Spirit of the age. [volume] (Raleigh, N.C.) 1849-1865, 1856-04-23
CHOICE LlTERATURG.
The Guardian Angel.


times the crowd ceased in its pulsation
for moment, and eager-visaged men
caught at the Traveller or the Times,
and went thoughtlessly onward. Then
the news-boy would hitch up his rag
ged trowsers, pall on more firmly the
,1..., 5s.serofd eap tBat hugged his crown,
peculiar to his vocation.
His bundle was lessed to duplicate
edition, when his attention was attract
ed by loud voice. Turning the cor
ner a motley group met his sight
Perched upon a temporary stand, stood
a tall, energetic man lecturing the
throng that seemed listening in spell
bound silence. One sentence shrill and
sorrowful, struck the ear of the ragged
news-boy, stopped his dismal song and
his steps together, so that he was mag
netized with the rest. 1t was tbs =
"his father is drunkard puir, puir
child, continued the lecturer, his slight
Scottish accent lending beauty to his
eloquence ; ''there's nathing at home
for him--not even a crust in the auld
closet. He must work the day long,
tramping through summers heat and
winters storm he must hear the cur
ses of his father, and witness the tears
of his mother. He has no warm clothes
and his little heart swells anigh to
bursting when he passes the weIl-dress-
ed children of sober parents. And who
pities him 2" he asked, raising his
hands and eyes to heaven. "Does the
rumseller ?-Na--he laughs his tears
to scorn. Does the rich man? Ma
too often he kicks him from his door
step, and drives him from the sweet
smell of the kitchen where the meat is
roasting. Do the angels pity him ?
Yes, for what else but the aOings Of the
angels could keep the puir boy warm !?
Doesn't God pity him-O! dinna ask
that question, for God is specially the
God Of the drunkard's S bairn."
The newsboy stood with his papers
hanging from his arm, salt tears running
fast and unwiped from his eyes, his
lips hanging and quivering, and now
and then sob swelling up from his
throat. Dismal, dismal thought he
he was drunkard's child. His back
had borne the blows of drunken hand
and felt the kick of drunken foot
alas Presently he wiped the tears
away with his ragged sleeve, and with
a choking voice took up the burden Of
his song but there was no heart in it.
90! misther, misther, say something
for me father"
The lecturer bent his head. A lit
tie upturned face, wet with tears, look.
ed wistfully in his own one little bony
hand tugged at his coat tail, from thu
other depended several futtering news
papers. In that young face there wa
a strange mingling of entreaty, JOY
hope and misery, that went up to ths
strong man. S heart.
''Say something for me father,
whispered the small voice again "I's,
bin tellin him of yes, and mabby 70,
can tache him not to be a drunkard-
oh misther, say somethin for m,
father"
Looking in the direction he pointed
the lecturer saw a man clothed in rag
shame faced and half-hiding himself be
hind a pillar. With the pitiful looA 0
the drunkard's child for text, h
launched forth again. Little by littl
the covering form made itself visible
the hands came together with tremu
lous clasp, the blood-shot eyes gre
human with feeling, the soul of tn
drunkard had been reused into some
thing like life-his feelings were touch
ed, and at last hnaeyes fell upon tn
child he had given life but to curse
in its dawning. o. the remorse tha
came at 9Rss int his haggaEd face cfd7 m
ding his rags together, he hurried frol
the spot, and the little news-boy wit
tears unshed, and sobs unspoken, wer
on his way crying tremulously,-"ere
Iraveller-only two cents.
81 want to spake to ye sir-Go
bless you" said man in low ferver
tones-and then he added, "a gain, draw
ing a hard breath, "God bless ye fol
ever, sir y
The man was we'll dressed, and hel
by the hand boy whose form wa
clothed in new garments from head t
foot.
"Ah! this is my little FRIEND" sal
the lecturer, kindly laying his hand G
the shoulder Of the child.
''It's me guardian angel, he is, sir,
repeated the father, with a look tn;
cannot be put on paper-s'my guardia
angel, that's saved me out of pit
black destruction" said the man, breal
ing down fairly as he spoke, tears ru
: ming freely over his rough cheeks
''Och blessed be to God, sir, tn;
He ever gave me the crathure. 1t
the patient, kind boy he's been to m
sir, iver since he was that high, ar
shame to me before my God that
didG't trate him with common human
ty-but oh, sir, ye don't know VIII