The Cecil Whig. [volume] (Elkton, Md.) 1841-current, 1884-04-26
TIE BOYS OF MEMORY.
STARTING THE BOY TO SCHOOL
HIS FIRST HARNESS.
9urLetts's Enthusiastically Bad Boy
the Meek Boy and the Real Good Boy
The Fun and the Fights Of al
E.allis: Day.

'4N III az tiNs vi III
Ealls: Day.
My boy has started to school. lt is
! his first. He has had more than six
| years of unshod, unbridled freedom. He
does not know his alphabet. He does
not use good grammar. lie does not
/ speak plainly. When he counts, he
| counts zone, free, seven, free, 'leven."
! lie must have learned to count i'll the
! polling room of some election precinct.
| OF books lie has no knowledge, save of
the pictures therein. But he knows
''PIigrims Progress by heart and all
the fairy stories | have ever read and
! have been able to invent in four years.
| And he knows the Bible lessons he learns
! at his mothers knees better than he
| knows my fair stories. Thank heaven
| for that. But he doesn't know how to
read OF spell or count. l am thankful
| for that, too. | wish | could let him
! have one year more Of freedom before
We broke him to lead, and measured him
| for his first collar and harness. But it
wouldn't do, and so he goes to the
Friends kindergarten, and from to day,
through all his pilgrimage, the boy will
be one Of US, and will walk and speak
by rule, aud will learn why much study
is WEAKNESS Of the flesh, and why
there is 10 end Of the making of books.
Poor little colt; it will be such change
from the pasture to the treadmill. I'm
glad We let him run on the grass, with
out ever shaking a halter at him, SO leng
as we did
Schoo! has took up FOR him. No,
know the expression is not correct, but |
said it that way when was a boy no
older than my boy is now, and expect
to say it that way until have to lean on
my boys arm when | walk out. DO You
remember the boys you used to play and
fight with when school took up?' The
dismal, scattering procession that drag
ged its Slow length along on the first day
of the fall term when it was so hard to
give up the summer and go bacl, to the
old school room.
You remember the bad boy? lie car.
ried only one book with never back,
and his slate was cracked clear across
and had big triangular hole in one
corner, and he always had a rock or an
apple in his free hand, and he could fire
one farther and straighter and eat the
other in fewer bites than any boy now
living would believe. And there were
boys who carried two or three books,
fastened together with skate strap,
and this scholastic slung shot they
whirled around their heads to the immi
nent peril of every human being who
passed them on the same side of the
street.
And the boy who carried his books in
satchel his mother had made for him.
a satchel with a handle as long as check
rein, which permitted the load of books
to bang and dangle at the urchin's suf
iering heels and effectually and fatally
hobbled him when the bad bov got after
him, which full oft, and with malice
aiorethought and prepense, he did.
The meek boy, Willie Wilson, you re-
member him, who always walked with
his left elbow held up at guard" as if
Il. constant expectation of an Golfer al
his nose from some rude boy.
And the real good boy, who carried his
books home at night and studied his les
sons before he went to bed Sweet boy.
you remember him, as he toiled alone
after school was out vainly striving
to keep up with the bowling young
Arabs, whose company the good boy
ever loved, if they did tear his books.
and break his slate. He carried an atlas
the size Of bread board, and his slate
was two sizes larger than the atlas. Upon
the foundation he piled massive pyra
mid of books, all covered so neatly with
samples Of the calico dresses worn by
| his mother and sisters. When he tucked
s'''' ''o-'Htttih Va I'll uLutE lis ARM
barely could he clutch the lower end of
the atlas and slate with his extended
fingers. He bent far over to one side.
his countenance distorted with an ex
preston of agony, while he carried his
loads OF books on the lower end of his
spine.
If he tried to run, to keep up With the
bowling boys who never studied at home
and rarely at school, who always march
ed light, carrying no heavy baggage
to and from school, some of his books
were sure to bulge on him and drop out.
and the noisy boys whooped at his woe
begone face, and danced about him, and
pushed him. and smote his slate, and
poked his books from under hi. encir-
cling arm, and Knocked him. and If he
lifted up his voice and wept, as of =
verify lie usually did, they laughed him
to scorn, and cast the clods of the valley
alter him. And, moreover, they looked
upon him with dstain because Of his
WAN ihNCs nv N'ultl tEulllC u GIcnIl
face the first day of the term, when
every countenance Shone red and bright
as the rising sun from recent amounting
with yellow soap, and every ear glowed
like 4 crimson she'll from the ceanly
gouging of the maternal hand. But a
clear, red, shining face five times week
was too much for the uuwashed boys to
endure with complaoency, and SO they
generally managed to cloud the good
boys face with tears two or three times
day.
And you rem tmber, when you saw two
boys fighting to see which could make
the other carry half the books and ali
the lunch basket, those two boys were
brothers. And when you saw a boy
carrying one small book, throwing stones
at every dog in sight, yelling at the boys
on the line of march, ''sassing" every
citizen whom he beheld at a safe dis.
lance, while a girl at his side struggled
along with pile of books as big as a
soap box, and huge market basket
with Il handful OF lunch in it, you knew
that they Were brother and sister. And
when you saw a boy walking along with
timorous steps, stopping at every corner
to cry, and polish his tear stained visage
with his unsympathetic cuffs, you knew
lie was the new boy, destined to be