Green-Mountain freeman. [volume] (Montpelier, Vt.) 1844-1884, 1844-11-29
MORAL READINGS.
From the Columbian Magazine.
The Child and The PTOfIigate.
BY WALTER WHITMAN.

BY WALTER WHITMAN.
Just after sunset, one evening in summer, that
pleasant hour when the air is balny, the light loses
it, glare, and all around Is imbued with soothing
quiet, OH the door step of house there sat an ell
derlY woman waiting the arrival OF her son. The
house was in Struggling village some fltIy miles
from the city of N. Y. She who sat at the door
was widow; her neat, white cap covered locks
of gray, and her dress, though neat, was exceeding
homey. Her house--fOr the tenement she occu-
pied was her 0Wn-WaS very little and very Old
Trees clustered AROUND it so thicky as almost to
hide its color which belongs to old wooden houses
that have never been painted, and to get IN 1t you
had to enter IA little, rckety gate and walk thro'
short path. bordered by carrots, beets, and other
vegetables. The son whom she was so anXously
expecting was her only child About year be-
fore he had been bound apprentice to rich farmer
in the place, and after finishing his daily task, he
was in the babit Of spending half an hour at his
Mothers On the present occasion the shadows OF
night had settled heavily before the youth made
his appearance. When he did, his walk was slow
and dragging, and all his motions We're langud, as
if from great weariness. He opened the gate,
walked through the PATH and sat Wy his mother in
Silence.
"You are sulIen tonight, Charley" said the
widow, after moments pause.
AS she spoke, she put her hand fondly on his
head; it was wet as if it had been dipped in
water. His SHIRT, too, was soaked and rs she
passed her hand down his shoulders, she felt a
sharp twinge in her heart, for she knew that mois-
ture to be hard wrung eat Of severe toll, exact
ed from her young child (he was about IS years
old) by an unyielding task-naster.
you have worked hard to-day, my soD?'
Pve been moving.
The widows heart felt another pang.
mot all day Charley'' she said in a low voice:
and there was a slight culver in it,
EVns iuothpr all dnV rpnIipI the how Mr.
Ellis said be couldn't afford to hire men, for wa
yes are so high Eve swung Il scythe ever since
an hour before sun rise. Feel of my hands,
There were hlisters on them Ike great Jumps.
Tears started in the widows eyes She dared not
trust herself with reply, though her heart was
bursting with the thought that she could not better
his condition. There was no earthly means of
support on which she had dependence enough to
. encourage the child in the wish she knew he was
forming-the wish not uuuttered for the first time
to be freed from his bondage.
Mother at length said the boy, can stand
no longer cannot and will not stay at Mr..
Els's. l've been slave; and if have to work
there much longer know snail run away and 80
to sea, or somewhere else I'd as lief be in my
grave as there And the chill burst into fit of
weeping.
His mother was silent, for she was deep III grief
herself. After some minutes had flown, she gath
cred sufficient self possession 10 speak to him in
soothing tone, endeavorng to win him from his
sorrows and cheer up his heart. She told him
that time was swilt-thnt in the course of few
years he would he his own master-that all PEG.
pie have their roubles-with many other ready
arguments, which, though they had little effect il
calming her own distress, she hoped would act Il.
n soIace to the disturbed tenlper Of the boy. Ans
as the half hour to which he was limited had now
elapsed she took him by the hand and led him tC
the gate, to set forth on his return. The chile
convusve signs that remain after a fit Of weeping
burst from his throat. AT the gate he threw his
arms about his mothers neck; each pressed long
Kiss Oh the lips of the other, and the youngest BEN
his steps towards his masters house.
As her child passed out of sight the widow re-
turned, shut the gate, and entered her lonesome
room. There was no light in the old cottage thai
night-the heart of its occupant was dark amt
cherries. Love, agony, grief, tears, and convul
sive werstlings We're there The thought of be-
loved son condemned to ahor-labor that w0ult
break down man-Sruggling from day to da.
under the hard rule ola souess gold w0rshipper
the knowledge that years must pass thus; the sick
euing idea OF her own poverty, and Of living main
ly on the grudged charity of her neighbors-tho't
too of former happy days-lhese racked the wild
owls heart and made her bed sleepIess one, an
without repose.
The boy bent his steps to his employers, as ha
been said. In his way down the village street h.
had to pass public house-the only one the plac
contained; and when he came off opposite, b
heard the sound of tdlIe-drowned, hoWeve
at intervals, by much laughter and talking. III
windows were up, and the house standing close
the road, ChuleS though it no harm to take
look and see what was going on within. Half
dozen steps brought him to the low easement q
which he leaned his elbow, aud where he had
full view of the room and its occupants. In OF
corner was an old man, known in the village