Title Page
 Chapter I
 Chapter II
 Chapter III
 Chapter IV
 Chapter V
 Chapter VI
 Chapter VII
 Chapter VIII
 Chapter IX
 Chapter X
 Chapter XI
 Chapter XII
 Chapter XIII
 Chapter XIV
 Chapter XV
 Chapter XVI
 Chapter XVII
 Chapter XVIII
 Chapter XIX
 Where there's a will, there's a...
 Don't be discouraged

Group Title: way to prosper, or, In union there is strength
Title: The way to prosper, or, In union there is strength
Full Citation
Permanent Link: http://ufdc.ufl.edu/UF00064651/00001
 Material Information
Title: The way to prosper, or, In union there is strength
Physical Description: Book
Language: English
Creator: Arthur, T. S.
Publisher: L.P. Crown & Co.
Place of Publication: Boston
Publication Date: 1853
Copyright Date: 18531851
 Record Information
Bibliographic ID: UF00064651
Volume ID: VID00001
Source Institution: University of Florida
Holding Location: University of Florida
Rights Management: All rights reserved by the source institution and holding location.
Resource Identifier: alg1553 - LTUF
002221331 - AlephBibNum

Table of Contents
        Page 2
    Title Page
        Page 3
        Page 4
        Page 5
        Page 6
    Chapter I
        Page 7
        Page 8
        Page 9
        Page 10
        Page 11
        Page 12
        Page 13
        Page 14
        Page 15
        Page 16
        Page 17
    Chapter II
        Page 18
        Page 19
        Page 20
        Page 21
        Page 22
        Page 23
        Page 24
        Page 25
    Chapter III
        Page 26
        Page 27
        Page 28
        Page 29
        Page 30
        Page 31
        Page 32
        Page 33
    Chapter IV
        Page 34
        Page 35
        Page 36
        Page 37
        Page 38
        Page 39
        Page 40
        Page 41
        Page 42
        Page 43
    Chapter V
        Page 44
        Page 45
        Page 46
        Page 47
        Page 48
        Page 49
        Page 50
        Page 51
        Page 52
        Page 53
        Page 54
    Chapter VI
        Page 55
        Page 56
        Page 57
        Page 58
        Page 59
        Page 60
        Page 61
        Page 62
    Chapter VII
        Page 63
        Page 64
        Page 65
        Page 66
        Page 67
        Page 68
    Chapter VIII
        Page 69
        Page 70
        Page 71
        Page 72
        Page 73
        Page 74
    Chapter IX
        Page 75
        Page 76
        Page 77
        Page 78
        Page 79
        Page 80
        Page 81
        Page 82
    Chapter X
        Page 83
        Page 84
        Page 85
        Page 86
        Page 87
        Page 88
        Page 89
    Chapter XI
        Page 90
        Page 91
        Page 92
        Page 93
        Page 94
        Page 95
        Page 96
        Page 97
        Page 98
        Page 99
        Page 100
        Page 101
        Page 102
        Page 103
        Page 104
        Page 105
        Page 106
    Chapter XII
        Page 107
        Page 108
        Page 109
        Page 110
        Page 111
        Page 112
        Page 113
    Chapter XIII
        Page 114
        Page 115
        Page 116
        Page 117
        Page 118
        Page 119
    Chapter XIV
        Page 120
        Page 121
        Page 122
        Page 123
        Page 124
        Page 125
        Page 126
        Page 127
    Chapter XV
        Page 128
        Page 129
        Page 130
        Page 131
        Page 132
        Page 133
        Page 134
    Chapter XVI
        Page 135
        Page 136
        Page 137
        Page 138
        Page 139
        Page 140
        Page 141
        Page 142
        Page 143
        Page 144
        Page 145
    Chapter XVII
        Page 146
        Page 147
        Page 148
        Page 149
        Page 150
        Page 151
        Page 152
        Page 153
        Page 154
    Chapter XVIII
        Page 155
        Page 156
        Page 157
        Page 158
        Page 159
        Page 160
        Page 161
        Page 162
        Page 163
        Page 164
        Page 165
        Page 166
        Page 167
    Chapter XIX
        Page 168
        Page 169
        Page 170
        Page 171
        Page 172
        Page 173
        Page 174
        Page 175
        Page 176
    Where there's a will, there's a way
        Page 177
        Page 178
        Page 179
        Page 180
        Page 181
        Page 182
        Page 183
        Page 184
        Page 185
        Page 186
        Page 187
        Page 188
        Page 189
        Page 190
    Don't be discouraged
        Page 191
        Page 192
        Page 193
        Page 194
        Page 195
        Page 196
        Page 197
        Page 198
        Page 199
        Page 200
        Page 201
        Page 202
        Page 203
Full Text









i. '^

Zatnm aeordat to A at o ongMr in the yer 181, by

In the Clek's Oal of the Dbtrl Court of the United Statme,
& d Jrthb eL Mt Dbtrit of PenJ ylvmk.

I -- .- - - -- =

.--- "^^,




THE purpose of the Author in writing this book,
has been to show the power of virtue, harmony, and
fraternal affection among the younger members of
a family, in securing their future well-being and
prosperity. "In Union there is Strength." Bo.
trite is this saying, that the world seems almost to
have forgotten its value, or no longer to regard is
as a practical principle. The old man, who, as the
story goes, brought to his children a bundle of sticks,
understood the meaning of this sentiment fully.
"Take, my sons," said, he, "each of you a stick and
break it." The children obeyed, and the fragile
rods were broken in their hands with scarcely an
effort. Then he gathered the sticks together into a
single compact bundle, and bade them try again;
but union had given strength to the slender branches,
and though each tried with his utmost power, yet
the bundle of sticks was scarcely bent, much less
broken. "Let it be thus with you in life, my child-



ren," said the father. Stand close together, mu-
tually sustaining each other, and you need have no
fear of those who are against you."
The tendency of what is opposite, is also shown,
by a contrast of character, in this volume; so that
while the book gives motives for fraternal union, it
pictures the sad consequences of discord in families,
and shows how selfishness, ill-nature, and disregard
of a brother's welfare, are evil seeds sown in early
life, to yield, in after years, a plentiful harvest of
disappointment, shame and misfortune.



Two bright looking boys, each in his fourteenth
year, stood talking one afternoon, a little before
sundown, at a point where two roads met. The
books under their arms showed them to be on their
way from school. They were conversing about the
future. Both were sons of farmers in moderate
circumstances; and, as they were the oldest, it came
to their turn first to leave the nest of home and go
out into the world.
"Father says," remarked one of them, whose
name was Victor Stevens, that I ought to go to
school a year longer. But I think I'm old enough
to get my own living. As for more learning, I can
gain that myself. It will be seven years before
I'm a man, and in that time I can study a good
deal and not neglect any work kmay have to do."
My father," said the other oy, named Peter
Close, "thinks I've had enough schooling. He
says that he never went to school but three months
in his life, and believes that one-half the boys now-
-days, are ruined by too much learning. When
did you say you were going to leave school '"
3b (7)


"I want to leave at the end of this quarter,
though I'm afraid father wont consent to it.'
"It will be up in three weeks."
"I know. Mother says I must go at least two
quarters more; but, I think I can get father over
to my side."
"Mother says I shan't go to Boston; for she
knows it will be the ruination of me," said Peter.
"But I mean to go there, if I have to run away.
She wants to put me to Mr. Joice, the carpenter.
But I won't be a carpenter."
"I am going to Boston when I leave school,"
remarked Victor. "Father and mother have both
agreed to that. It is only about the time of my
S leaving home that there is any difference, but this
will all come out right. They are older than I am,
and know best; and if they still think I ought to re-
main at school awhile longer, I will try to be con-
The two lads now parted. Vitor walked along
S thegfully, and more with the 'ir of a man than
a boyi He had two brothers, younger than himself,
who.were to be raised and educated. Every year
the family was becoming more expensive; and, as
the income from the little farm was small, and his
father and mother had to work very hard, he felt
that it was not right for him to burden them any
longer. He had already said so at home, but his
parents wished him still to -go to school. He was
tooyoung, in their view, to pass entirely from under
their protection, away into a great city, where
temptations were spread on every side for the feet of
the youthful and unwary. Victor thought different.

r '_~._

~;--'-ry*--c-- ~ohr":1.17T- .7-


When the boy arrived at home, it was nearly sn-a
down. A man, who was a stranger to him, parted
with his father, just before he came up, and rode
away. At supper time Mr. Stevens, who was
usually cheerful, remained silent during the meal,
and ate but little. Victor noticed this, and,.as he
had begun to observe and sympathize with his father
in his cares and burdens, the change troubled him,
and he very naturally attributed it to the visit of
the stranger.
Who was that man I met at the gate ?" inquired
the lad, as soon as he was alone with his mother
after supper.
The question caused a shade to fall over the
countenance of Mrs. Stevens. She replied to the 4
Two years ago, you remember that we lost all
our stock. A disease broke out among them, and
carried of three valuable horses, two cows and
thirty sheep."
The boy remembered the circumstance very well
In order to get stock again, yoar father had to
borrow two hundred dollars, for which he gave a
mortgage on his farm? That is, he gave the man .
from whom the money was borrowed the right to
sell the farm and pay himself if he could not obtain
his money in any other way. Up to this time the
mortgage has remained, your father not having
been able to pay off any part of it. The man yeo
saw is the one from whom the money was bor
"And does he want it paid back?" asked ViT

^ 'ifr -JE~;



"Yes, my son. It was to say this to your father
that he called. But the expense our large family
has been so great that we have no saved anything.
I don't know what we will do. Your father is very
much troubled."
Will the man sell the farm ?" asked Victor, who
felt deeply interested in what he heard, and fully
comprehended the unhappy position of his father.
"I hope not. He is not a selfish man. But he
is in want of money. Your father thought when
he borrowed it, that at least one half could be re-
turned in a year; but two years have rolled away
and not a dollar has been paid on the debt."
And every day father's expenses are growing
heavier," said Victor, in his thoughtful, serious
SYes-that is just the truth. I don't know what
we are going to do."
Mrs. Stevens spoke in a desponding voice. The
entrance of some one at the moment broke off the
conversation. It made a strong impression on the
mind of the boy. All his liveliest sympathies were
awakened for his father, whom he saw staggering
along under burdens that were almost too heavy to
Sbe borne. He lay awake for hours after going to
bed, thinking about what he had heard, and musing
over plans for the future. On the next morning,
when he came down from his room, he saw his father
i the little path that ran by the door, walking
backwards and forwards, with his hands behind him
and his eyes upon the ground. After reflecting for
some moments, the boy went out and joinedhim,
saying as he did so-


"I think, fatL you'd better let me leave school
at the end of i carter, and go to a trade, I'm
old enough now ~ n my own living, and I'd rather
do it."
Mr. Stevens continued to pace backwards Iad
forwards, Victor now walking by his side, but
without replying for some time.
"You're young, Victor," he at length said,
breathing heavily as he spoke. "Too young to go
out alone into the world. I did hope to keep you
at home a year longer and let you go to school;
The father's voice failed a little, and he checked
his utterance. In a moment he recovered his self-
control, and finished what he had meant to say.
But the family is so expensive."
"I'm plenty old enough, father," answered the
boy, in a cheerful, confident tone. "You know I'll
be fourteen next October; and it's time I was
earning my own living. I've had a good deal of
schooling-my share, I think. The others must
have their part, and if they can all get as much as
I've received, they'll do very well. In a little over
seven years, I will be free, and can earn money and
help you to take care of the other children."
Mr.Stevens was touched by the generous inde-
pendence of his boy; and, after reflecting for some
time, said:-
"It shall be as you wish, Victor. But I am
afraid you will find the trial of living away from
home a far more serious one than you imagine.
Boys who go into the city as apprentices have never
a vqe easy time of it."



"I know all that, father. must have a
trade; and if some hardship be endured in
order to get it, I will not co p. Many a boy,
much younger than I am, has to go away from
"What trade would you like to learn ?" asked
Mr. Stevens. Have you thought about that ?"
"Henry Lewis, who left home last winter, is
learning to be a printer. I talked to him when he
was up m May, and he said he liked the trade very
well. He gets his board, and thirty dollars a year
for clothes. Isn't that very good ?"
"Thirty dollars a year won't buy very nice
clothes, particularly when he gets to be eighteen
or twenty years old."
"But he'll be free, you know, at twenty-one,
and then he can earn a great deal more. He says
that the foreman in the office gets twelve dollars a
week, and that most of the journeymen earn from
nine to ten dollars."
"Very fair wages. A prudent young man could
lay up money. You think you would like to be a
printer ?"
Yes, sir. I don't think I could learn anything
better. I did think I would be a carpenter, but
Edward Jones, who is apprenticed to Mr. 'Joice,
says it is very hard work, and you're exposed a great
"I would rather have you learn the printing
business-I have an old friend in Boston, who
Carries it on; and if he does not want a boy himself,
he can direct you to some good office."
"You mean Mr. Preston "


*, '

aU wAY TTO PRadr. I8

"Yes. He's very correct man, and will do
right by you, if go into his establishment "
The question iMting school was settled from a
that hour. The wIk re of circumstances forced
from Mr. Stevens a reluctant consent to let his boy
o out from under his roof at so tender a age, and
eek his fortune alone in a large city. The mother
o longer objected. The cal for the payment of
he mortgage had made both parents feel the stern
neceity that existed for a lighter range of expense,
nd the only mode of securing this, that presented j
itself, was that proposed by Victor.
"It's all settled," said Victor, with animation,
hen he met Peter Close next morning on his way
"What's settled ?" asked Peter.
"That I'm to go to Boston and learn a trade -a
on as the quarter is up."
"And I'm going, too," said Peter. "I asked
their last night, and he said I could go. Mother
don't like it; but fathers willing, and that settles
all. You're going to be a printer ?"
"Yes. What trade will you learn ?"
"The same."
"Then suppose we go together and try and get
to one office. We'll be company for each other."
Oh I I'd like that very much," replied Peter. .
"So would I," returned Victor. "Father knows
r. Preston, who has a printing offce, and he's
ing to see if he won't take me as an apprentice."
"I wish he would ask him to take me, too. When
Syou mean to leave for the city ?"
"In about a month. Mother will make me some

r' -7


new clothes, and get all ready, so that I can start
pretty soon after this quarter is up. I feel a little
d about ng, when think of it, now that all is
settled. But tis don't matter. Other boys have
had to leave home, and I must do the same. If I
don't learn a trade, I won't be able to support myself,
and help father when I get to be a man."
"Help your father f,.what for?" asked Peter,
rather surprised at the last remark, which he did
not at all comprehend. "Your father don't want
any of your help, does he ?"
"He has to work very hard, and he will be get-
ting old by that time."
"So does my father have to work hard, but he
does not want me to help him."
"No, nor does my father. But he's worked for
me, and I'm sure I shall be very glad to work for
him when I am able."
Peter could not comprehend this. Sympathy for
his parents had never been awakened in his mind,
for the spirit of his home circle was not that of con-
cord and mutual kindness; but, rather the opposite.
Mr. Close felt the pressure of hard labor and a
scanty income, and it fretted his mind, producing
moroseness, and often ill temper. His wife did not
possess, naturally, a very amiable disposition, and
there had been little in the married life to soften
and ameliorate her character. Between the chil-
dren, there was little harmony of feeling; the
younger were exacting, and the older tyrannical
When they were together, instead of mutual kind-
ness, and good offices, it was a continued soene of
discord. In consequence of all this, there was )Mt




Ta ViAT TO rOSPe l 1

in the home of Peter that drew upon his affections,
or created a desire to remain,in it as long as posi-
ble. For his father he had but small share of
affection. Mr. Close was not a man to inspire a very
strong filial regard. He entered into no pleaa4t,
familiar intercourse with his children, and rarely
spoke to them unless it was in language of weproo=
It is not a matter of surprise that Peter felt no
sympathy for him. In fact, he knew little about '
his external circumstances, and cared less, so that
he obtained food when he was hungry and clothes
to keep him warm. He had two brothers, their
names were William and Francis.
Very different from the family of Mr. Close was
that of Mr. Stevens-different in almost everything.
The parents loved their. children with an affection
that looked to their future A well as their present
good. They were fully awari of the great import.
anee of an early right training and development of
character, and had striven from the first to prevent
discord, and produce harmony in their family circle.
Victor, the oldest, was early taught to feel an in-
terest in and to sympathize with his younger bro-
ther, in all their wants and pleasures; and they
were never permitted to encroach upon his rights.
Almost the first lesson given to these children by
their parents, was that of mutual repeat and re-
gard; and they checked instantly even the smallest
departure from its practice. In all their little em-
ployments they werze taught to help one antpher.
An emulation in kind offices was the natural result;
and a beautiful harmony was introduced into the
family ircle. This was not so easy a work to ds.

r16 TE WAY # ?bez05 .

The natural selfishness of the heart early manifests
itself among children, in a violation of each other's
rights; and less parents exercise a most judicious
control, they will grow up with certain feelings of
dislie which will turn them away from each other
when they becomee men and women. Family con-
cord is a great achievement; but will not come
Wiless parents love their children with an unselfish
affection, and guard and guide their moral develop-
ment with even a greater care than is bestowed
upon their intellectual training and culture.
Mr. Stevens had three children. Victor, the
oldest, in his fourteenth year; Hartley in bis
twelfth, and Thomas in his eighth year. These
children would play together for hours, without
jarring a discordant string; while the children
of Mr. Close could hardly pass each other without
indulging in angry words. If the latter attempted
any play, it was generally broken up in less than
five minutes, and, usually, beesue the younger one
rebelled against the oppressive and exacting tyranny
of Peter. If he was away, the next oldest took his
plae as leader and oppressor, and so the everutan g
din strife was kept up day after day an brom
month to month. Fretted by all this, the i ts
I olded and punished; but with no good f The
evil had taken too deep a root, and was gin
with the growth and strengthening with the strength
of their offspring. Instead of a bond of union,
there .was internal repulsion, citing batt the free-
dom of mature age to drive them b der in the
world, each taking his own way inT l disregard
of the other.

'LZTI,_, ~u~- _1-~. -. - --I-'' '~I ~-~------r-

Tn 'WAY 1 PrOSPrn. 17

The opposite of all this, as we he intimated,
distinguished the family of Mr. Stvens. Victor,
whose thoughts for nearly a year had been reach-
ing forward and meditating on the future, never
formed a piotare of success in his mind in whib
he made anything more than a part of the family
group. The first desire he had, was to assist his
father, and the only way he could do this in the
present, was to 0i9 him of the burden of his
support; and his ner desire was, to aid, direct, and
counsel his younger brother as they should sever-
all leave home and go out into the world as he
was about going. He never thought of himself
alone. Conscious of a native energy, and strong
in his purpose to do his part on the seem of life,
he was not troubled with doubts as this own ability
to get along. He thought, rather, of helping those
who had helped him, and of those younger and
weaker than himself who might nee his hand to
support them in the way.
Beyond himself, on the contrary, no thought of
Peter Close wandered. He wished to leave home,
because he imagined he would have more freedom
and comfort as an apprentice in the city than he
now enjoyed. Without any true affection for his
brothers and sister, or even for his parents, La. :.
paratien from them had in the idea nothing
ful; but, if the truth must be told, someti g
Here, then, are two families, sad the oldest son
of each about leaving home to make his entrance
into the world. So for as external things are con.
earned, the prospects of these two families, and of

It. 1


these two boys, are equal; but, how unequal, when
internal things are considered I
The principle of strength in union governed in
the one cse; while inordinate selfishness produced
a feeling of repulsion in the other.


"Do not forget, my son," said Mrs. Stevens to
Victor, on the eve of his departure for Boston,
"your brothers at home. You are the oldest and
go out first, and it will be in your power, I trust,
to make their paths into the world smoother than
if you had not gone before. You have had advan.
Stages which they may not possess. Your father's
S health may fail, or, he may die before they are as
old as you now are, and be compelled to leave hoe
Sat a tenderer age. Feel then, my son, that to
S certain extent, their well-being in life depends oo
you. Success in the world is not so easy a thin
as you, in the ardor of your young hop, m
imagine. Men do not seek alone to build them
sves up: too many, alas! strive to pull others
4own that they may rise on the ruins occasioned b]
their fall. You may, standing alone, secure cce
for yourself; but the result will be far more ce
if you seek a union with your brothers s they
forward in life. You have certain qualities of
requisite to a prosperous effort in the world,
Hartley has certain other qualities, equally

**I-<";T -i' *.y .'- r-q--F

ary. He will be a man soon after you come of age,
and if you then unite tour interests, mutual good
will be the result. Alone, either or both of you
might fail in your efforts, but together there will be
little danger of this. By the time your brother
Thomas is old enough to take his place in the world,
you and Hartley will be able to extend to him a
firm hand. In union there is strength, Victor. If
you all band yourselves together, each bringing .
into effect his own peculiar ability, as if you were
one man, you will all prosper. To care for your 9
brothers and to seek their good, may keep you back
a little; but when all are grown up, and you stand,
side by side with a single purpose, you need not
fear the pressure of adverse circumstances."
These words of his mother imbedded themselves
in the mind of Victor. He felt their force and re-
solved that he would never think so much of his
own success .a to make him forget that of hi .
Mr. Stevens had already written to his old friend
Mark Preston, who was a master printer in Boston, .
and the latter had agreed to give Victor a trial.
If this proved satisfactory to both parties, he was .
to take the boy as an apprentice; making him an '
allowance of a certain sum weekly to pay for his
boarding, and thirty dollars a year with which to
purchase clothes. If the parents of Victor had
been living in Boston, an arrangement like this
would have been agreeable enough, but as the boy
had not a friend, acquaintance, nor adviser in the
cty, his new position was to be one of car, reespon
sibility, and danger. A cheap boarding house, in a

\ S -f *t


place like Boston or New York, is not the safety
home for a lad of fourteen or fifteen years of age.
This was sensibly felt by Mr. and Mrs. Stevent,
but confiding in the principles of their boy, and
committing him to the care of the Divine Provi-
dence they gave him their blessing and let him
Alone, and without shrinking, that brave-hearted
boy started for the great city, with the world be-
fore him. On arriving he was received kindly by
Mr. Preston, who, from the moment he saw him,
made up his mind that he would give every satia-
"You think, then, that you would like to be a
printer, Victor?" said Mr. Preston, on receiving
the lad in his little office, where he sat almost bu-
Sried among books and old papers.
"Yes, sir," was the firm reply.
"It's a very good trade: but hard to learn. 'hat
is, the boy who learns it has -for the first year or
two a pretty hard time of it."
"Other boys have learned the trade," was the
smple remark of Victor to this.
S "That's true enough my lad; and so can you. A
little hardship in youth is what makes men of us."
This forewarning on the part of the master prin-
ter, did not give Victor even the most distant con-
ception of what he was about to encounter. He
did not receive his first lesson until the next morn-
ing. It was already past noon and Mr. Preston,
after taking him to a boarding house, where two of
bis boys were living, told him that he might look

i'i __


about the city until evening, but, to be sure to be
at the office bright and, early on the next day.
Victor did not sleep very soundly that night.
Everything was new around him, and, moreover, a
little different from what he had anticipated. The
printing office, at which he had taken a glance, did
not look very attractive, and the people at his board-
ing house were not particularly after his liking.
How different was the woman who governed in this
new home from his own mother. There was scare-
ly a sign of gentle feeling in a feature of her vul.
gar face. There were ten boarders in the house,
all mechanics, and among them three journeymen
and two boys working in Mr. Preston's office. By
these, when introduced to them, at the supper table,
he was received with a rude familiarity that he fbt
as exceedingly repulsive. Moreover, the convers-
tion which was occasioned by his presence was far
from being agreeable.
So this is Preston's new devil!" said one of the
men, with a laugh; and all eyes were upon the lad.
"Rather a green looking devil," said another,
in a half undertone, yet loud enough for all to hear.
S"He's just from among the peas and cabbages.
But he'll not be green long, I take it," was the
shrewd remark of one who had looked closely into
the lad's face.
"He'd better have staid among the peas and
abbages," said a man named Perkins, wh wwas a
orneyman printer in the office of Mark Preston.
This was spoken with evident ill-nature.,
"Why so ? asked one of the boarders.
"Because, there are more at printing now thea










can earn their salt. Every year it's growing worse
and worse. The offices are all filling up with boys
who are pushing out the journeymen. What they
are all to do when free, is more than I can tell.
Books are a drug in the market. The business has
been overdone."
That's true in almost every business," replied
another to this. "It's true in our business. Every
master-workman is crowding in apprentices, who,
in a few years, crowd out the journeymen. I feel
angry whenever I see a boy come into our shop.
I wish it were only here as it is in England, where a
handsome fee has to be paid before a boy can be
entered for a trade. We would not have so many
cabbage-heads poured in upon us from every town
and village within sixty miles around to take in a
few years the bread out of our mouths."
"Just my opinion, said another, turning his
eyes with a scowl upon Victor as he spoke. "If
I had my will, I'd pass a law prohibiting any
master workman from having more than two ap-
"So would I," and
"So would I," ran round the table.
It's all very well for you to talk now," said the
landlady to this--she had three sons all learning
trades: but you sung to a different tune when you
were boys."
I've no objection to city boys learning trades,"
was answered to this.-" I expect mine to do so.
But to have six or seven hundred country clod-hop-
pers thrusting themselves in, each year, to the ruins


tion of everything, is more than I can stand-and
more than I will stand."
I rather think you're not going to lie on a bed
of roses during your devilship," remarked one
who sat near Victor, addressing the lad in a kind
He may take my word for that," said Perkins,
one of Preston's journeymen, with an angry glance
at the lad.
He'd better go and hang himself at once," was
the encouraging words of another.
He'd better go back to the country and learn
to be a farmer," said Perkins. Then he will have
something before him a little better than starvation.
Two-thirds of the boys now learning trades will not
be able to get a hand's turn to bless them, after
their times are up."
"I guess they'll manage to live," remarked one
who had not joined in the conversation, and who
disapproved of the kind of reception given to the
strange boy, as well as the sentiments expressed.
"Every new comer makes new wants."
1" 0 yes; you can talk," was the half-angry and
insulting reply of Perkins.
The man did not choose to enter into a contro-
versy with such antagonists as were around him,
having had some experience on the subject, and
therefore remained silent. But he felt sympathy
for the lad, and made up his mind to encourage
him in his new and trying position when the oppor-
tunity offered. His name was Franklin.
After supper, one of the lads apprenticed to Mr.
Preston, named Thomas Lee, showed a friendly dis.






* i


rr -- -- --


position towards Victor, and entered into conversa-
tion with him.
Where are you going to-night ?" he inquired.
"No where," Victor replied.
You're not going to sit moping here until bed
"I don't know any body in Boston."
"Have you any money ?"
"Only a quarter."
"That'll do. I'm going to the theatre. Won't
you come along ?"
Against the theatre both the father and mother
of Victor had particularly cautioned him as the
high way to ruin. He therefore replied with great
"No, I can't go."
"Why?" asked the boy.
My father and mother don't wish me to go."
This was met by a hearty laugh of ridicule, in
which two or three others, who had heard what had
passed between the two boys, joined.
He'll soon get over that," remarked one of the
men, who had been at the supper table, shrugging
his shoulders.
"Very right, my boy," said the man named
Franklin, speaking to Victor, as soon as the others
had retired. "Keep ever in mind the counsel of
your father and mother. The theatre is a very
bad place for boys, and few lads ever come to much
good who habitually go there. Keep your money
for a better purpose; you will have use for it. And
you must not mind what all these people say to
you. Be honest, industrious and prudent, and you



will do well enough. If things are a little hard
at first, don't feel discouraged. Others have passed
through them before. It will not last forever.
Victor was more grateful for these timely and
encouraging words than he could express.
The kid of company into which he had fallen,
and the manner in which he was received, proved
so different from any thing he had imagined, as
utterly to confound him. The well-timed words of
approval and encouragement spoken by Mr. Frank-
lin, came just at the right moment and restored the
trembling balance of his feelings. At an early
hour he retired to bed, and lay awake for a long
time, thinking over his first few experiences in city
life. He then dropped off to sleep, and did not
wake until the sun was shining in at the window of
his chamber in the attic.



1&_-' ^_^^-.-.




RzmxEBEnrNY the injunction of Mr. Preston to
be at the offie bright and early, Victor arose as
soon as he awakened, and forthwith repaired to
the place where unknown and undreamed of trials
awaited him. As he entered the print office
S about aix o'clock, he was met by Perkins, te jour-
seyman before mentioned.
"Pretty time of day this to come to work I" kid
that ill-natured personage. "I thought country
boys were used to being up with the lark. Take
that bucket and go and get some water.
"Where from askea Victor.
"From the pump. Do you think there are
sprmgs babbling up m the city ?"
Where is the pump ?" inquired the boy, lifting
the bucket, and standing with a look of inquiry on
his face.
Bound the corner. There now Be off with
you! Why do you stand gaping like a sheep ?"
Victor left the office with the bucket in his hand,
and went to the nearest corner; but saw no pump.
He came back, passed the office, and went round
the corner next beyond, where he found the object
of his search. Filling his bucket he returned as
quickly as possible, and was greeted by Perkins,

'L~IL~ ~l~ll~rrql( ~---7rcc~i-j~r~~st~_riT--*- ~'*ET~-r;-~


"Why didn't you stay all day ?"
"I went round the wrong corner," said Victor.
"You must be a stupid fellow. But don't stand
moping there. Go and sweep out the office. You'll
find a brush in the press room."
Victor didn't know where to find the press room,
but he started toward an open door, and was for-
tunate enough to go right, and to find the brush.
Coming back into the room he had first entered, he
commenced sweeping; but had only made a few
strokes with the brush when his persecutor cried
out, with an oath-
"What do you mean, you young vagabond
Why don't you sprinkle the floor ? Do you want
to choke us all to death ?"
Just at this moment, Mr. Preston entered. He
cast upon Perkins a look of rebuke, which produced
an instant change in that persopage, who cowered
away, and went off into the preed room.
"Where is Edward ?" asked Mr. Preston. a
"Up stairs," was answered.
Go and call him down." -
Edward was called.
I don't want you to give up quite so soon," sdd
Mr. Preston, when the lad appeared. "You can
go on as usual for two or three days, until Victor
begin to understand a little about the place."
The boy thus addressed filled a basin with water,
and commenced sprinkling the floor by dashing it
over the side of the basin with his hand.
There is another brush in the press room," said
Mr. Preston, addressing Victor. Get it, and help
Edward to sweep out the office. After a day or




two I will want you to do this every morning your.
Victor got the other brush and went to work as
directed. The press room, composing room, and
office were all swept out, and various other things
done, when the hour for breakfast came. After
returning from this meal, Victor was sent with a
proof to a bookseller. When he came back he was
set to work removing sheets from the press; and
after the boards had been emptied, others were put
Sin their places. Plenty was found for him to do
until dinner time; and among other things, he was
called upon to to run the mail," or, in other words,
to bring liquor for the journeymen. After dinner
he was kept as busy until night fall, when he
went home to his boarding house, so tired that
he could hardly drag himself along. He was not
only tired, but, to a certain extent, disheartened;
for scarcely a kind word had been spoken to him
since morning, except by Mr. Preston. The jour-
neymen ordered him about in a tone of rough and
insulting command, and one or two of the boys,
Seeing in him a good subject, made him a butt of
ridicule. All this Victor bore without manifesting
resentment. He was rather hurt than angry by the
After supper, Mr. Franklin spoke again en-
couragingly to him. He also warned him of the
many dangers that were in his way, and urged him,
as lie valued his success and well being as a man,
to avoid yielding, even in the smallest degree, when
temptations presented themselves. All this strength-
ened the heart of the lad, and, when he laid his head

- V I ,,


upon his pillow, he was less unhappy than on the
night before. A tired body brought a sound repose.
Rising with the first beams of the sun he hurried to
the office, and had it half swept out before Edward,
the boy who had been directed to assist him, ar-
It is not our purpose to picture singly and mi-
nutely the 'daily trials, sufferings and hardships
through which this boy had to pas before he ac-
quired a sufficient knowledge of the business to place
him out of the reach of oppression and persecution.
They were very severe. More so than usually falls
to the lot of apprentices, though not greater than
were borne by other boys who filled, at that time,
the place of "devil" in a printing office. The very
name applied to the boy who was required to do all
the drudgery, odd turns and errands of the office--
who was to run at the beck or call of master, jour-
neyman, or older apprentice-seemed to throw him
beyond the pale of sympathy. For a whole year,-
and often, two years,-Victor was kept in the office,
receiving, daily, more kicks than kind words, and
scarcely permitted to enjoy the luxury of an idle
moment. It required a boy of stout nerves and
good resolution to run the gauntlet. Resistance
and retaliation only made matters worse, for the
odds of force were entirely against the "devil."
This Victor was quick to perceive, and he therefore,
schooled himself to endurance from the first.
It was understood, that, after a three months'
trial, Victor should be permitted to go home and
see his parents for a couple of days, and that, if
all parties were satisfied at this time, he should be


indentured as an apprentice. When the lad went
home at the expiration of this period, it was with
feelings of discouragement. Not on account of the
hardships of his condition, for he had resolution
enough to bear them; but the journeyman named
Perkins had taken every opportunity, knowing, as
he did, that Victor was on trial, to fill his mind
with the notion that there were already too many
at the business.
Tell your father," said he, on the eve of Victor's
departure for home, "that he'd better put you to a
wood-sawyer than to a printer. All the masters
are filling their offices with boys, and discharging
the journeymen; and what these are going to do
when they are free is more than I can tell. I know
twenty journeymen printers, now in the city, who
can't get a day's work. Only a week ago, three as
good printers as are to be found any where, enlisted
to keep from starving. The business is entirely
over done."
All this Victor faithfully reported to his father,
and in a tone of discouragement. Mr. Stevens
asked many questions about Perkins; as to his
character, conduct and habits; and when Victor had
answered these, he was fully prepared to give him
correct advice.
"Pay no regard, whatever, to any thing such
men may say to you," was the language of Mr.
Stevens. "The world is advancing much faster
than selfish, short-sighted persons like Mr. Perkns
imagine. The increasing wants of society will
always find employment for its members in the
various pursuits to which they apply themselves.

, "



If, in a particular branch of business, there should
occur a surplus of labor, those who are most skill-
ful, and are at the same time, sober and industrious,
will be those who will find employment; while the
lazy, drunken, or bad workmen, will be driven off
to other and less profitable callings. Ever faithfully
discharge your duty to your employer, my son, and
you need not fear that, so far as you are concerned,
any business will be overdone. Be an industrious
apprentice, and, at the same time, gain a thorough
knowledge of your art, and you need not feel any
concern about success in the world when you become
a man."
Victor understood this, young as he was, and
felt its force; and, moreover, it came with double
conclusiveness to his mind, because it was the opin-
ion of his father, in whose judgment he had the
utmost confidence.
As to the hardness of his work and the many un-
pleasant things connected with his situation, Victor
made no complaint. He knew that it would only
make his mother unhappy, and tend to discourage
his brother Hartley, who would soon have to follow
in his footsteps.
It won't last forever," was the lad's secret con-
solation. To his father, however, he confided much
in regard to the particular trials and temptations
by which he was surrounded; not in a complaining
spirit, but in order to receive his parent's counsel.
The advice of Mr. Stevens, coming as it did in en-
tire accordance with his own first impressions of
right, encouraged him very much. Particularly was
he strengthened by the warm approval of his father

9'. .- W.'_ 7'. -r- -1 -_-- -




when be told him of many instances in which he
had refused to do what he thought to be wrong,
though strongly urged to step aside by his asso
To see you so firm in doing what is right, my
son," said Mr. Stevens, "gives my heart a feeling
Sof pleasure that I cannot describe. I feared, lest,
when away from home, amid a thousand tempta-
tions, the voice of your parents might grow faint
in your ears. Thus far it has not been so. Your
obedience has not ceased with bodily separation.
Our love for you, and our care over you, is not
lessened, but is increased by your absence. We
think of you daily, we pray for you daily, that the
Father of all good would keep your feet from stray-
ing. And He will so keep you, if you continue to
live in parental obedience, even though separated
from the home of your early years."
When Victor returned to Boston, it was with a
firmer heart, and stronger resolutions to do right,
and only right, in any and in all circumstances.
He was now fourteen, and, in accordance with the
original agreement, was regularly bound until he
should be twenty-one years of age.


DURING the visit of Victor, Mr Close, the father
of the lad previously mentioned, called upon Mr.
Stevens to ask his advice about sending his son into


the city, and to inquire if there was an opening in
the office where Victor was apprenticed, Peter hav-
ing declared his wish to become a printer. He
complained bitterly of his difficulties, and spoke
rather discouragingly of his boy, whom he repre-
sented as self-willed, headstrong, and easily -led
away. I'm afraid I shall have trouble with him,"
said he, with a sigh. "If he were not so overbear-
ing and quarrelsome among his younger brothers,
I would try to keep him home longer; but it is
high time that he was under a strict master."
There are many temptations in a large city,"
remarked Mr. Stevens.
"I know. And the thought of this makes me
anxious. But I cannot keep him at home; and,
besides, he must get a trade. He will have to
take his chance with the rest. Who is your boy
"A Mr. Preston."
"Do you know anything about him? "
"He is an old acquaintance, and from what I
know of'him, believe that he will do all that is
right. Victor speaks well of him."
"Does he? "
"Yes. He says that he is kind to his boys, but
makes them work."
"That's all right enough."
SOh yes; I've no objection to that."
I wonder if I couldn't get Peter with him "
"That is more than I can tell."
"I would like to very much. Your son is a
steady boy, and his influence over Peter would be




I will write to Mr. Preston when Victor goes
oock, and make inquiry on the subject. Even if
he should not want a boy he may know of some one
who does."
"You will oblige me very much, indeed," said
Mr. Close. "I have not a single acquaintance in
Boston, and, therefore, am without facilities for
procuring a place for my son."
Mr. Stevens was as good as his word; but the
master of Victor did not, then, wish to take an-
other apprentice. While at home, Victor and Peter
had seen each other every day and talked over the
matter. The former felt a good deal interested ir
S his old school-mate and play-fellow, and was anxious
to have him at Mr. Preston's. It was, therefore,
with no little disappointment that he wrote home to
his father, immediately on his return, that Mr.
Preston wished him to say that, for the present, he
did not care to take another boy, and did not know
of an opening in any printing office.
Tell Peter," said Victor, in this letter, "that I
will do my best to get him a place somewhere."
And the boy was successful. It was a month
before he was able to get a place for Peter, and
in the effort to do so, he visited, as opportunity
offered, nearly every printing office in the city.
When Peter Close came down to Boston, Victor
was ready to welcome him. He had already gained
the consent of the printer who was to be his master,
to let him board at the house where he was boarding;
and the landlady had, of course, no objection to
their sharing the same bed.
It was a bright day for Victor when Peter ar-



rived. He felt it almost as a gleam of sunshine
from home. How much pleasure did he anticipate
from their nightly re-unions, after long hours of
hard labor. On Sundays-blessed seasons of rest
for overtasked apprentices!-they could always be
How do you like your place? was the first
question of Victor, on meeting with Peter at supper
time, after the close of the first day.
Peter looked rather serious, but replied, though
in no very cheerful voice-
"Pretty well."
"It is not like being at home, you know," uid
Victor, encouragingly. "I haven't found all just
as I could wish. But, it won't last forever."
"Do the men swear at you ? asked Peter.
"Yes; but I try not to mind it."
"One of them called me a ," repeating some
vile language. "I was so mad I could have thrown
something at his head."
That wouldn't have done any good," said Vio-
tor, and might have lost you your place."
But he's no right to talk to me in that way."
"Still you can t help it. We are boys, and
strangers in the city. If we lose the places we
have, we may not be able to get others. Don't
mind it, Peter. I put up with a great deal."
"If he calls me that again, I'll tell Mr. Ludlow,"
remarked Peter, in whom the spirit of antagonism
was pretty strong.
"No, Peter, don't do that. You'll only get the
ill will of the men; and, if you do, they can make
it ten times as hard for you as it would otherwise be."


He's no right to speak so to me persisted the
lad, indignantly.
"All true enough," urged Victor, "but hard
words are easier to bear than blows."
"Did any of the men ever strike you ?" inquired
"Yea; a good many times."
"No man in our office shall lay his hands on me,
but Mr. Ludlow," was the boy's indignant remark,
on hearing this. "It's bad enough to be scolded
and cursed."
"I know it is, Peter. And the men have no
right to strike us. But they will do it sometimes.
And then, if we complain, they will tell their own
story, and make it appear that we deserved all we
got, and a great deal more. It won't last always.
In a year or two we will be old enough to remain
at case, and then the pressmen won't have any
thing to do with us."
"I'm not going to be struck," persisted Peter.
"I'll knock any man down that strikes me."
In this spirit the boy went to the office on the
next morning. As he came in, a journeyman very
much resembling Perkins in character, swore at him
for a lazy vagabond.
"I'm no more.of a vagabond than you are," was
Peter's quick reply. The words were scarcely out
of his mouth, before he received a blow alongside
of his head from the open hand of the journeyman,
that knocked him half across the room. Just at
this instant Mr. Ludloy, the master printer, camein.
"What's the meaning of this? he asked, in a
good deal of excitement.


"The young scoundrel called me a vagabond,"
said the journeyman.
He did ? Upon my word that's a fair begin.
ning. See here, Peter!' Mr. Ludlow spoke sternly.
The boy approached.
"How came you to call Mr. Bell a vagabond ? "
He swore at me, and called me one first," re-
plied the lad.
"It's a lie, you young scoundrel I" retorted the
journeyman promptly.
"A very nice begging, I must confess I" said
Mr. Ludlow. "A little too nice for me! I don't
want any such boys about my establishment. So,
my young chap, you can just take yourself off as
quickly as you please. I'll pay your board for one
week to give you a chance to get another place.
After that you must shift for yourself."
Peter tried to say something more in his own de-
fence; but Mr. Ludlow cut the matter short, and
told him to go about his business. This was rather
a hard case for the boy. So sudden a loss of his
situation completely dashed him to the earth. When
he met Victor at breakfast time, tears were in his
eyes as he related the disastrous termination of his
apprenticeship with Mr. Ludlow. His friend con-
soled him as best he could.
I will go and see Mr. Ludlow to night. I know
where he lives," said Victor. "Maybe, after think-
, ing about it, he will take you back apgin. Iwish
you hadn't said what you did to the journeyman."
"He'd no business to call me a lazy vagabond."
"I know that, Peter. But don't you see that we
isn't help ourselves. Better be called a lazy vaga-


bond than not get a trade. His saying so don't
make it so. Words won't break our bones."
"I know that. But "
"It's no use to think of having every thing just
as we like it," said Victor, interrupting him, "for
it can't be. You must either put up with a great
dear, o gor back home again. It's folly for you to
attempt to fight your way, for you are weak while
all around you are strong.
"Well, it's a shame!"
"I know it is, Peter. But we can't help it."
SThat evening, Victor went to see Mr. Ludlow,
after getting Peter to promise that, if taken back,
he would act differently. Since morning, the prin-
ter had beea informed as to the provocation re-
ceived by Peter, and, in consequence, blamed the
lad much less than at first. It did not take any
great deal of persuasion to induce him to take
Peter back, which he did, after giving him a serious
If you expect to get along in a printing office,"
said he, "you must make up your mind to bear a
good deal for the first year or two. To attempt to
fight your way with the men and older boys, will
only make things ten times worse for you than they
would otherwise be. Do your work quickly and as
well as you can, and let that be all you care for.
As to quarreling and fighting, that is out of the
question; and if you don't think you can get along
without it, you'd better not come back into the
As might have been expected, Peter's belligerent
conduct only gained him the ill-will of the journey.


men, who took every opportunity that offered to
oppress him. Not having much control over him-
self, he would, at times, speak out what was in his
mind; and the consequence always was, a blow, or
a threat, that caused him instantly to bridle his
tongue. He complained a great deal to Victor
Stevens, whose situation was little better than his
own, only not rendered well nigh intolerable by in-
effectual resistance and murmurs.
Peter Close had only been in Boston three or 4
four days, when he proposed to Victor to visit the
"I have no money to spend in that way; and, if
I had, I would not think it right to go," replied
young Stevens.
SIt won't cost any thing," asked Peter.
"Why not ?" inquired Victor.
"One of the boys at our office told me all about
it. You go in with checks."
How do you get the checks ? "
"Why, you see, after a part of the play is over,
if any one wants to come out for a little while, the
door keeper hands him a check. A great many
who come out in this way don't care about returning,
and give their checks to the boys, who can get m
with them and see the rest of the play."
"I wouldn't be a beggar of checks, even if I
thought it right to go to the theatre," said Victor,
with an independent air.
"What harm is there in going asked P ter.
"My father said, when I left home, that 'b wa
particular in not wishing me to go to the theatre,
as it was a place where boys were most likely to be


led into evil ways. I promised him that I would
not do so; and I will not. For me it would be
very wrong."
"Well, my father didn't say any thing to me
about it, and I'm going."
"I wouldn't, if were you, Peter."
"Why wouldn't you ? "
"It's a bad place. Besides, I'd be more inde-
pendent than to beg checks."
Other boys do it; and I don't see that I'm so
much better than they are."
I can tell you what it is, Peter; I feel myself
a great deal better than boys who have no more
respect for themselves than to turn beggars," re-
plied Victor, tossing his head with an independent
Though, for all that, you let the men in your
office curse you and beat you about as if you were
no better than a dog."
I can't help myself so far as that goes; but I
can help begging checks at a theatre door. I'd put
my hand in the fire before I'd do it."
"Well, I don't care what you think," returned
Peter, "I'm going to the theatre. I've always
wanted to see a play."
It was in vain that Victor reasoned with and
persuaded the boy. He was bent on visiting the
theatre, and he carried out his purpose. To Victor
he described what he had seen in the most glowing
language, and urged him to go with him on the next
night. But the lad was immovable.
On the first Sunday after Peter came to the city,
Victor asked him to go to church with him: but

7- -


Peter said, no-he didn't like to go to church. His
father hardly ever went.
But didn't he say that you must go to church ?"
asked Victor.
"He said that he'd like me to attend some
church, but didn't say I must go."
He would rather have you do so, Peter; and now
that you are away from him, you ought to do what
you think would please him even more strictly, if
there is any difference, than if he were present."
But Peter saw no force in this argument. Pa-
rental restraint had always been irksome to him,
and he had no disposition voluntarily to assume the
yoke of obedience. He was now free to do what he
pleased, and go where he pleased on Sundays, and
he was fully disposed to make good use of the privi-
victor Stevens acted altogether differently. He
observed the Sabbath as a day of worship and reli-
gious instruction. Sunday schools had but recently
been established. Mr. Franklin, who boarded in
the house with him, was a teacher, and Victor,
through his recommendation, attached himself to
one of them, and attended regularly, every morning
and afternoon. He also went regularly to church.
Thus differently did these two lads choose their
ways in entering upon life; and it was not long
before their paths made considerable divergence.
Peter was soon so entirely fascinated with the
theatre and the low company he met there, that he
might be found nightly at the doors seeking for an
opportunity to obtain entrance in the way just
mentioned. On Sundays, he went off to stroll in


the woods and fields, or to sail in the harbor. As
for attending church, that was a thing never done.
Victor frequently remonstrated with Peter, but to
no purpose; and the latter even so far forgot his
good feelings and sense of propriety, as at times, to
join some others in ridiculing his old school com-
panion and friend as a saint."


Two years of hard trials, endurance and suffering
were passed by Victor, when his age, and the skill
he had acquired in type-setting, removed him from
a position in which but little sympathy or considera-
tion had ever been extended towards him. During
all that long period he had been careful to com-
plain but little to his parents. That, he reflected,
could do no good, and would only make .them
unhappy. Steadily he adhered to his first resolu-
tion of strict obedience to their wishes;. and in all
cases, where his mind was in doubt, he wrote home
to his father, or consulted him at the time of his
semi-annual visit to the home of his childhood. At
Sunday school, he was a regular and attentive
scholar, and not a single Sabbath during the two
years had he been absent from church. This atten-
dance at Sabbath school brought him into associa-
tion with boys of a very different class from those
whom Peter found hanging around the doors of the
theatre, or hunting bird's nests and strolling in the


felds on Sunday. With one of his Sabbah school
friends, the son of a widow, Victor became particu-
larly intimate; and as the mother of the boy liked
Victor, and felt for his lonely situation, separated,
as he was from his friends, and in a strange city,
she invited him to come home with her son every
Sunday evening, after school, and take tea with the
family. Most highly did the boy esteem this privi-
lege. The widow's name was Redmond. She had
two children-William and Anna. William was
nearly the same age as Victor, and Anna was some
two years younger.
The thought of meeting with this kind family
every Sunday evening, made the boy's toil lighter
through the week. Mrs. Redmond was a pions
woman, and early taught her children a reverence
for God, and a strict obedience to his command-
ments. On Sunday evenings she read the Bible
and talked to them on subjects connected with re-
ligion and their duties in life. In doing this, she
was careful not to weary their young minds; and
but rarely did she do so. What she said, uttered
as it was in appropriate words, and at the right
time, generally made its due impression. It was
the genuineness of her affection that gave life to
her precepts. It is not speaking too strongly to
say that Victor loved Mrs. Redmond. To him, she
was only second to his own mother, and she felt for
him soon after he began to visit in her family,
something of a mother s regard, and manifested it
in a care for him such as a mother's feeling would
be quickest to prompt. The sum which Victor re-
ceived for the purchase of clothes, was not sufficient

.~UY ~__CIC~--I__ I- I 2h, 91 ---



to procure any but the plainest, and what he had,
often became unfit to wear for want of proper mend-
ing, long before they would, otherwise, have been
thrown aside. Mrs. Redmond soon observed this,
and thinking how glad she would be if some kind
person would take the same care of her own boy, if
he were away, determined, as a matter of feeling as
well as duty, to assume the care of looking after
the boy's clothing. She had them given to her own
washerwoman, who charged Victor no more than he
had been paying, and when they came home, she
looked over and mended them herself or let Anna
do it. Every Saturday night Victor came for his
bundle of clean clothes, and on Monday mornings,
as he passed to the office, left those he had thrown
off for the wash. His work was the dirtiest work
in the office, and it was impossible to keep from
getting all his garments badly soiled; but the
ought that they would all go to Mrs. Redmond's
made him doubly careful after she kindly took
charge of them, and the effect was his greatly im.
proved appearance, which was noticed by his master
and all in the office, and created for him a feeling
of respect that saved him from many acts of oppres-
Mrs. Redmond also took charge of the purchasing
of his clothes, and, by this means, made the slender
income of Victor go a great deal farther than other-
wise would have been the case. Occasionally, she
would add a trifle from her own purse in buying a
garment, so as to improve the quality. But of this
ind act the boy remained ignorant, although in the
enjoyment of the good which flowed from it.

L , ^. .^ ..__... -- --A -

* *1


For Peter Close, there was no one to care after
Ships generous manner. He selected different com.
anions, and walked in a different way. Such a
thing as true kindness and sympathy never visited
nor cheered him. His associates, like himself,
sought only their individual pleasure, and cared for
each other only so far as the companionship enabled
them to attain the ends they had in view. The dif-
ference in the personal appearance of the two boys
was very marked. While Victor, particularly on
Sunday, looked neat and tidy, Peter's clothes were
worn in a slovenly manner, and he hardly ever had
a decent garment to put on. When Sunday nights
came, he usually returned from his rambles tired
and dissatisfied; and was often moping in his board-
ing house, while Victor was sharing the pleasant
home of his Sunday school friend, William Red-
, Two years, as we have intimated, had passed
away, and Victor was about being relieved entirely
from the general duties of the office, to which, as
one of the younger boys, he had, from the first been
devoted. At this time the visit of a week at home
was permitted.
Are you going to take another apprentice ?" he
asked of Mr. Preston, respectfully, on the day he
was about starting for the country.
Yes; I must have some one m your place now
that you are to go into the composing room," said
Mr. Preston. "Do you know a good boy ?"
"My brother Hartley would like to learn the
"Ah, would he ? How old is Hartley ?"




He's just fourteen."
He's a good boy, I suppose."
"Yes, sir; I know he is." There was an air of
pride and pleasure in the voice of Victor as he made
this reply.
"Is your father willing that two of his sons should
become printers ?"
If Hartley likes the business, he would think it
best for us to have the same trade, for then we
could iork together and help each other."
The youngest boy in a printing office has a hard
time of it, as you well know; you would not like to
see your brother treated as you have been by the
Smen and boys."
Victor looked earnestly into Mr. Preston's face
for some moments, before replying. Then he
I eould show him and help him a great deal
without neglecting my work, and so make it easier
for him. And I know that some of the men would
be kinder to him for my sake, than they would be
to a boy who had no one in the office to take his
"But might not your interference for Hartley
get you into difficulties with the men and older
boy r"
"I am not quarrelsome," said Victor-again
looking up steadily into his master's face.
No, Victor, I will give you credit for being a
peaceable, good disposed boy,' returned Mr. Preston,
m a voice of approval. And I am so well pleased
with you, tell your father, that I would like to hIM
another of his boys if he has one to spare."

i~~yruc- ~ ~ ~~-L u~. -.__- r---'~ -"~L~-'LL.~W


A light flashed over the face of Victor as Mr.
Preston said this, and, in spite of his manl effort
to control his feelings, the tears came into his eyes.
Not trusting himself to speak, he bowed with a 1
grateful heart, and retired from the presence of his
Mr. Stevens' affairs had not improved a great
deal, although relieved of the burden of Victor's
support. The mortgage had only been reduced
fifty dollars-although it was out of the hands of
the man who first held it, and was in the possession
of another person, who was satisfied to let it re-
main so long as the interest was regularly paid.
Still it was felt as a burden, and the wish to have it
removed was ever uppermost in the mind of Mr.
Stevens. As the younger members of his family
came forward, the expense of their maintenance
increased, and the necessity for Hartley's kaving .
home became every day more apparent. Victor
understood this previous to his visit home, and was,
also, aware of the views of the family on the sub-
ject. Hence his application to his master. When
he communicated to his father what Mr. Preston
had said about wishing to have another one of his
boys, he was so well satisfied with the first, Mr.
Stevens' pleasure was very great.
"If Hartley is willing, he shall go back with
you," said he, without hesitation.
Peter Close knew nothing of Victor's intention a
to get his brother Hartley into the office with him-
self until the two boys came down from the coun-
try. Peter no longer boarded in the same house
with Victor, having left it to go into a family where


two or three of his most intimate associates were
living. On meeting Victor, after learning that
Hartley had come to Boston, he said to him, with
manifest surprise-
"And is your brother really going to be a
"Certanly he is," replied Victor.
"And he s in Preston's office?"
Peter shook his head with a disapproving air.
"What is your objection?" inquired Victor.
"In the first place," said Peter, "there never
should be two of a trade in one family; and, in the
second place, two brothers will never agree as ap-
prentices in the same shop or office."
"I think very differently from that. If two or
even three brothers learn the same trade, the old-
eat can help the younger ones, and' all mh unite
together when they are free and Make their success
in the world more certain. As to not agreeing as
apprentices, it seems to me that they are the very
ones to agree best. I'm sure Hartley and I will
agree well enough."
And I'm very sure that my brother Bill and I
would not agree for a week. We never did at
* home for an hour. Father wants Bill to be a
printer, and wrote to me to ask Mr. Ludlow to
take him. We wanted a boy just then in the office,
but I knew Bill wouldn't suit; and, besides, I didn't
want him there. So I waited until the place
wa filled and then wrote home to father that Mr.
Ludlow had as many boys as he wanted, and
S wouldn't probably take another for a year. And,


besides, I said all I could to discourage him in re-
gard to our trade. The fact is, there are too many
at it now. There are scores of journeymen walk-
ing about the streets with nothing to do; and how
will it be when the swarm of apprentice boys, at
present flling all the offices, are free ?"
Victor was so surprised at this declaration, that
he hardly knew what to reply. William Close was
rather gentle and shrinking in his character, and
needed the care, protection, and kindness of one
older and stronger than himself. The heartless in-
difference of Peter really shocked him.
"I think you did very wrong," said he. "If
you will not help and protect your brother, who is
to do it? In Mr. Ludlow's office, it would have
been in your power to lighten many a burden laid
upon his shoulders; and you know, as well as I do,
that, let him go where he will, they will be heavy
and hard to be borne. William is not a bold, strong
boy, able to make his way in the world as easily as
you and L"
"I can't help it," replied Peter, impatiently.
I've got to make my way and he'll have to make
his. Don't want him and am not going to have
him at our office. That's settled. It will be a great
deal better for us to have separate places. It's as
much as I can do to take care of myself, without
being troubled with him."
"How can you feel so unkindly towards your
brother ?" said Victor.
I don't feel unkindly towards him. But I know
it will be a great,deal better for us to go along
separate roads. We never did and never will agree

-"T- Trw-q-7

Xyr w --o .7W m,


together; and there is no use in jarring and quar-
reling. I'll do all I can for him, if he eyer needs
my assistance; but it wouldn't be beet to put us
too close together. I know that well enough."
"Does William want to learn our trade 7"
"So he said, when I was up last. But that was
only because I'm at the business. He doesn't know
what he would like. I said all I could to discourage
him; but when he once gets his head set on any
thing, there's no turning him away from it. I want
him to be a carpenter. That's a good trade; he
can learn it jith Mr. Joice, and board at home all
through.histpprenticeship, which would be a great
'thmg Boston isn't the best place in the world for
a oy, and I'm afraid to have Bill come here. He
will be a gteat deal safer where he is."
Victor saw that argument with Peter would be of
no use, and so he did not urge anything further on
the subject. He felt sorry for William Close, who
was not at all fitted for the rough usage he was
Sikely to meet in the world.
If his own brother don't care for him," said he
to himself, as he parted from Peter, who is to do
so t"




THU circumstances of Mr. Close, instead of im-
proving, grew more and more straitened every day;
and earlier than he wished to send his second boy,
William, out into the world, he was compelled to
take him from school, and look after a place for
him as an apprentice to some trade. He wished,
particularly, to have him in the same office with
Peter-William having expressed a desire to become
a printer-for then the boy would have some one
to look after and protect him. But he saw that
Peter was opposed to this the moment it was
mentioned; and when the answer to his letter, de-
siring him to speak to Mr. Ludlow, came, a sus-
picion crossed his mind that the boy had not acted
"I will go to Boston and see about it myself,"
said he, after thinking over the matter. And he
did so immediately. On arriving in the city, he
called, first, at the office of Mr. Ludlow. On intro-
ducing himself, he inquired if the printer did not
want another boy.
"Not just now," replied Mr. Ludlow. "It is
only a couple of weeks since I took one."
"Did Peter say any thing to you about hil
brother ?" asked Mr. Close.


"Not a word. I've been looking out for a boy
that would suit me for several weeks."
Did my son know this ?"
"Oh, yes."
Mr. Close asked no more questions. He was
hurt as well as angry at his boy's conduct.
Do you wish to see Peter ?" inquired Mr. Lud-
low. "I will call him down."
"No, not just now," replied Mr. Close. "I can
drop in again during the morning." He spoke
with an abstracted air. "Do you know of any one
who wants a boy ?"
Mr. Ludlow reflected for some moments.
"Yes," he then answered. "There is a very
clever man, named Edgerton, a watch-maker, who
asked me, yesterday, if I knew of any one who had
a good boy that would like to learn a trade."
"A watch-maker," said Mr. Close. "Is that a
good trade ?"
"I believe so. There are not so many at it as
there are at the printing; and all seem to be doing
very well."
"You know the man ?"
"Mr. Edgerton? Oh yes. Very well."
"And you think it would be a good place for a
"I do."
"Would you have any objection to giving me a
little note to Mr. Edgerton ?"
"None in the least." And the printer did as
requested. Mr. Close took the note and went away
without seeing his son. The whole day passed,


and he did not return. On the next morning Mr.
Ludlow said to Peter.
Have you seen your father ?"
"No, sir. Where is he?" The boy looked
"Not seen him!" Mr. Ludlow evinced surprise.
"No, sir. When was he here?" inquired Peter.
"Yesterday. Didn't you know that he was
desirous of getting a place in a printing office for
your brother ?"
Peter was stammering out a negative, when he
caught himself, on reflection, and admitted that he
was aware of the fact.
"You have known, for several weeks, that it was
my intention to take another boy."
This Peter was forced to acknowledge.
"Then why didn't you mention your brother."
"Because I was sure he wouldn't suit you," re-
plied Peter.
"Why not?"
"He isn't a very strong boy. I don't believe
he could stand a printing office."
But your father thinks differently. He wished
him to learn the trade."
Peter hung his head with a confused, guilty look.
And, so your father has not been to see you ?"
said Mr. Ludlow.
"No, sir."
You must have acted very disobediently to came
him thus to avoid you."
Peter did not answer. A few moments of silence
followed; and then Mr. Ludlow told him that he
could go to his work. Peter went back into the


printing office, feeling about as badly as ever he had
felt in his life.
In the meantime, Mr. Close had called to see the
watchmaker, who kept a little shop in Hanover
street. The note from Mr. Ludlow who said that
he had one of the farmer's boys, was all-sufficient
to make the application favorably received. In an
hour after entering Mr. Edgerton's shop, Mr. Close
started from the city, on his way home, it being
all arranged that he should return in a week with
William, provided the lad did not object too strong-
ly to the trade of a watchmaker. He felt too in-
dignant towards Peter, and too much disheartened
by his strange conduct, to wish to see him while in
the city. On the boy's last visit home, he had ob-
served a great difference in him. He had grown
coarse and sensual in his appearance, instead of
being refined by a city residence. And, moreover,
did not appear to care for any one but himself; nor
did he take any interest in what was passing at
home. His mother's health had failed a good deal;
but Peter observed no change. She was sick for a
day or two, but he manifested no sympathy. Ere
he had been in the house twenty-four hours, he
quarreled with William; and his conduct towards
both his brothers was so overbearing, that they felt
it as a relief when he went back to the city.
All this was remembered by Mr. Close, and it so
disturbed him, and aroused, as we have said, such in-
dignant feelings in his mind, that he purposely re-
frained from going near Peter, as well to rebuke
him, as to avoid an interview that could only have
been an unpleasant one.


The disappointment to William Close was very
great, and, moreover, the lad was hurt at his brother s
conduct when he fully understood the part ie had
acted-not only hurt, but estranged in his feelings.
The act was so personal to himself, that his love of
self was wounded, and the more he thought of it,
the more angry and indignant did he become.
Under the influence of this feeling, he decided to
accept the place offered him, and learn the trade of
a watchmaker. In a week after the return of Mr.
Close from the city, he went back with William and
placed him in the shop of Mr. Edgerton.
Had Mr. Close been governed by his feelings, he
would have returned home without seeing Peter.
But his reason condemned this as wrong, and so,
after he had seen Mr. Edgerton and left William
in his care, he called at the office of Mr. Ludlow.
Peter, on seeing his father, had so strong a sense of
guilt and self-condemnation, that he could not look
him in the face. He was prepared, however, for a
severe lecture. In the reception of this, he was
disappointed; for Mr. Close did not once refer to
his conduct, nor utter a word of reproof. But, he
had very little to say, and his coldness and reserve,
as well as the gravity of his manner, told the boy
but too well what was in his mind.
"Your brother William," said he to him, "I have
apprenticed to Mr. Edgerton, the watchmaker. I
don't know that it is worth while to ask you to have
any care over him. I suppose he can make his own
way as you have made ourss"
Peter hung his head m silence.


"I shall leave town in an hour," added Mr. Close.
"So good bye," and he extended his hand.
The boy took it, but there was no reciprocal
pressure-no warmth in either hand. Mutually
they turned from each other-the father with a sigh
that in no way lightened the pressure of his feelings;
the son with a sense of relief.
When evening came, Peter called to see William.
Their meeting was not cordial; for on one side was
the sense of having, and on the other side that of
being, wronged; though no reference was made to
the subject. Thus the two brothers went out into
the world, without feelings of sympathy in each
other's welfare; but, rather tending to estrange-
ment. The want of interest manifested by Peter,
took from him the power to influence William for
good, even if he had felt a real concern for him.
From the beginning, therefore, their ways diverged
instead of running in a parallel. On the first Sab-
bath after William's arrival, Peter started, early,
for a ramble with three or four companions, scarcely
thinking of his brother, who, suffering from the first
sad homesickness, wandered about the streets of a
strange city without seeing an oect, the sight of
which affected him with pleasure; and when eve-
ing came, lonelier and still sadder in heart, he weht
early to bed, thinking only of the home from which
he had gone out, and to which he was never more
to return, except as a brief visitor, and there wept
himself to sleep.
How different was it with Victor and Hartley
Stevens, on the first Sabbath after the arrival of
the latter in Boston I With what a feeling of pride


and pleasure did the former take his brother with
him and introduce him into the Sunday School, and
how high a favor did he esteem it, when the Super-
intendent, at his earnest request, gave Hartley a
seat in the class to which he belonged I And yet,
in connexion with Hartley's coming to Boston,
Victor was to experience a severe trial, and it had
been foreshadowing itself in his mind from the first.
This had reference to his own intimacy in the
family of Mrs. Redmond. The introduction of Hart
ley to this family might not be pleasant; and, even
if they were to receive him kindly, Victor felt that
it would be trespassing on good nature to go there
with his brother, regularly, every Sabbath evening.
But, as to separating himself from Hartley, who
would be thus left alone, that, to Victor, was out of
the question. He was ready to meet the great pri-
vation for the sake of his brother.
After the dismissal of the school, at the close
of the first Sabbath, William and Anna Redmond
and Victor and Hartley Stevens walked along talk.
ing pleasantly together, for thpee or four blocks.
At length Victor and his brother paused at a point
where the ways to the two homes diverged.
What's the matter ?" asked William, in surprise.
"We're going home," said Victor.
"Home !"'
a Yes."
"No. You're going home with us," returned
"Oh yes. You must come; you and your brother
too," said Anna, looking with a smile of invitation
at Hartley.

i i



"No, I thank you, not this evening," replied
Victor. "We must go home."
It was in vain that William and Anna urged.
Victor was firm in his resolution. When they at
length separated, the brother and sister looked
greatly disappointed.
"Why didn't you come with William and Anna ?"
asked Mrs. Redmond of Victor on the next morning,
when the boy called with his bundle of clothes, as
usual, for the wash.
"I couldn't leave Hartley alone," was the reply.
Of course not. But you might have brought*
your brother along. You must bring him on next
Sunday afternoon."
"I don't know that it would be right," said Vic-
tor, showing some embarrassment of manner.
Why not ?" asked Mrs. Redmond.
"Because you have been a mother, and your
house another home to me," replied Victor, his voice
slightly trembling, and his eyes growing dim with
moisture; "that is no reason why you should care
for my brother in the same way."
The good sense, manliness and right feeling dis-
played in this answer, filled the mind of Mrs. Red-
mond with admiration for Victor.
We will find a place for your brother," was the
smiling reply. "He must be a good boy, or you
would not feel for him the strong regard you mani-
fest. Bring him home with you on next Sunday
evening. Want to see him."
The invitation Victor did not feel it right to de-
dine. And so, on the next Sunday evening, Hartley

T3I WAY TO PaOOPn. 8 *

was introduced to Mrs. Redmond, who felt a prepos-
session in his favor as soon as she saw him.
You must come as usual," said she to Victor,
when he was going away that evening.
But Victor did not feel free to do this. It did
not seem to him as altogether right. During thk
week, he debated the subject in his mind, viewing
it on every side. When the next Sunday arrived,
he had come to this conclusion; to go to Mrs. Red-
mond's, with Hartley, every other Sunday evening
after school; thus making a kind of compromise.
And to this he adhered for some time, though not
without a certain sense of embarrassment. As for
Hartley he was not long in winning his way into.
the kind feelings of Mrs. Redmond. The quiet
unobtrusiveness and sincerity of his character, soon *
made its due impression; and only a few months
elapsed before she felt as much interest in him as
she had ever felt in Victor, and before the boy 1
loved her only less than his own mother.


As Victor Stevens had rightly inferred, he was
able to assist and protect his brother in many ways
during his trying initiation into the first mysteries
of the "black art," and thus lighten the burdens
which he, with all his endurance, had found, some-
times, almost intolerable. And in doing this, he
was careful not to neglect his own work, nor to


offend any in the office by an injudicious interference
in behalf of Hartley. This regard for his younger
brother did not, of course, escape the notice of 'the
master, journeymen, and older apprentices, and an
involuntary respect for the lads was the conse-
quence; a respect that saved them often from op-
pression. Thus, in the beginning, they experienced
the benefits of concord, and proved the truth of that
saying, so apparent to all-" In union there is
strength." In pulling together, the draught was
made easier. In mutual regard, the burdens they
had to bear were found to be lighter than if each
had attempted to work alone in selfish Begard to his
own ends and pleasures.
It was different, of course, with the two brothers,
Peter and William Close. For the former, no re-
spect was felt in the office where he worked, for
there was nothing about him that inspired respect;
and he was constantly suffering some kind of annoy-
ance, arising from a reaction occasioned by his own
hard points of character. As for William, the poor
lad had a hard time of it. The separation from
home proved a most painful trial; the more so, as,
in the family of the watchmaker, where he lived, he
found neither sympathy nor companionship. There
was one other apprentice, a boy of nineteen years
old, who, from the beginning, showed an evil plea-
sure in oppressing and annoying the friendless lad;
and, as William's feelings were naturally acute, he
suffered from this cause severely. For the first
year he was made a family drudge. He cut the
wood, made the fire, brought the water, cleaned
knives, carried the market basket, nursed the baby,


and, sometimes, was even set to washing windows
and scrubbing floors. If he complained to Peter of
any thing, he received no sympathy; and no advice,
except when he told him of what the older boy did
to him, and then he was instigated to antagonism.
Knock him down with the first thing that comes
in your way," was the counsel of the elder brother.
But this counsel William had not the courage to
follow. With nothing at home to attract him there;
and no good influences to inseminate and develop
right principles as a protection in the world, Wil-
liam, after a few weeks residence in the city, began
to look around him for some one or more with whom
he could have fellowship. Companions were not
hard to find. A friendship with two or three boys
in the immediate neighborhood was soon formed,
and it so happened that they were able to induct
him into all the little vices peculiar to a city life.
William was not a very apt scholar at first. He
came from the country an innocent-minded lad, and
only needed to have his feet turned into right paths.
He would have walked in them willingly. But there
was no one to point the way; no one to take him
by the hand and lead him in the right direction.
Had Peter, as the oldest, been a different boy, life
would have opened for him with a better promise.
His first associates determined his future. They
were about as bad as they could well be. He not
only learned from them to break the Sabbath, and
lounge about the theatre at night, but to frequent
tippling shops where the vilest people congregate.
In order to get money, old nails and scraps of iron
were gathered, and, when opportunity offered, the


temptation to purloin little things was not resisted.
This was a dreadful school for a lad to enter. All
that was good and innocent in the mind of William
Close, shrunk from the first contact with this; but
little by little the weak foundations of right princi-
ples were destroyed, and, before he had been six
months in Boston, his willing feet were moving
swiftly in the way to destruction.
Two years after William had been sent to Boston,
Mr. Close received a letter from his master to
the effect, that his son's habits had become so bad
as seriously to incline him to make an application
for the cancelling of his indentures. "He runs,"
said the letter, "with the fire engines, and associates
with fire rowdies, and the very worst class of boys in
the city. Often he stays out all night. He visits
tippling shops and the theatre, and what is strangest
of all, never seems to be without money to spend.
Where he gets it from is more than I can tell.
Talking to him does no good. Punishment avails
as little. I have tried both. In the family, he is
either sulky or impudent; and is never satisfied with
any thing. Unless there is a speedy change for
the better, I must give him up as incorrigible. I
am sorry to write this; but justice to all concerned
makes it imperative."
The mother of William had not been in good
health for some years. Disease had fastened upon
her lungs, and under its encroachment, she was
gradually but surely wasting away. Daily some
portion of her strength departed; her pulse became
feebler; her step slower; and her face whiter and
sadder. Since her two oldest boys had left ho14


her heart had been weighed down by a new feeling
of trouble, for she had little rational confidence in
them. If they loved her, they had never manifested,
strongly, their affection. Her counsels, when op-
posed to their passions and inclinations, never had
much apparent weight. Neither love nor precept,
therefore, went with them to guard and guide them
on their dangerous way. All this the mother felt;
and it was a daily increasing pressure upon her heart.
Hopefully she could not look forward. Only with
trembling did she let her eyes go fearfully down
the future.
Twice a year the boys came up from the city to
spend a week at home ;.but in not one of these visits
had the mother's heart found strength. The signs
of moral declension were too plainly written in their
faces; and their conduct, while at home, was never
of a character to make their presence there a source
of real pleasure. Hope in her sons, had, therefore,
been growing weaker and weaker, and her heart, in
consequence, sadder and sadder.
When the letter of Mr. Edgerton came, she was
drooping about the house, scarcely able to perform
even the smallest domestic labor. In the first im-
pulse of his feelings the excited father read to her
the distressing contents. The mother showed little
emotion; but the inward shock was terrible. A
violent chill seized her soon after, and she went to
bed, prostrate both in body and mind. A fever
succeeded to this, and when the doctor was sum-
moned, he pronounced her case exceedingly critical.
A week of anxious suspense followed: then a dan-
gerous crisis was passed, and the mother began

. IF 7


slowly to recover. But she did not come back even
to the low point of health from which she had fallen;
and was never afterwards able to sit up more than
a few hours in each day. The slightest exertion
started the perspiration from every pore; and even
a cool breath of summer air gave her cold.
As soon as his wife had passed this crisis, Mr.
Close went to Boston to see Mr. Edgerton about
William. But his visit, as far as he could see, re-
sulted in no good. The master had a great many
complaints to make against the boy, and the boy
even more to make against the master. As to the
more serious allegations, William boldly denied
them. Mr. Close saw, plainly enough, that there
was nothing in either Mr. Edgerton or his family
calculated to exercise a very salutary influence over
a boy; and hardly wondered that his son should
have been driven away into evil companionship.
After such remonstrance and advice as the occasion
seemed to require, Mr. Close went back to his home
with a heavy heart. Scarcely a week elapsed after
his visit to Boston, when a letter came from Peter,
conveying the afflicting intelligence, that William had
been detected in pilfering money from his master,
who had handed him over to a magistrate, and that
he was now in prison.
The heart-broken mother heard this dreadful
news with a moan of bitter anguish. In a week
they bore her out, and laid her wasted body to rest
in the peaceful grave. The unhappy boy, whose
conduct had thus snapped asunder a feeble thread
of life, never looked upon her face again. Once, in
after years, he stood where the green earth was


heaped above her ashes; and stood there with the
knowledge that his conduct had hastened and made
rough her passage from the earth. What his feel-
ings were we will not attempt to describe. May
none who read this history ever know them from
actual experience!


ON day, it was after Hartley Stevens had been
nearly two years in Boston, he had occasion to go
to the office of Mr. Ludlow, where he met Peter
Close. The boys had seen each other occasionally,
ever since they had been in the city, but never had
any intimate association.
"Where in the world do you keep yourself?"
said Peter, on meeting Hartley. "Ihavn't seen
you for an age. What do you do in the evenings?"
"Stay at home and read. Or walk about.
Or -"
"Read! My gracious! I'd go to sleep over a
book after standing at case all day."
"We go to Meeting one night in every week-
Victor and I."
Go to Meeting through the week! Why, that's
more than I do on Sundays. Boys who have to
work as hard as we do, want some freedom and
pleasure. Have you been to the theatw'yet ?"
Hartley shook his head.
Why not?"

,7. -'-v 7 1 .


"It isn't a good place for boys."
"Who says so?'
"Father says so. And so does my Sunday
school teacher.
"Sunday school teacher Oh, dear And so
you are a Sunday school scholar into the bargain!
ear Dear I Dear Well, that does beat all!
Slave like a dog all the week, and then be shut up
in a meeting-house and school-room all the day on
Sunday, singing hymns and reading the Bible!
Well, that beats me out I I can tell you what, my
boy, I wouldn't let them coop me up m that way,
speaking seriously and in a tone of advice. Have
you had a sail in the harbor yet ?"
"No," replied Hartley.
"Why I'm off sailing almost every Sunday.
And you've never been to the theatre ?"
A" Well, you must go there. Harm! I wonder
what more harm there is in seeing Pizarro, Hamlet,
or King Lear, than in reading the history or the
plays ? Can you tell me where it lies ?"
Hartley was not, of course, prepared to argue
this point. He refrained from going to the theatre
more in obedience to his parents' wishes than from
any other reason. He had a vague notion of some-
thing wrong in the thing itself; but, so far as that
went, was not able to give a reason for his conduct.
His silence gave Peter confidence in his own posi-
tions, and encouraged him to sap, if possible, the
foundations of the boy's' integrity of character, in
at least this matter of obedience to parental in-


"Of course," went on Peter, "there is no more
harm in the one than in the other. I wish you
would just go once and see and judge for yourself.
They are playing Pizarro now. Oh! it is a splendid
thing. Such scenery Such acting! Come round
to our house to-night, after supper, and go with
But Hartley shook his head positively, and said
"I wish you would," urged Peter. "Just once.
I want you to see for yourself. You needn't go
any more. It surely can't hurt you to see one
"I'll think about it," said Hartley, in whose mind
a struggle was already beginning to arise; and as
he spoke, he broke away from his tempter and
went back to Mr. Preston's office, from whence he
had come on an errand.
The words of Peter lingered in the mind of
Hartley. As he went home to his dinner, the large
bills on the corners attracted his attention more
than they had ever done. The word "Pizarro"
had for him a new interest, as it stood forth most
prominently. He could not pause to read the bills,
for Victor was with him; and not for the world
would he have had him know what was passing in
his mind.
On the next day Hartley was again sent to the
office of Mr. Ludlow, where he again met Peter
Well, Hartley," said Peter, "have you made up
your mind to go and see Pisarro?"
Hartley shook his head.

i~w 4'

'i ,



"You still think it harm ?" remarked Peter.
"I don't know that there is any great harm in
it," replied Hartley. "But my father doesn't wish
me to go to the theatre."
He'll know nothing about it."
"Yes, but I will," said Hartley. "I will know
that I disobeyed him."
"Oh dear! And will that keep you awake at
"I'd never sleep a wink if such were the case
with me. But it isn't because your father believes
theatrical performances to be wrong in themselves
that he does not wish you to see them. He's afraid
of the bad company. But you needn't go into that.
You've got sense and discretion enough to go and
come without speaking to any one."
This argument had some influence upon the mind
of Hartley. Peter then gave him some brief but
glowing descriptions of things heard and seen upon
the stage, all of which helped to increase an already
formed desire to witness a play, and to weaken the
boy's good resolutions.
For several days it so happened that Mr. Preston
had occasion to send Hartley to the office of Mr.
Ludlow, and each time he met Peter, who introduced
the subject of the theatre. The consequence was,
that the mind of Hartley became so haunted with
the idea of seeing a play, that he could hardly sleep
when he went to his bed. At length the words
Last night of Pisarro" stared him in the face as
he went, one morning, to the office. Peter had
filled his mind with a desire to see this particular


play, and this announcement brought his mind into
the final struggle in which he was to maintain the
integrity of his purposes, or fall away. Of the
temptation to which he was subjected, Victor knew
nothing; for, to mention it to him would have been
equivalent to a settlement of the whole question.
And, moreover, he did not wish his brother to know
that he had even thought of the theatre with the
desire to go there. During the whole day, the
question of seeing Pizarro that night disturbed his
mind. He was to be alone in the evening, for Vic-
tor was going out. The way was, therefore, all open.
He was free, so far as external influences were con-
cerned, to gratify the desire he had to see a play,
or to act from his convictions of right.
Supper passed, and Victor went out. To go, or
not to go-this was the important question that
now came up in the mind of Hartley, and called
for a quick decision. In half an hour the curtain
would rise. He had looked at the bills close
enough to be advised of that fact. The more he
debated the question, the more confused did his
mind become, and the more obscured his perceptions
of right.
"Im sure there is no harm in just going once,"
said the boy to himself. "What is the harm ?"
At last the decision was made by a kind of forced
mental effort. Something like a man who takes a
leap in the dark, Hartley shut the eyes of his
mind to all the suggestions of right, and started
forth to visit the theatre. That he did not feel
very comfortable may be supposed, for the voice of
conscience was not entirely silent. Still, he passed


on, hurriedly, towards the playhouse, and in a few
minutes arrived in front of the building, before
which large lamps were making all nearly as light
as day, and into which a crowd of persons was pass-
ing. To pause, now, would have been to enter
into a new and more painful struggle. A perception
of this was in the boy's thoughts; and, therefore, he
kept his mind above reflection; or, rather, chained
down below it. Going up, without hesitation, to
the ticket office, he paid for a ticket to the pit, and
then passed through the door that opened into the
avenue leading to that part of the house. The first
crash of the orchestral instruments jarred upon his
already highly strung nerves as the door closed be-
hind him, and he found himself in a dimly lighted
passage way. A sight of the gorgeously painted
curtain had not yet made its appeal, even stronger
than the music, when, before the eyes of Hartley
arose, distinct as if it were a real vision, the
forms of his father and mother, and their strict in-
junctions not to visit the theatre sounded in his
ears. He paused suddenly. It seemed as if hj
parents must know what he was doing and be over-
whelmed with grief at his disobedience. With
this thought came a strong sense of the evil of dis-
I will not go," said he, with a quickly formed
resolution, turning, as he spoke, and hurrying back
along the way he had come. When he reached the
open air, and ran down the steps of the theatre into
the street, he panted like one who had been sud-
denly brought from an exhausted into a pure and
healthy atmosphere. A heavy weight seemed lifted



from his bosom and with a feeling of thankfulness
that he had been able to resist the temptation, he
returned home with sober feelings. On arriving
there, he found that Victor had unexpectedly come
Had Hartley spent the evening at the theatre, he
could not have concealed it from his brother without
a falsehood, and this it was impossible for him to
utter. As it was, he avoided looking him steadily
in the face when they met, and was not at all re-
lieved in mina until he found himself in the darkness
of his little attic chamber, alone upon his pillow.
It was his first and last temptation, so far as the
theatre was concerned.


ArrnB Victor and Hartley had left home, affairs
took a rather more favorable turn with Mr. Stevens.
A difference of some two hundred dollars in his
annual expense soon enabled him to pay off the
whole of the mortgage on his little place. This
encouraged him. He was next able to conduct his
farming operations on a less contracted and exhaust-
ing scale. The benefit of this was soon apparent.
Hs fields produced a third more to the acre; his
stock was improved in quality and increased in
numbers; while every thing around him had the air
of thrift and comfort.
About the time Victor attained his eighteenth


year-being thea a well-grown boy, taller than
some men-he came home with his brother on a
short visit. In his round pepper-and-salt jacket,
and coarse cassinet trowsers, he did not present a
very elegant appearance. But his narrow income
would not afford a broadcloth coat. Mr. Stevens
pitied his son, when he saw how rapidly he was
shooting up to the stature of a man, without being
able to dress in any way becoming the appearance
of a man.
"I think, Victor," said he to him,'s day or two
after he came home, that I must help you a little
with your clothes. Thirty dollars is a sum too small
to procure you what you really ought to have at
your age."
But the boy shook his head, and said-
"No, father. I set out to support myself, and I
wish to do it. Only three years more will pass be-
fore I am through with my apprenticeship, and then
I will be able to buy what I want. I am only a boy
now and must be content with a boy's clothing.
When I am a man, I can afford to dress as a man.
I would much rather you would help Hartley a little.
Somehow or other his clothes wear out faster than
Mr. Stevens was touched by the noble indepen-
dence and brotherly affection of his son.
"It shall be as you wish, Victor," he replied.
will help Hartley."
4And he helped Victor also, although he was not
aware of the fact until after he became free. It
was done through the kind Mrs. Redmond, to whom
Mr. Stevens frequently sent presents of fruit and


other things, the product of Mb -farm, and upon
whom he always called when business took him to
Boston. In her hands he occasionally placed small
sums of money to be expended for the boys, but with
the strict injunction that Victor should not be made
aware of the fact, so far as himself t concerned.
Not once, from the time Hartley came to the city
to be the fellow apprentice and companion of his
brother, had there been a jar of discord between
them. When not at work, it was rarely that you
saw one without the other. They walked out, or
remained and read together at home during evenings.
They sat beside each other on Sunday in the Sabbath
School, or at church. They advised with and helped
each other in any difficulties that happened to arise.
They were, in fact, united in every thing, and hap-
pier, of course, a thousand times happier, than if
there had been selfishness, division and discord.
And so the years moved slowly on, bringing
nearer and nearer the time when the oldest brother
would be free. At twenty Victor was a tall and
stout young man. NO withstanding the little addi-
tions secretly made to his income by his father, and
notwithstanding that new shirts and stockings came
always in time of need from his mother, yet the ex-
ternal appearance of Victor was far from being in
correspondence with his age, size, and the associates,
which his position as a Sabbath school teacher-to
which post he had been appointed when eighteen
years of age-drew around him.
Among those who had observed Victor for some
years, was a merchant tailor in good circumstances,
named Acker, who taught a class in the Sabbath


School to which he was attached. This man had
often noticed his plain attire and pitied him on that
account. About the time Victor reached his twen-
tieth year, Mr. Acker said to him, as they were
passing from the Sabbath School room one day.
"Call around to see me to-morrow evening. I've
something to say to you."
Wondering what Mr. Acker could want with him,
Victor called at his shop on Monday evening, and
was received with marked kindness of manner.
How old are you now, Victor ?" asked the tailor,
soon after the young man came in, breaking off for
some common-place observations that were at first
"I was twenty last month," replied Victor.
"Then you will be out of your time in a year ?"
"Yes, sir."
You're a printer, I believe ?"
"Yes, sir."
"Do you like the trade ?"
"Oh, yes, very well."
"How much can a good journeyman earn a
week ?"
From eight to twelve dollars."
How much do you expect to earn ?"
Ten dollars, at least.'
"That will be very good. You ought to save
money on such wages.
"I expect to do so."
"You intend going into business, I suppose, at
some time or other ?"
Oh, yes. By the time my brother Hartley is


out of his time, I hope to have money enough saved
to buy a small office.
"You desire, then, that he shall be your part-
Yes, sir. We mean to begin the world together.
In union there is strength, you know."
Ver true," said Mr. Acker, with a smile of
"How much does Mr. Preston allow you for
clothing ?" he inquired, a moment afterwards.
"Thirty dollars," replied Victor.
Too little for a young man of your age."
As Mr. Acker said this, he glanced at the coarse
garments of Victor.
It isn't enough, I know," replied Victor. "But
it's all Mr. Preston agreed to pay, and I have no
right to expect more. A year will soon pass away,
and then I can buy such clothing as I need."
Mr. Acker mused for some time.
I'll tell you what I've been thinking about," he
then said. You are as large now as a man, and
circumstances have brought you into association with
young men who all dress much better than you do.
Of course, you see and feel this; and it cannot but be
mortifying to your feelings. Now, suppose I make
you up a good, but not very costly suit of clotLes,
say for thirty-five dollars, and let you pay me for
them after you are free. What do you say to
that ?"
Victor's face instantly flushed. He felt confused.
The desire to have better clothes had been increased
by what the tailor said, and here was the offer to
have the desire gratified. But then, it came bur.


dened with the idea of debt. He must make a draft
upon his future labor.
"Well, what do you say to it ?" repeated Mr.
Acker, seeing that Victor made no response to the
"I think I'd better go on as I am," said Victor,
in a serious voice.
"Why so?"
"I don't want to go in debt."
"You needn't feel it as a debt. I won't even
charge it on my books. You shall be perfectly free
to pay when it is most convenient. Im not afraid
to trust you."
Victor shook his head.
I'm sure my father wouldn't approve of it; and
it doesn't seem right to me. I think I'd better
'tough' it out for the year, and take a fair start in
the world. I'm sure I would'nt feel comfortable
with a fine suit of clothes on my back not paid for1
and I know my father would t be pleased to see
me wearing them. He has warned me against going
in debt for any thing. A young man, says he, who
begins the world in debt fifty dollars, will be most
likely to remain in debt all his life."
"I don't know but your father is right," said
Mr. Acker. "It is bad to go in debt. But isn't
he able to assist you a little ?"
"He has other children to support, and I prefer
taking care of myself. He did offer to help me,
but I wasn't willing to accept any thing from him."
"Why not?"
"He supported me until I was fourteen,-and
gave me my schooling. That was a good deal.


Since that time, I have been able to earn my own
living, and it is but right that I should continue to
do so. He is getting old, and ought to be laying
up something. I wouldn't feel right about it, if I
were to touch a dollar of his hard earnings. It
won't be long before I'm free. I have stood it so
long, and I can easily stand it for another year.
For your very kind offer, Mr. Acker, don't think
me ungrateful. But, I am sure it would not be
right for me to accept it."
"I cannot but admire your manly independence,"
said Mr. Acker. "Hold fast to this spirit, and our .1
success in life is certain. Yes, debt is a bad thing
for a young man to begin the world with. Huno
dreds have ruined their prospects in life by forestall-
ing their future efforts. It is best, as you say, for
you to go as you are. A year will soon roll around,
and then you will be prepared to make a fair start
in the world. That you will be successful, there is
not, in my mind, the shadow of a doubt."
The temptation offered by Mr. Acker was greater
than he supposed, and the amount of resistance in
the mind of the young man more than was apparent.
Victor had, on more than one occasion, been made
aware that his coarse clothes stood in the way of
his social pleasures. He never walked in the street
on Sunday with Anna Redmond, that he did not
feel his appearance as being little less than disgraoe-
ful to his neatly-dressed companion; and he more
frequently avoided accompanying her home from
Church or Sabbath school, than he availed himself
of the privilege of being in her society.
Several times there had been company aAhe


house of Mrs. Redmond, but though strongly urged
to come, Victor had avoided doing so because his
appearance would contrast so strongly with that
of others who would be there, as to make him feel
About a week after the interview with the tailor,
just mentioned, Mr. Preston said to Victor, who
came into his little office to ask him some question
about a work that was in his hands-
How old are you now ?"
"I was twenty last month."
"Nearly a man in age and fully a man in size.
You are aware, Victor, that, according to your in-
dentures, you are to be furnished with a new suit of
clothes when free ?"
Victor replied in the affirmative.
"A good Sunday suit, if you had it now, would
not only last you through the balance of your
time, but for six months afterward, if you were
careful not to abuse it. Suppose I give you the
clothes at this time, instead of waiting until you
are free ?"
"I would feel it as a great favor," replied Vic-
Very well. You have always been a good and
faithful boy, and it will afford me pleasure to anti-
cipate this matter. As you go to dinner, stop in
here and I will give you orders for a suit of clothes,
a hat and a pair of boots."
Victor thanked his master for this act of kind-
ness, and went back to his work with a pleasant
warmth in his bosom, such as he had not for a long


The order for clothes was upon Mr. Acker, who
appeared even more pleased at receiving it than
Victor was in placing it in his hands. Victor had
his own suspicions touching Mr. Acker's agency in
the matter, and he was not far out of the way.


A FEW evenings after Victor had received this
reward for his good conduct, he met Peter Close,
as he was coming home from his work. Peter had
a shabby look and a discontented air. The small
sum received for his clothing was injudiciously
spent, and, therefore, proved more inadequate to
the comfortable supply of things needed than even
the income of Victor. The different appearance in
the two young men, who were nearly of the same
age, was striking enough.
How are you, Peter ?" said Victor, extending
his hand.
"Only so so," replied Peter, moodily.
"A'n't you well ?"
"Not in mind."
"What's the matter ?"
"I feel mad all the time."
"Why so !"
"Just look at me I Here I am, earning Ludlow
at least ten dollars every week, and yet the mean
rascal keeps me in this condition. He knows as
well as I do, that thirty dollars is not half enough
to buy clothes for a young man of my age."


"It's all I receive, Peter. And it is all he
agreed to give you when you were bound."
"I don't care. I was a mere boy then, and
didn't know any thing about what it cost for
clothes. But he knew, and took advantage of my
"It is not enough, certainly," replied Victor,
"but then it does no good to fret over it. In less
than a year you will be free."
"A year! I'll be free in less than a week, if
there isn't a very great change for the better," said
Peter, with an angry emphasis in his tones.
Victor looked astonished.
The fact is," continued Peter, "he's had enough
.out of me, and more than enough. I earned as
much as he gave me from the first day I entered
his office; and for three years I have taken the
place of a journeyman. And yet he won't give
me decent clothes to my back. There'll have to be
a change, I can tell you-a v6ry great change, or
he and I will dissolve partnership. I'm determined
on that."
"Don't think of such a thing for an instant,"
said Victor Stevens, in reply. Put up with any
thing rather than leave your place before your time
is out. An apprentice boy who leaves his master
never does well."
"I can earn ten dollars a week at press in an,
office in the country. That's well enough for me.
"But the disgrace of leaving your master will
follow you wherever you go ?"
"Disgrace I I wonder what disgrace there will


be in leaving a selfish, tyrannical old rascal like
It is always considered disgraceful for an ap.
prentice to leave his master."
"I know it is, by masters."
"It is by every one."
"I beg your pardon."
"Besides, it is not right," urged Victor. "A
contract is as binding, in honor and justice, on a
boy, as it is on a man. The agreement was for you
to stay with Mr. Ludlow until you were twenty-one
years of age; for him to pay your board during the
time, and give you thirty dollars with which to
clothe yourself. Beyond that, you have no right
to expect any thing;lo long as Mr. Ludlow per-
forms his part of tlontract, you are bound to
perform yours."
I'll take all the cesequences of breaking it,"
said Peter, tossing his head.
"They will, no doubt, prove far more serious
than you imagine."
"I'm not afraid. Nothing can be worse than
the present. I feel my situation to be intolerable.
I have no comfort, and nothing to encourage me."
"I fear," said Victor, "that you have not had
the best associates and advisers in the world."
Peter tossed his head half contemptuously, and
replied that he believed he was entirely competent
to advise himself.
After Victor had urged him strongly not to think
of leaving his place until he was free, the two young
men separated.
On the next day, while Mr. Ludlow was sitting


at his desk, Peter came to him, and with a certain
manner that annoyed the master, said-
"Mr. Ludlow, can't you allow me something
more for my clothes ?"
"I allow you what I agreed to give when you
were bound, and just what the other boys receive."
It isn't enough," said Peter. My clothes are
so shabby that I'm hardly decent to appear in the
"Your own fault, I presume. From the com-
pany you keep, I should suppose that over one-half
your money was spent for other purposes than
It is not so," replied Peter, in a rough, insulting
way, eyeing Mr. Ludlow *i n angry look.
"See here, young man d the printer, rising
from his seat, and returning the steady look of his
apprentice. "Do you go immediately to the press
room, and resume your work, or I'll send for a police
officer, and have you flogged."
Peter had seen his master excited more than once
during his apprenticeship, and knew that he was not
a man to hesitate in an emergency. That he could
have him flogged by a police officer for refractory
conduct, he well knew, as the thing had been more
than once done within his knowledge. A moment's
reflection gave him to see that he was in a wrong
position. So grinding his teeth with anger, and
glancing a look of defiance upon his master, he
retreated to the press room and resumed his work.
Mr. Ludlow, on cooling off and reflecting on the
subject, came to the conclusion that it would be
better, as a matter of prudence, to be more liberal


with Peter in the article of clothing; for if he
should be tempted to run away from him, he would
lose his labor for a year-labor that would cost him
about two hundred dollars, and could not be re-
placed for less than four or five hundred. He was
fretted and annoyed at the boy's insolent manner;
but a prudent regard for his own interest led him
to stifle his feelings. On his way home to dinner,
he stopped at his tailor's and selected a suit of gray
cloth for Peter.
I will send him to get measured this evening,"
said Mr. Ludlow.
But Peter did not return to the office after dinner;
and when Mr. Ludlow sent for him towards sun-
down, to tell him ti to the tailor's and get
measured for a suif clothes, he heard to hs
surprise, that he had not been to work during the
afternoon. In the evening he called at his boarding
house, and learned that he had not been there since
breakfast time. Information was given to the po-
lice on the next morning, Peter not having returned
during the night. But the search for him proved
When Peter Close left the office at dinner time,
he did not go home, as usual, to his boarding house,
but took his way direct to the wharves. At one of
these was lying a vessel which had been loading for
Charleston, South Carolina, during the week, and
with the captain of which, Peter, in lounging about
the wharves on Sunday, had become acquainted.
"Got holiday to-day," said the captain, family
iarly, as Peter stepped on board.


"Yes, and likely to have it for some time," re-
plied Peter.
"How so?"
"I'm out of my time."
"The deuce you are !"
"Yes, I'm free to-day. And a pretty looking
fellow I am to be free. Not a decent shirt to my
"Your master's bound to give you a freedom
uit," said the captain.
"And he was bound, also, to keep me decent
while I was an apprentice. But he didn't do it."
"You can compel him to give you a freedom
suit. Your indentures call for it."
"I've no friends to stands for me."
"Stand up for yourself. Wo to the police-office
and make your complaint."
"That's all easy enough to talk about. My
master would make his own Itatement, and tell fifty
plausible lies against me. Do you think a poor
devil in the plight that I am could get justice? Not
here, let me tell you."
What are you going to do ?"
"Get out of the cursed place by the quickest
Can't you get work here V~
"No. Every office is filled with boys. I could
name you over twenty journeymen who are walking
the streets with their hands in their pockets."
That's a hard case, certainly. Won't the man
you served your time with give you work t"
"No. I quarrelled with him about clothes, and
he ordered me out of the office."

T 1 7 -,-- .-1

TwI WA TO PRloPAs. 89

The captain, not a very acute observer of human
nature, believed all this, and felt compassion for
Printers get good wages and plenty of work, in
Charleston," said he.
Do they ? I wish I was there, then. But it's
no use wishing. I can't tramp that distance."
*" I'm short of hands," said the captain, and will
give you a passage, if you will take the place of one
on the voyage.
That I will do most cheerfully, and thank you
for the privilege into the bargain," replied Peter.
When do you sail ?"
"This afternoon. The clearance has already
been made."
So much the bett*."
Get your trunk, then. The wind is fair, and I
shall be under way in a couple of hours."
Trunk I Shelf, yo'd better say. I'm yet to
be rich enough to own a trunk."
The captain laughed and said-
"Your bundle, then."
"Except rags, I've nothing but what you see on
my back, said Peter.
You are poorly off, sure enough," remarked the
captain, "and I don't wonder that you bear no
goodwill towards your old master. If it were my
case, I should be very much inclined to let him feel
the weight of a pair of sledge hammers before turn-
ing my back on the city." And the captain held
up his huge fists.
And get in prison for your trouble," said Peter.
"No, I've had more to do with the old rascal for


the present than is at all agreeable. In a year or
two I will return and settle the matter with him on
the ground of equality as a man. The day of reck-
oninghas got to come."
"You are right, no doubt," replied the captain.
"Get all fair and square-a good suit of lotee
on your back, and money in your pocket, and then
haul him up to the bull-ring.
TLwo hours afterwards, the sails of the vessel
were spread to the breeze, and before the next
morning the runaway apprentice was out to sea, and
beyond the reach of pursuit.


ON his arrival in Charleston, Peter found no
liflculty in getting work. In a Boston newspaper
he saw himself advertised as a runaway, and a re-
ward of twenty dollars offered for his apprehension.
He was described as a coarse, rowdyish looking boy,
who kept low company, and would, probably, be
found by the police sleeping at night m one of the
engine houses. All persons were cautioned not to
harbor or employ him under pain of prosecution.
The reading of this advertisement mortified, as
well as incensed the young man. The clothes he
had on were also particulaly described; and as he
had no ability to change teem, he dreaded being
recognized in the office where he worked, hundreds
of miles away from Boston as he was. If any one

TH WAY To PBosa. 91

looked at him earnestly in the street; if a fellow
workman questioned him about his former place of
residence-if the owner of the printing office observed
him more attentively than usual, his heart would
beat quicker, and he would feel certain that he was
either suspected or recognized. The. first week
after getting work, he earned eight dollars. Four
of this had to be paid for boarding. The cost of
living he found to be much higher at the South than
it was in Boston. The remaining four dollars would
have been spent for a pair of coarse pantaloons,
only that the vices of smoking and chewing had to
be indulged, and the purchase of tobacco andsegars,
besides a couple of glasses of liquor, on Saturday
evening, reduced his funds to three dollars and a
half-too small a sum for his purpose. So the
purchase of the pantaloons had to be put off for an-
other week.
Money in Peter's pocket always made him feel
uneasy. The fact that he possessed three dollars
and a half, and would receive ten dollars on the
next Saturday night, made him feel in a certain
sense, rich; and privileged, therefore, to gratify
any little want he might feel. The consequence
was, that by the time the week ended, his three
dollars and a half had wasted, how, he could hardly
tell, until only two remained. This diminution
troubled his mind, and caused him to form a resolu-
tion against the indulgence of a spending propensity.
A pair of coarse pantaoons and a vest were bought
on Saturday night; and the pleasure he felt in
putting them on, strengthened his resolution to be
careful about his expenditures. By the end of the
T u


next week he was able to supply himself with a new
hat and a pair of half boots. The savings of three
more weeks enabled him to purchase a coat. After
this, pride in his personal appearance being awak-
ened, he expended his earnings in handkerchiefs,
shirts, and stockings, of which he was nearly desti-
tute. Then a commoner coat for every day wear,
a fine pair of pantaloons and a vest, and a pair of
boots were obtained. All this was accomplished in
the space of a few months. The change produced
in the young man in consequence, was so great,
that it is doubtful if his old master would have
known him had he met him on the street.
Yet, for all, Peter was far from being comforta-
ble. He was but a runaway apprentice after all, and
liable, he felt, at any moment, to be apprehended
and sent back to his master. The danger of some
printer from Boston getting work in the same office
and recognizing him, was constantly before his eyes.
He felt uneasy whenever a stranger entered the
place. Regularly every Sunday he went round to
the different hotels and examined the registers of
arrivals to see if any one from Boston, likely to
know him, was in the city.
One Sunday, about six months after his entrance
into Charleston, and when he had not only supplied
himself with a good stock of clothing, but had about
thirty dollars in his trunk, he was startled to find
the name of Ludlow on the register of one of the
hotels. The initials were those of his old master,
and the residence given was Boston. Whether this
was his master or not, was more than he could tell.
But he did not feel it safe to stay an hour longer in

Tu wAY TO Un0IPs. 98

the city than necessity compelled him to remain.
That afternoon, without intimating to any one his
intention, he started for Mobile; from thence he
proceeded to New Orleans, and up the river to
Natchez. By this time his money was nearly all
gone. At Natchez he could get no work. There
were several vacancies in New Orleans, he was told,
as the sickly season was about coming on, and
printers were leaving. He spoke of Cincinnati;
but was discouraged in regard to work there, as a
number of printers from the lower country had
already gone up.
Having barely enough money to take him back
to New Orleans, Peter Close, after reflecting on the
chances of-his getting sick, and on the probability
of Mr. Ludlow's not venturing so far South in the
summer time, concluded to run his chances and go
down the river.
In New Orleans he obtained work at the first
newspaper office where he made application; wage
fifteen dollars a week. The price of boarding wa
five dollars. In four weeks after the young man
entered New Orleans, he was down with the yellow
fever. The keeper of the boarding house where he
lodged, had him sent immediately to the hospital,
where he escaped death by only the narrowest
chance. On leaving the sick ward, he found him-
self penniless, friendless, and so feeble that he
could scarcely walk alone. As to working, it was
entirely out of the question. He could not have
stood at the case for five minutes, nor applied suf-
ficient strength to a press to have obtained the im-
pression of a sheet. The deadly fever was still


raging around him, claiming its scores of victims
daily. If he were to suffer a relapse, his fate would
be sealed. The only thing for him was to escape
from the city and flee for his life. But how was
he to get away ? He had not a dollar,'and was a
stranger to all in the city. On going to his board-
ing house for hi trunk, he found that it had been
opened, and his best clothes removed, under the
belief that he would die at the.hospital. He never
recovered them; for he was in no condition to con-
tend for his rights. In the hope of exciting the
sympathy of the person for whom he had worked,
he called at his printing office to ask the loan of a
sufficient sum to take him up the river as far as
Cincinnati; but the man had been taken down
with the fever the day after he sickened, and was
The young man was in despair. He had gone
back to his boarding house, but his reception, if it
could really be called a reception, was such as to
make it plain to him that he would not be permitted
to remain there. He was not assigned a room, and
when at night he asked for one, he was told that
the house was full, and, therefore, he could not be
"Can't you give me a bed for to-night ?" he in-
quired, in a half imploring voice. Physical exhaus-
tion had broken down his spirits.
With some reluctance he was permitted to sleep
in one of the attics; but he was told, at the same
time, that he must seek other lodgings on the next
day, as he could not and would not be aocommo-

Te WAY TO Plosl,. 95

On the following morning, Peter Close made his
way to the levee, where he found two boats up for
Cincinnati, to sail on that day. Remembering that
when he took passage up the river before, he had
not been called on to pay his fare until the second
or third day, it occurred to his mind that he might
get away from the city by going on board of one of
these boats. When called on for his passage money,
he could explain his situation, and trust to the
humanity of the captain for the rest. He could
only put him on shore, and that would be an evil
less to be dreaded thar remaining in the city, where
death lurked in the very atmosphere he breathed.
Acting on this resolution, the young man went
on board one of the boats about three o clock in the
afternoon, and entered his name for a berth in the
cabin. His trunk, which was nearly empty, gave
him credit in the eyes of the clerk, as a responsible
passenger. At five o'clock the boat got under
way, and he saw the spires, cupolas and domes of
the Crescent City, gradually receding with a feeling
of sincere pleasure. But anxiety soon succeeded
to this. He was far from liking the looks of the
captain of the boat, and being weak, and therefore
unable to protect himself, if difficulties should arise,
he began to have fears for the result when it became
known that he had regularly entered his name as a
cabin passenger for Cincinnati, without having a
dollar in his pocket.
On the forenoon of the second day, an intimation
was given that passengers were expected to settle
the fare. Nearly all on the boat, except such as
had already attended to this part of the business


presented themselves at the clerk's office, according
to invitation. Close felt extremely uncomfortable.
He debated the question whether it would not be
his best policy to anticipate a discovery of his des-
titute circumstances, by informing the captain of
his true position, and endeavoring to excite some
feelings of pity in his bosom. With this thought
in his mind, he examined the ace of that personage
attentively, whenever he came into the cabin, or
passed him while he was on the guards. But the
oftener he looked into his hard countenance, the
feebler became his hope of moving his sympathies
by a direct appeal. The clerk of the boat was a
man apparently of the same stamp of character.
The day went by without any intimation from the
officers of the boat that he was expected to settle
his fare; but several times he observed the clerk
looking at him, and he understood too well the mean-
ing of that look. In the evening, after tea, as Close
was sitting on one of the guards, enjoying the cool
airs that melted even his forehead, the clerk of the
boat approached him and said, in no very bland
What's the number of your berth ?"
The number was twenty. But it instantly oo-
curred to Peter that, by saying twenty-five, he
might gain a longer time, as, no doubt, the occupant
of number twenty-five had paid his fare. He un-
derstood perfectly well, why the clerk had asked
the question. His decision was made almost u
quick as thought.
Twenty-five," was the unhesitating reply.


"Twenty-five ?" the clerk looked at him half
"Didn't I say so?" returned Peter, with some
impatience in his manner.
Yes, you did," replied the clerk, rather rudely,
and passed on.
The heart of the young man throbbed quickly
and strongly. He had lied to gain a little time,
and his lie was, evidently, but half believed. When
the truth became known, it would be much wvre
for him than if he had answered correctly and -qa
the consequences. He understood that fully, and
the thought did not add anything to the comfort of
his feeling.
Peter Close was nearly the last passenger who
retired that night. Number twenty-five went to bed
early. The clerk, whose suspicions were aroused,
observed this, and Peter saw that he observed.it.'
He passed in and out of the cabin frequently, and
never without fixing his eyes upon the suspected
passenger. At length the young man became so
weak and overwearied that he could sit up no longer;
so laying off a portion of his clothes, he crept into
his berth. He had not been long there before the
clerk came through again, and seeing that he had
at length retired, went up to him and said-
"I thought you told me that your berth wa
When any one makes the attempt to lie through
a difficulty, his mind generally becomes confused.
The truth is a very simple thing, a mere question
of facts, clearly arranged in the memory, back to
which the thoughts can constantly go as clearly



defined landmarks. But a lie, while it needs sup-
porting, has no fixed relation to any thing, and
more than ordinary ingenuity is required to make
the new lies, which have to be told, in order to sus-
tain the first one that is uttered, to perfectly agree
with it as to seem part of a real truth. It rarely
happens that a lie is well sustained by its associate
lies. The want of a family likeness is generally so
apparent as even to force itself on the observation.
Lies told to hide an error, to avoid or escape a
diffiulty, always make matters worse. As in the
, present case.
So it is," replied Peter Close to the question
of the clerk.
"Why are you not in it, then ?" said the clerk.
"Because another man took it in mistake. I did
not like to turn him out, as he looked sick, and so
Waited until all were in bed to get the berth that
would be vacant."
"You are going to Cincinnati ?"
SI am."
"Be kind enough to hand me your fare. You
have neglected to settle it."
If you will refer to our book you will find that
twenty-five has settled.'
I am aware of that. But twenty has not. So
just pay over the fare and save yourself trouble. I
know the man in twenty-five very well; and re-
member when he paid his fare. He's about as sick
as I am."
Peter felt that the trying moment had come,
and that, by falsehood, he had sealed up all the
avenues to sympathy in the mind of the captain or


clerk. Some moments elapsed before he replied.
He searched in vain for some new expedient by
which to gain farther time.
Come," said the clerk, "be quick. I want you
"I'll settle it in the morning," said Close.
"That won't do. It must be settled to-night."
"You see I'm in bed. I can't run qway before
morning." 4
If you wish to save yourself trouble, m friend,"
id the clerk, in a cool, bl resolute voice, "you
will settle your fare immediately. We never per-
mit ourselves to be trifled with on board of this boat
by tricks such as you are endeavoring to pass of."
Escape was now impossible. To tell the truth
and make an appeal for sympathy, was now the
only course left. In a low tone, Peter Close made
a full confession to the clerk of his situation, and
why he had come on board of the boat.
"It was death to remain," he closed by saying,
"and this was my only chance of escape."
Then you ought to have said so when you came
on board of the boat," replied the clerk. "But I
do not credit your statement. You have lied in
nearly everything else that you have said to-nigt,
and most likely lie in this."
"Be assured," said the young man, humbly, I
tell the truth."
And be assured," returned the clerk, contempt.
sously, "that I do not credit a word you say.
You've attempted a swindle, and that never goes
down on these waters. If you have the money, just
hand it over; if not, the quicker you turn and get


on your riggin' the better. I will be back in two or
three minutes."
There was no compromise in the man's voice.
For soiae moments after he retired, Peter lay half
paralysed with confusion and alarm. Then he
stepped down from the berth and putting on his
cost went out to seek the captain, in the hope of
moving him by a strong appeal.
"Ah! here's the man himself," said the clerk,
as Peter stepped from the cabin. He was about
entering with the caltn.
Well, my fine fellow have you brought the
money to pay for your passage," said the latter, in
a half contemptuous, half threatening voice.
"I have no money," replied Peter. His manner
was subdued and imploring. "And have already
explained to your clerk my situation."
"You've told him a dozen or two abominable
falsehoods, as far as I can make it out, and this I
suppose is another," said the captain, roughly.
"But it all wont do. We have a summary way
of dealing with gentlemen of your kidney who
attempt a swindle of this kind, which never needs
repeating. A few hours acquaintance with cotton
wood, bers, snakes, and aligators, if survived, gene-
rally cores the passion for playing off tricks on
steamboat captains. Are you prepared to settle
your passage?"
"Genlmene! I am without a dollar. I have
been sick with the fever; and am now weak as
a child It was my only hope of escape from
death "
"Pah!" The captain tossed his hed oontemp6.

Tn WAY TO POPtran. 101

nousal. "The old beggar woman's story of six
starving children and a sick husband at home.
William, tell the pilot to bring-her-to at that point
just above; and order the hands to get the boats
A full moon, shining down from a cloudless sky,
gave distinctnessto every object on the river's bank.
The point of land mentioned by the captain, was a
clay bluff, a hundred feet high, with a shore only a
few feet wide at its base. As the Captain gave this
direction to the clerk, Peter Close threw his eyes
hurriedly towards the land, and shuddered.
"You will not do that, surely?" said he to the
Captain. "Remember, that I am a sick man, and
if you put me on shore at midnight, where there i
no habitation, it will be the death of me."
As Peter said this he made a moveme to r-
enter the cabin, with the intention of appealing to
the passengers for protection. But the Captain
stepped quickly between him and the door.
"Let me go in," said Peter.
"No, sir,' returned the Captain, resolutely.
"I wish to get something from my berth."
"We'll keep what you've left there to pay your
passage and the trouble of landing you.",
"I'll cry murder," said Peter.
The Captain instantly collared him with a steag
One sound from your lips," said he, with ah
oath, and I'll pitch you into the river I There I
Down with you to the lower deck." And hpushe
the unhappy young man towards the stai-way, wuh,
powerless in hs grasp, obeyed passively.

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