmed with fair islands, are before them.
q by this array of beauty, are they
nzc"sminded of that heavenly presence,
whi& is most assuredly around them ? -
that power and goodness that had actually
hallowediand made sacred the hours of
that very dayo
46 ANDKM W AND HIS PXLAY& AT3.
Presently a trifling dispute arises be-
tween Nick and one of the stranger boys.
Andrew sides with Nick; the boy turns
from his opponent, and knocks off An-
"You don't do that again," said An*
"Fight him if he does," said Nick. Out
of mere defiance, the boy knocked it off the
Andrew, profiting by the advice of Nick,
flies at the other boy, to fight.
"Take care!" shouted the others, "you
are getting too near the edge?. The fight.
ers were so angry that they did not heed.
Andrew succeeds in throwing the aer
boy, but he is strong and grapples wth
him--they roll ever together. "Take aelt
take care !" shout the boys again; bus is
too late-they have gone together ovle
steep side of the pile of boards.
The neighboring streets were aB. o
people, for the morning serri bad just
ended; and, on seeing a ftw persona.
AM IN W. AWD HIS PLAYMArT.
hasten to the spot where the boys had fallen,
others followed, and in a few minutes a
crowd of men and boys were collected.
Andrew, who received the most injury,
was stunned, but, in a few minutes, showed
signs of life, and was carried home in the
arms of the man who. first saw the accident.
Three months after this, a boy was seen
crossing the public street that leads to
the school. He is pale and thin from
long confinement, and very lame, for both
ankles have been severely sprained. Worn
with suffering, and with a countenance
subdued by sorrow, some of the boys did
not know who he was, and others watched
fearfully lest he should be run over before
he could cross the crowded street, he went
so wry slowly with his two stiff ankles. It
a Andrew Jameson.
fht one walk to school proved too
much for him. Many months more he
was ti59 d of the use of his feet; in-fact,
from tho more severe of the sprains he
never recoveaed being always lame in one
48 ANDBRW A2ND 3IS PLArYATw.
ankle. But, during those months of con.
fnement, weariness and pain, he learned
that lesson which he might otherwise have
always neglected-he learned to think-
and when once a boy has learned this,
there is hope that he will take care of his
Possibly, in some future number of the
"Sketches," our readers may learn some-
thing more of the boys who have been
mentioned on these pages.
"I DON'T wish to stay at home,
mother, I don't," said little Charles one
afternoon, -- "I want to go out and play
with the other boys."
"NTo, Charles, you know that you
have been unwell for two or three days,
and I fear it would make you quite sick
to go out to-day."
No itwouldn't make me sick either,"
said Charles, beginning to cry in a cross
and surly manner, Mother, mayn't
I go ?"
She shook her head, and it was
__ _~ _ ___
enough, for Charles knew that after his
mother had once refused him, it would
be of no use to cry and tease her; so
he hung up his cap and sat down, wish-
ing he was a man, and then he could
go out and play with the boys when he
had a mind to.
He drew his little char near the
stove, where the cat was playing with
a basket* 0, thought he, how happy
are you, puss, for you can play just as
much as you please. As the birds flew
by the windows and meriily sang in the
trees, he looked out and wished he was
as free and happy as they seemed to be.
So he thought and wished, for as much
as half an hour, without saying a single
word. Then his mother kindly asked,
" Do you not feel too warm, sitting
there ? Had you not better sit farther
from the fire ?"
The fire was made of hard wood, in
a stove, and it was very hot.
No," said he, pouting out his lips,
without turning towards his
with his face almost as red as
for he was so warm.
Charles, my son, I see you f
angry, and it grieves me. You
play out of doors, in the damp
I think it would be imprudent
you mubt remember that little
not know what is for their good
as their mothers do. You should
fore, be willing to submit to what I say.
What do you think about it, Charles ?"
He said nothing.
"I say, Charles," repeated his moth-
er, what do you think about it ?"
52 HAPPY CHARLES.
I don't know," Cliarles finally mut-
tered, scarcely opening his mouth, or
turning his head.
"What she exclaimed with sur-
prise. "I don't know, I tell you," he
answered, in a short, quick, pettish tone,
moving his elbows backwards, and al-
most rising from his seat, for he was so
vexed he could not sit still.
Nothing affects angry children so
much as to have others speak kindly to
them. To hear his mother speak in
such a mild way, and with so much af-
fection, and then to have his conscience
stinging him all the time, and telling
him that he was feeling wrong, and act-
ing cruelly towards one that loved him
so tenderly, oh! it was more than he
could endure. His bosom heaved, and
his heart beat so loudly, that he was
HAPPY CHARLES. 58
ashamed for fear his mother would hear
it. He would have given anything not
to have seen that tender look, which
glanced from her needle upon him. It
was worse than a needle itself. He
wished he could run from himself. But
these and a thousand other wishes in
his mind gave him no relief. All the
wishes in the world could do him no
good. He had done wrong, and he
knew it, and his mother knew it, and
God knew it, and himself now felt it.
What could he do? The tear-drops
which then began to glisten in his eye,
revealed his inmost, deepest feelings.
The struggle was over.
Mother," said he in a low, penitent
voice, will you forgive me for speak-
ing so just now ? I hope I may never
speak to you in such a way again."
I cannot describe the thrill of joy
that mother felt, as she sealed her for-
giveness with such a kiss of affection as
none but mothers can give. And
Charles would not have changed the
happiness he enjoyed when he felt that
his mother was reconciled to him, for
the privilege of playing with the boys
a hundred times. He spent the after-
noon pleasantly at home; and as he
stood by the window and looked out
upon the quiet prospect, just as the sun
was setting, he felt a peace in his own
bosom which made everything look de-
lightful around him.
JOr N JONES.
JoHq JONES was a fine strong boy,
and would have been good, but his
friends were very prou4 of him; and
they gave him praise he had no right
If he ran, or rode, or sung, or gave
a jump, he would look -around to see
who was there to praise him, and would
be quite grave and sad if some one did
not cry, 0 how fine that is "
5 JOHN. JONES.
If John had grown up so, he would
have been quite a dunce.
When he was six years old, his
friends sent him to school. Here he
found that he was not so smart a boy as
he had been made to think he was.
The first day John went to school
he was told to read a page in a book
which was not hard; he went through
the task with a few faults, and was told
to sit down.
Then the boy who was next to him,
who was five years old, was bid to read
a jage in the same book in which John
had read; he made no faults, and was
told he had done well.
This did not please John, for he
thought no one should have- praise when
he had not. He did not cry, but he
put on an odd sort of a cross face,
which made the boys near him laugh.
When it was time for the boys to
write, John was glad, for he had heard
his friends say, No boy of his age
writes so well as John."
But when he had written two lines,
the man who taught the boys to write,
said he wrote so badly that he must be
put back to strokes the next day; and
so it was with most things he had to do
This made John cry and grieve, lt
it was of use to him, for it made him
know the truth; and at last he found
out that there was not a boy in the
whole school who knew less than he
But at play John would still look
round for praise, and think the boys
mo -- "I __ i
were all to cry out, How fine," to all
he did; and when no one said, How
well he runs! How well he jumps! "
John would sit down and not speak a
word for half an hour. No boy can be
long gay who must have praise to make
At last some of the boys found out
how vain John was, and they made such
a joke of him that he did know what to
If by chance he fell down, or broke
a toy, they would clap their hands and
cry out, 0 what a fine boy he is!
How well he falls No one can break
a toy as well as he "
The boys were not kind to John, for
he was rude to them all, and would
push them out of his way, and try to
get first when he had no right to do so;
JOHN JONES. 59
and he would look cross if they said a
word to him of his lad tricks. So in
truth poor John led a sad life with
John's friends found him sobackward
at this school, that they took him from
it, and at the next one he went to he
did not act so like a dunce.
He took pains to learn and grow
wise; and to please those he was to live
with ; and, at last, John felt much more
glad to have the love of all who knew
him, than to get false praise.
THE TOAD AND LAP-DOG.
THE TOAD AND LAP-DOG.
Mn. NORTON had taken a pretty'lit-
tie orphan boy to bring up as his own,
and he was very fond of him. One day
Mr. Norton went into the garden, and
found little James pumping water on a
frog, which he had put into the tub.
What are you doing, James ?" said
I am trying to drown this toad," re-
plied the little boy.
"It is not a toad, but a frog," said
THE TOAD AND LAP-DOG. 61
Mr. Norton, and you may pump your
life out, before you will drown him;
but what if it were a toad, why should
you wish to kill a harmless toad ? he
never hurt you nor anybody else. For
shame ; do not thus heedlessly take a
life you cannot give."
O yes," said James,*" toads do do
harm ; it was a toad that killed my poor
little dog Cupid, and I am determined
to have revenge, for I will kill every
toad I can find, and everything which
looks like one. 0 my poor little Cu-
pid said James, half crying, to be
killed by a great, ugly toad. I wish
there was never a toad in the world, I
hate them so."
Now the fact was, that James had
found a poor, harmless toad in the gar-
den, and having nothing else to do, he
THE TOAD AND LAP-DOG.
set Cupid on him, and made him bark
at him, and bite him, and finally, he fin-
ished the work of destruction by poking
a stick down the poor toad's mouth, and
killing him. But Cupid, from some
cause or other, soon after swelled up
and died, much to the grief and mortifi-
cation of little James, who was deter-
mined to have his revenge.
Men are but children of a larger
growth;" and these same passions in
the human heart, unless they are check-
ed by the restraints of christianity,
" grow with their growth, and strength-
en with their strength." A nation re-
ceives,.or fancies she receives, an inju-
ry from the individuals of another na-
tion, and, instead of hearkening to the
precepts of Christ, which teach us to
overcome evil with good, resorts to the
THE TOAD AND LAP-DOG.
false and worldly policy of endeavoring
to overcome evil with evil; and, when
they cannot find the same persons who,
they suppose, did them the injury, they
will wreak their vengeance on any of
the same nation, however innocent; or
on any one who looks like them, and
happens to live under the same govern-
ment, though in ever so distant a prov-
ince. How different is this from the
divine precept; See that none render
evil for evil to any man."