Indiana American. [volume] (Brookville, Ind.) 1833-1861, 1857-01-09

"a CHIP from tho Old Block.v
There is no disputidg this fact; it shines
in the face Of every little child. The
coarse, bawling, scolding woman, win have
coarse, vicious, bawling, fighting children.
She who cries on every occasion, "I'll box
your ears--pll slap your jaws--rll break
your neck" is known as thoroughly thro'
her children as IL her unwomanly conduct
were openly displayed in the most public
streets!
These remarks were suggested by the
conversation in an omnibus-that noble
institution for the student OF men and
manners-betweon friend aud q school,
master. Our teacher was caustic, mirth-
ful, and sharp. His wit flashed like the
polished edge Of diamond, and kept the
"buss" in "roar." The entire communi-
ty Of insiders--and whoever is intimate
with these conveyances can form q pretty
good idea Of our numbers--inclusivc Of
the 'one more" so we'll known TO the fra
ternity, turned their eyes. ears, and heads
one way, and finally our teacher said:
~ can always tell the mother by the
boy. The urchin who draws back with
doubled fists. and lunges at his playmate
If he looks at him askancc, has very qucs-
tonablc mother. She may feed him and
clothe him. cram him with sweetmeats,
and coax him with promises, but II she
gets mad she fights. She will pull him
by the jacket; she viii give him knock
in the back; she will drag him by the hair;
she will call him all sorts Of wicked names,
while passion plays over her red face in
lambcnt flames that curl and writho out at
the corners Of her eyes.
"And we never see the courteous little
fellow with smooth locks and gentle man
ners-in whom delicacy does not detract
from courage or manlincss, but we say
That boys mother is true lady, Her
words and her ways are soft, loving and
quiet. If she reproves, her language Is,
MY son mot you little wretch--you
torment Of my lifc--you plague--you
scamp!' fftfttt
"She hover before him as tho pillar Of
light before the wandering Israelites, and
her beams are reflected In his face. To
him the word mother Is anonymous with
everything pure, sweet, and beautiful. Is
AN artist? In after life. tho face that
shines with holy radiance on his canvass,
will DO the mother face. Whoever fits
across his path with sunny smiles, and soft,
low voice, will bring mothers image
freshly TO his heart She Is like my mo-
thor will be the highest need Of his
praise. Not even when tho hair turns sill
yer, and the eye grows dim, will the maj.
esty Of that lifc and presence desert him.
"But tho rufilan mother--alas! that
there are such--will form the rufilan char
acter the man."
We wonder not there arc so many awk-
ward, ungainly men In society--they have
all been trained by women who knew not
nor cared for the holy nature Of their trust.
They have been made bitter to the hearts
core, and that bitterness will find vent and
lodgment somewhere. Strike the infant
in anger, and ho will, IL he cannot reach
you, vent his passion by beating tho floor,
the chair, or any inanmato thing within
reach. Strike him repeatedly, and by the
time no wears shoes, he will have become
q little bully, with little hands that doub'
10 as naturally for fight asif especial pains
had been taken to teach him the art ol
boxing. ~