The aegis & intelligencer. [volume] (Bel Air, Md.) 1864-1923, 1875-12-03

THE QUAKER'S REBUKE-A SKETCH FOR
PARENTS.
am afraid | am late, said John Holden
TO his wife, one morning, as lo sat eating
his breakfast, and that won't do. How
goes the time Oh, have left my watch
up stairs, fetch it for me, Eliza Jane, will
youI At this moment bright-cyed, rosy
checked, good-tempercd looking boy of
some Thirteen years of age started up, say
ing:
will fetch it fer you, Eliza, when John
Holden with an austere and suspicious
look, turned sharply round eXclaiming:
You, sir? Stay where you are, asked
Eliza to bring it to ne. You might pos
siby be saying it was not there.
The boy cast resentful look at his fn.
ther-his color came and went, his eyes
flashed, then hot tears stood in them. and
he left the room.
At this moment the watch was brought
by Eliza, the boys sister. Holden took it,
put it in his pocket, and saying to his wife,
send that boy to the shop directly after me,
he took his departure also.
Oh, John, John, sighed the wife, will
you never learn to forget and for give {?
Where is my dear boy she said, turning
to Eliza.
He has gone up stairs, mother; he is 60
ing directly.
John Holden was an upright, but stern
and relentless man he was tanner by
trade, and had worked for many years for
Mr. Drake, the Quaker, or, as he was gene.
rally called, Quaker Drake; TOR the last
eight months the son had found employ.
ment there also.
On one occasion, six months ago, Henry
Holden had, under the influence of great
temptation, stolen shilling from his father,
to go to see some riders who were exhibi-
ting in the town in which they lived. The
boy had not been found out, but had few
days Afterwards, in deep sorrow and true
contritiop, confessed his fault. John Hold
en- had promised forgiy eness; but with such
iron natures as his to forgive is not to for
get, and but too frequently the poor boy,
despite his sorrow and shame, was remind
ed, tainted, and upbraded with the sin
of which lie had been guilty, though no
repentance, and that, we grieve to saw. the
father knew full well, could be more penu-
inc. On the present occasion the mother
followed her son up stairs; he was in his
bedroom, weeping bitterly
Henry, my boy, said she tcnderly, it is
time you went to work.
Yes, answered the lad drying his eyes I;
but mother, l want to ask you one aues.
ton.
Well, my son.
Did father really think this morning,
that there was any danger of his losing
of my stealing-his watch?
No, my son, am sure that he did not /;
he knows better than that.
Then, why, said the boy, his lips ouiy-
cring, and the torrent of tears again burst
ing forth, is he always talking as if were
not to be trusted-as if were II thief2 I
may us well DC one in reality. Oh, mother,
mother continued he, let me 90 away, let
me go to sea, anywhere, for cannot can
not bear this.
My dear Henry, be patient; will talk
to your father.
You have talked to him, know you
have, and yet he does it; he will always
do it. Oh, mother, mother! The mother
and son were weeping together.
will talk to him once more, darling
for my sake cheer up. You know how
dearly your mother loves you don't talk
of leaving her, of going to sea. Your IA
ther loves you dearly, too, l am sure he
does; but you know his nature, how long
it takes him to forget anything; but yon
must remember that he is your father, and
not to be too much cast down by it. There,
now, goodbye, dear Henry; keep up q
brave heart.
The boy kissed his mother and depart
ed.
Mrs. Holden went about her household
duties that day with n heavy heart. How
she mourned over this trait in her hus-
bands character She had pleaded with
him again and again that he would say no
more about the sin which had caused her
self and the dear boy so much sorrow, and
which had been so truly and bitterly re-
pented of, but as yet without avail Again
and again it was brought up and in mature
less hopeful, less akin to her own, the seeds
of truth and candor might have been for
ever destroyed in that young bosom, and
distrust, deceit, and the darker passions OF
our poor human nature reigned paramount
instead; but as it was, the mothers ten
derness had saved the boy.
Henry was half an hour late at his work
IA circumstance which was noticed by
his father, which brought upon him a Sc
we're rebuke. Presently he was summoned
to the presence of Quaker Drake, who was
sitting in his office.
/ wonder, said tie Quaker, looking at
him, whether thee could do a little Grand
for me this morning9 1t is matter OF
some importance. Could trust thee, dost