Vermont phÅ“nix. [volume] (Brattleboro, Vt.) 1834-1955, 1874-07-24
From the German Of julius Sturm.
The Converted BOOt-JacL.

In one corner of magistrates office
stood n boot jack grumbling disconnected
ly.
"What miserable sort of Lille is this
lead, standing here in one spot all the time
and waiting on my masters, the boots
How dirty they are sometimes, too, and
how they do illtre their poor servant
Even while l sm drawing off one the ether
tramples upon me. All 1t is they who
have good time, travelling about to see
the world. While l stay here in one place
they are walking out in the sunshine, aud
when they are tired it is. Here, you boot
jack" and must pull of their Donors, af-
ter which they settle down mewhere for
a comfortable time"
The boots thus referred to belonged TO
the magistrates clerk, who had taken
them off for his own comfort. At this
speech they made long legs at each other,
and the right said to the left one, Brother,
we have good time We masters! 1t is
plain the stupid boot-jack doesn't know
how lucky he is. Why, the fool has the
easiest time in the world, while we are
driven about the livelong day, through
thick and thin in summer almost smoth-
cred in dust, in winter frozen by snow aud
when it rains in continual danger of drown
| ing. Aud the paving stones! Oh, the
sharp things, how little mercy they lave
| I'd like to know just how much skin they
have rubbed off of me this day. I'm real
| ly quite transparent underneath. This life
of service is a wretched one, indeed T.
The boot jack was listening eagerly.
"For my part, brother" rejoined the
left boot, one gets used TO that; but the
brushing, with tn dreadful rumbliHg
noise, every morning and evening, is un-
bearable to me. I'd like TO know how We can
be expected TO shine when we are so misera-
BILE. Now just look at our master. There
he sits, writing with perfect comfort. Oh,
if one were only clerk T.
Just my sentiments" sighed the boot
Jack.
The clerk spattered the ink out of his
pen, and, leaning back in his chair sighed
also, exclaiming: Heaven be praised,
another day is over A clerks Is certainly
the most wearisome of lives. What is he,
in fact, but slave TO the pen How diff.
ferent 10 be ones own master as the magis-
!
aud growing fatter every dayl I'm abso-
lutely sick of drudgery and poverty. II l
were only magistrate p
So saying, he drew on his boots, and put
his old slippers in the pocket of his thread
bate coat.
Just then the magistrate entered, say
ing gruffiy; "You can go. Your working
time is over. Little do you know what a
lucky fellow you arep
"He is surely in jest" thought the clerk
who made an awkward bow and departed,
his boots creaking loudly.
Then the magistrate went back into his
sittIug-room, but as he left the door open,
the boot-jack could see all that went on in
there. The fat old fellow was growing out,
in his deepest bass: "Hes off. People OF
that sort are the fortunate ones of the
world" Uhen he sat down to his glass ol
beer and began to smoke comfortably),-
"while I-there lies that work to be finish
ed by tomorrow. What is the minister
thinking Of? More and more TO be done
all the time and not red cent more for do
ing it. All, If I were only my own mas
ter The minister, now, is happy man, ht
can command"
"Strange," thought the boot-jack "thi'
fat old man, too, is complaingW
There was knock at the door. "Comt
in," called out the magistrate, and the doc
tor entered.
"You come in good time," said the for
mer. "I do not feel at all we'll, and ye
, must work all night here. oh, this ser
vicer'
The doctor felt his pulse, looked at hi
} tongue and said; my good friend, yol
: must have sleep. All you need is rest"