The morning star and Catholic messenger. [volume] (New Orleans [La.]) 1868-1881, 1869-07-11
JUVENILE COLUMN.
A TRUE STORY
OF A NEW YORK MATCH BOY.

tumble-down shanty where, in one corner
of a dark garnet, his mother lay i'll, appa-
rently fast approaching the far moro
comfortable precincts Of the grave.
81 do hate to go to her. III she don't have
something besides oatmeal pretty soon,
she'll never have strength enough to rise
again; and haven't sold penlly's worth
to-day. Other boys manage to make some
can't, reckon thers's ne trade in me.
wouldn't learnt But that isn't beefsteak
for mother; what ever shall I do z" Aud
the Industrious little feiIowstood moment
in silent communion.
He seemed to have almost attained the
stature and dignity of man in this moment
of contemplation, for he drew himself up
proudly, and walked into the house, up the
rickety old stairway, through the long
narrow hall, into the room where his poor
mother lay waiting and listening for the
step of her only comfort. =.
''0h, Willie, dariing! am SO glad You
have come. What sort of a day have you
had, dear 1t has seemed an age since you
left me this morning" And the suffering
woman turned away from her boy, and
wept bitterly.
IL Yes, you dear little mother, know it!
Rats and mice and dark garnet aren't ex-
actly the society for sick woman have
brought you an orange and roll" He
continued forcing q cheerful smile: But
to tell you the truth, everything has gone
against me to-day. Everybody was plenti-
fully supplied with matches and shoestrings,
and got good many more snubs than
copPers. But who cares Things will fix
themselves one of these days, if can only
keep you from starving to death ~ And
here tears filed the brave boy's eyes; but
he dashed them quickly one side, and kept
on hopefully.
"But what have you had to eat, Willie 2"
inquired the invalid softly, not daring to
trust her voice. .4,.,.l>. 80 .ss.at..
Willie noted the quivering lip and fearful
tones, but this made him Drawer still and
as he smoothed back the beautiful hair from
the invalid's hollow temples, and caressed
the pallid cheek upon which q little spot of
hectic glowed, he replied:
''Neyer you fear, mamma, dear, for q boy
in New York city. Phil. Pearson gave me
piece of his Washington pie, and another
boy gave me an apple, and always get
enough. Now please eat the orange and
the roll, if you can. How ] wish had q
bit of butter for you! Now, mother, am
going out few moments. want to make
arrangements, If possible, for a better day
to- morrow; so be good little mamma
until return. Perhaps / shall have some
good news to bring yOu-who knows Z
Stranger things than that have happened"
Willie's fathef~had been dead nearly two
years, and on account of his marrying "a
woman .unconnected with the aristocratic
set his family intended him to choose from,
neither father, mother, sister, nor brother
had ever visited or taken the1east notice of
himself or wife. During his long and pain
full illness, not relative had approached
him. The pine coffin which enclosed the
remains Of Stephen Alcott had-not yet
been paid for, and the widow, overcome
with grief and long watching, with the
direst poverty staring her in the face, sue
cumbed mentally and physically; and death
+ would have been very welcome, but for
the unprotected condition of her only child.
The afectionate boy, with another kiss,
and a promise to return shortly, passed out
from his Raether's presence. She could not
| trust her voice to ask where he was going ;
! therefore had no fears in regard to bad
| company or improper influences. Willie
realized that, try as hard and Enthusiastically
| as he might, he never could be able to
support his mother comfortably, or keep
| her alive even and he determined to make
+ a desperate effort for her relief. The color
forsoOk his cheek as he assembled the step
of an aristocratic mansion in - street /;
for Willie, although a brave boy, was by
no means bold one; and he shrank from
contact with those who had neglected his
| father during his illness and death, and ig-
nored the existence of his mother in her
! WidoWhood and distress.
AGO down to the basement door," said
| the pompous porter, rs he threw wide the
| massive portals How do you dare, you
little beggar, to ring gentleman's bell ~
And Willie, with quick motion, glided
into the hall just in time to escape having
| the door closed in his face.
GLANDS Off" said Willie, as the lackey
attempted to remove him. "Show me into
the parlor, and tell Mr.. Stephen Alcott
that his grandson, William Alcott, wishes
to see him." and with the air of prince
royal the young gentleman with patched
knees and toeless shoes, Enclosed the
drawing room door, and entered.
tThe family are at dinner" said the
servant, closely following, "Perhaps you
had better send your card down."
'I will go down myself" said Willie,
mot being fortunate enough to own n piece
| of pasteboard;" and without another word,
he started in the direction indicated by the
servant.
| "Mr. Alcott's grandson. Here's pretty
go! Pm blessed if it isn't N muttered the
porter. 'T wonder what the Squire will do
with the ragamuffin. Mr.. AlcOtt's grand
son Ha ha ha! that is too good"
/ IL pnf of fs,1 oil