The Portland daily press. [volume] (Portland, Me.) 1862-1921, 1879-01-06
Three Chapters In a Boys Life.
CHAPTER I.-"Ir's A ROY %

CHAPIER 1T Boy.
His advent is heralded in the brief but
strong sentence just quoted. No matter what
hopes have been INDUCED concerning girl
babies, there is something in the pithy an
nouncemsnt, "It's boy" which dispels all
fanciful dreams and sets everybody squarely
on a prose basis. His very voice, ss it utters
defiant warwhoop to the grand army Of
humanity, tells the story to experienced
years. The visions of q dainty girl darling
very soon vanish before this positive piece Of
prose, who kicks his sturdy heels through the
delicate pink socks intended for his sister, and
who grows red as a turkey cocks head at
THANKSGIVING times when he Ia expected TO
show off to good advantage before callers.
He persists In an abnormal development Of
nose and paffiness about the eyes, along with
several other little tricks known only to inter-
ested parties. Parents and nurses become
reconcled and accept him on trust, seeing no
other alternative. He emerges from his puffy
and rosy obstinacy to roly-poly, wide-awake
thing Of beauty. There Is process from in
fancy to little boyhood, q sweet time, when the
man-child is half baby, half angel. In the
clear depths of his Innocent eyes is world OF
trust and hope and love. His white brow is
fair as a freshly-opened lily, and his lips as
sweet as hermosa roses. He is most witching
at this age, for the peculiarities which mark
the e7lfdnt terrible are yet undeveloped. He
is an armfu of love and beauty and promise
and dread and hope. Love Him while jet
there is no guile on the tender lips, no sin in
the unwritten soul, no touch of the worlds
breath upon Gods finished work.
CHAPTER n.-"GT Up, OLD HoRsEY"
'Mercy, what noise! Look at that chair.
with a string tied on the arms aud made fast
to the writing desk and flower stand, all to be
driven tandem by that young imp in kilt skirt
and fancy hat aud shoes! Who upset that
workbssket? aud, good gracious, what work
has been made with my wool and thread.
There's the last Graphic torn to scraps and
stuffed in the cuspidore with my screw-driver
that lost q week ago What Is he doing with
the cat? and, dear me, if he hasn't thrown
grandma's spectacles into the gratep'
Where's Harry? Run to the kitohen and
see. All the eggs are broken 10 the basket OF
folded clothes, and the milk foI pudding has
been fed to the cat and dog. Bridget Lanni-
gan is in a towering rage, and says, "PhaTs the
use of shlavin to kape clsne wild such young
divil forninst yep" Miss Frigidity Fussbunch
calls, and is Mortified by being requested TO "be
a horse and let Harry ride straddle to Bostop."
She is questioned, also, on mauy delicate
points. He gets very close TO her and asks
what that stuff on her face is, and what makes
her wear such funny little hat.
A few years of this juvenile terror aud then
appears another stage of the boy. lie gets
fever only sppeased by marbles. 1t is useless
to head off this phase; if il is shut off in one
direction it breaks out more violently in some
other 1t goes through period OF six or seven
years and costs much in anxiety, broken win
dow-panes and mortified pride. He is afflicted
with rats, pigeons and other boyish compls lsints,
which are harmless but annoying. He brings
in six dirty stee. traps TO amuse his sick sister,
who grows worse under 1t, aud in bis solicitude
he straps his legs fast to six feet Of stllts and
stoops TO enter the door Of her room, to the
horror and dismay of his mother. He brings
little notes home from school, which he tries TO
explain in a favorable light, but fails to con-
vince his parents that it was "only because Bill
Wilson dropped his slate on Abe Hennegsns
toes and made me laugh" He carves his swk-
ward initials on old Mrs. Williams cellar door,
and she threatens his arrest. He goes to see
"Humpty Dumpty," and comes home and
throws real biickbats at his aunt aud Bridget
is met with battering blow from his head
when she is bringing in the coal. he makes
life a burden and home a snare and deusion.
He tears the comforts in more ways than one,
and sts the pillow cases to mstch them.
Gradually he leaves off his hurly-burly lie and
imperceptibly glides into
CHAPTER IH-'wHERE's MY BLUE rIE?'
"Where is the backing brush? am going
to little surprise, and Won't be home till
eleven. Is my percale shirt done up nice?
wish you'd make my collars sitter. don't
thank some one for throwing my coat down
and getting it wrinkled all up. How do you