The Potter journal. [volume] (Coudersport, Pa.) 1857-1872, 1857-06-11


ana the only thing troubles me is my mon
ey-ha vn't got no wife nor children, and
I'm going now to hunt up my brother
and his folks. If his boys is clever and
industrious, and amt ashamed of my big
boots and old fashioned ways, and his
gals is young women and not ladies'; if
they help their mother, and don't put on
NOR n two frocks day, ID make EN- rich,
every one on 'em.
"Now, gentlemen, faint often I'm led
to tell on myself, after this fashion. But
these old places, where trapped when |
was boy, made me feel like child agin
and just feel like tellin' these young
sters here about the changes and chances
feller may meet in life, if he only tries
to make the most of himself
"But, boys said he, turning to par
ty of young men, "there's something bet
ter than money. Get education. Why,
boys, if | had as much larnin' as money,
could be President in 1857 just easy.
Why, | could buy up half the North, and
not miss it out of my pile. But get lar
min; don't chaw tobacco; don't take to
liquor; don't swear, and mind your moth
ers-that's the advice of real live Suck
er; and if you mind what I say you may
be men (and it aint every feiler that wears
a goatee and breeches that's a man, by
long ways). Foller out her councils nev-
er de thing that will make you ashamed
to meet her in Heaven. Why, boys, I
never done a bad thing but 1 heard my
mothers voice reprovin' me; and [ never
done good thing and made a good move,
but I've seemed to hear her say, that's
right, Jack, and that has been the best
of all. Nothin' like mother, boys
nothin' like mother"
All this had passed while waiting to
wood, just out of Chicago The great
man was swelling with emotions called up
from the dark shadows of the past his
big rough frame heaved like great bill
low upon the ocean. Tears sprung to his
deep set and earnest eyes-they welled
up to the brim-and swan round asking
to be let fall as tributes to his mothers
memory-tributeS to the love Of the past
But he choked them down, and humming
a snatch of an old ballad, he thrust his
hands down into his pockets, walked back
to the end of the car, pulled the gigantic
collar of his shaggy coat up around his
ears, buttoned it close, and leaned back
against the window in silence.
The cars ratified on. What a mind
was there; what giant intellect, sleeping,
buried away from light and usefulness by
a rubbish Of prejudice, habit, and custom
doing but half work for want Of cul-
ture.
"a mute inglorious Milton or rather
Webster, going about the world, strug-
Cling with his own soul, yet bound by
chains Of Ignorance, which precludcd his
doing bat moiety Of the good it lay in
his power to do.
All the way through our long, tedious
journey, he had been ever on the watch
to do good. He gave up his seat by the
fire to an Irish woman and her child, and
took one farther back; soon a young girl
seated herself by his side; as the night
hours wore on, and she nodded YEARLY,
he rose, spread his beautiful leopard skin
with its soft, rich lining, on the seat, made
pillow of his carpet-bag, and insisted
that she should lie down and sleep
"What will you do? said she, naively.
"Never mind me-I can stand up and
sleep, like buffalo; I'm used to it.
A little boy, pulled up from a sound
nap to give place to lncomers; was pacl-
fed and made quiet by handful of chest
nuts and a glowing bit of candy out of
the big mans pocket. When he left the
cars for refreshment he brought back his
hand full Of pies, and distributed them
among a weary group. A mother and
seven little children, the eldest not twelve
years old, whose husband and father left
the cars at every stopoing-place, and re-
turned more stupid and beastly each time,
scolding the little tirel restless ones with
thick tongue, and glaring his furious red
eyes upon the poor grieved victim of a
wife, ike a tiger upon its prey, because
she did not keep her young ones
STILL they would disturb everybody"