The spirit of democracy. [volume] (Woodsfield, Ohio) 1844-1994, 1873-05-13
S E L E C T S T 0 r Y
MY UNCLE's WILL.
OR,
The Adventures of q Mechanic.

mo need of your learning trade
said nv father. "Stick to your books
like true Briton, and who knows but
what You may do without any trade at
alp A life at the bench is poor affair
at the hest nothing but work day in and
dav out. and what do you get for it in
the end? A crust of bread, few rags
on your backs and narrow box to wind
up with"
NV fathers words disconnected me.
Was this true of life at the bench !?
Was this all working mans life? Did
neither independence, nor the glory Of
excelling, offer any reward for the poor
human machine2
Although 1 was nearly eighteen, am
afraid the tears stood in nv eyes, as I
replied with an effort at being respect
ful: iThe trade will do me do harm, ia.
ther, even should Uncle John see fit to
leave me anything when he dies"
"Leave' you anything" cried my
mother Indignantly: didn't he tell me
wears ago, that his will was made, and
that he lad left you all he possessed ?"
Much more in the same strain said my
father ano mother, but l was not con.
vinced.
/ burned to learn trade.
A peep into foundry seemed like q
glance into fairy land. and the notes of
young musicians first composition
were never sweeter to him, than was the
din of boiler shop to me.
Looking back in my old age.I can see
the reason for my great warmth, although
l failed to see it then. As usual, there
was a girl in the case .-g.
Katie Hall-dear little Katie, nv
school-mate with the cherry lips, and
sweet, modest eyes-had father who
owned boiler shop and large foun-
dry, which latter seemed daily to send
forth a roar Of contempt against every
young man who did not learn trade
The foundry, in all probability, accom-.
plished other work, but, to my tevered
imagination, this was its chief occupa.
| ton
MY parents were English; who had en-
igrated to the s.land of the free and the
hofhe of the brave" when l was but
three years old; consequently my educa;
ton had been thoroughly American, and
although my rich uncle had promised to
make me his heir,I did not care to waste
nv youth in .'waiting for dead mems
Shoes which in nine cases out of ter
are never worth the wearing.
Fortunately for my purpose, ! was an
only child. and / determined never tc
give Inv parents moments rest till
had accomplished my purpose. The,
are dead and gone now,and | sav it will
bitter regret, that | was not as filial as
might have been.
'Ob! GO to the foundry if You will,
said my father in iage. land may yol
get sick of it before three months pass
es III pu' you under that tartar, oil
Hall. and if you don't come whimperin:
back to us in a week, my name isn't Joe
Bartlett
could hardly contain my jov.
| TO he put under her father without al
effort! Why, it was the very thing / ha;
been running my head against for th
last year.
Fearful of delay, caused nv fathe
Ito wait upon Mr. Hall at once. The pre-
liminaries were arranged without troub
lie, and | entered that gentleman's shol
as an apprentice to boiler making be
fore the week was out.
| My father was only cabinet maker
remember, yet my mothers pride was 81
deeply wounded at the bare thought o
her son coming home with a black fac
aud soiled clothes, that she wept bitter
ly.
But in spite of all encouragement,
did not go whimpering back TO them i
year, much less week, so suspicio
rose in my mind that my fathers nam
could not be Joe Bartlett, although ever
one called him SO. All was not sushin
, to me, although I stuck to my trade q
: l had never done to my books, but tn
trials ! then met and overcame, served t
make of me that Of which it was tn
height of my ambition TO me-a tru
man.