American citizen. [volume] (Canton, Miss.) 1864-1890, 1876-09-02
A Disease Peculiar to School
Boys.

| "A 1IlScttSc SCuOOl
Boys.
A serious phase of disease is that
which attacks boy on day when he
particularly objects to going to school.
He tells his mother, with the confiding
frankness peculiar to youth, that he
docs not feel well this morning. He
don't know what it is, but he is lame
in the joints, and his head aches, and
his stomach don't feel a bit good. He
moves about slowly, openly refuses
food, looks detected, negligent, unhap-
Ply. Quite frequently he can be heard
to sigh. But in all his pain he never
forgets the clock. AS time advances to
the hour which marks school time his
symptoms increase. He doesn't say a
word about school to his mother. He
feels too dreadful, perhaps, to talk of
such things. He is certainly in bad
way. His signs increase as the dread
ed time approaches, and the physical
symptoms of decay grow more and
more manifest. But the greatest
suffering he endures mentally.
Fifteen minutes to nine is the
time he should start. Il lacks
but ten minutes of that time, and moth
ing has been said to him about getting
ready. He wants to believe he is all
right, because that is the prompting of
hope, which is strong in the youthful
breast, but yet he refuses to believe he
is, because he fears the reaction of dis
appointment. Every time he hears his
mothers voice he is startled, and every
time he detects her looking toward him
he feels his heart sink within him. 1t
is hard thing, indeed, to appear out
wardly languid and listless and droop-
ing, when inwardly one is a roaring
furnace of agony. But he does it, and
does it admirably. 1t now lacks five
minutes of the quarter. Still she says
nothing. His nervousness is almost
maddening. Four minutes, three min
utes, two minutes! One minute. Still
she makes no sign. VIII his reason for
sake him?
1t is the quarter. Now he should
start according to custom. One would
think he had every encouragement now,
but he knows that even at five minutes
later he can make school by hurrying.
The agony of the suspense becomes ex-
quisite. He trembles all over, and he
can not help it. His hair is moist with
1t seems as if he would
give up every thing and sink into the
grave if he could but know the result.
How slowly the clock moves! 1t stares
at him with exasperating stoniness.
The ten minutes are reached. He
breathes easier. Not word has been
said to him about school. His mother
sees that he is too i'll to go, and she
with him. Heaven bless
her. Did ever boy have such q good,
noble mother as thisP Visions of sunny
fields, and shady woods, and running
streams unfold before him, stirring the
very depths of his soul, and filling his
eyes with tears of gladness.
"John!"
lures fall away, and he is shot from the
pinnacle of hope into the abyss of de-
spair. There is no installing the voice.
"Mercy sakes! here you are not
ready for school. Come, start your
boots"
ell don't feel well enough to go to
school," he whines, hardly realizing
the dreadful change that has come upon
him with such blighting force and swift
ness.
81 guess you amt dying, quite" is
the heartless reply. "And if you amt
in school you will be galloping over the
neighborhood. Hurry, 1 tell you"
"But it is almost 9 O'Clock and I'll be
late," he protests in desperation.
"Late?" she repeats, looking at the
clock. "You've got plenty of time.
That clock is nearly a quarter Of a. mour
fast"
Merciful Heavens! He goes down
before the terrific blow in flash. Il
quarter Of an hour fast! Bleeding at
every pore of his heart, stunned by
shock which was as terrible as unex-
pected, he crawls inside of his jacket
and under his hat, and starts on his way
in dazed manner that is pitiful to be-
Nea0s.