Watertown republican. [volume] (Watertown, Wis.) 1860-1906, 1888-12-26

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Extracts From the French of G. Droz Trans
lated by Croasdaile c. Fess.
One morning, soon after our boy IS
third birthday, as / lett my chamber /
saw his shoes and mine carefully placed
in row before the door. His little
laced shoes were slightly rubbed and
worn by the rough usage he gave them.
The sole was worn thin on the left shoe,
and little hole was visible near the toe
of the right one. The unlaced strings
hung over the sides to right and left.
[ could see that his fngers-marks and
all the movements of his little foot had
made their impress upon the soft
leather.
Why have I remembered all this? /
do not know, butt can see yet those
dear little shoes placed sc carefully
on the carpet beside mine-two grains
of sand next to two cobble stones a
golkfnch in company with an elephant
They were his everyday shoes, his COM
rades in his play with which he ex-
plored the sand piles and the little
puddles of water. They seemed to be
almost part of himself. | would have
recognized them among a thousand.
They had for me a particular physiog-
nomy, and could not look upon their
uncertain shape, their comical and
charming grace, without recalling the
little master and confessing that they,
In some way, resembled him.
Everything which belongs to baby
hood partakes ofits grace and Ingenious
ness. Beside these rollicking gay little
boots, which asked for nothing but a
run in the fields, mine appeared
mOnstrous, heavy, coarse, alb
surd, with their great heels. with
their weighty matter-of-fact air.
one felt that for them life was
grave, the road long, and the burden of
supporting it a serious matter.
The contrast was startling and the les
son profound. l walked towards the
little boots softly, for fear of awakening
the little man who was still asleep in
the adjoining room. picked them up,
turned them over, looked at them from
all sides, and felt myself deeply moved
by new feeling. Not even the old
glove still scented with violet that had
remained hidden in the secret recesses
of my cabinet for so many years, had
ever caused such a delicious thrill OF
emotion. Paternal love has it's follies
sublime; it cannot be analysed or ex-
planned.
[ can see the dear little fellow now as
he used to look seated on my knee in a
corner of the fireplace, while I drew off
his little stockings. What a
frohc it was would say
zone, two" And he, enveloped
in his long white night dress, his little
hands almost lost in the sleeves, waited
with sparkling eyes for the famous
'fhree" Finally, after a dozen little
teasings and detentions. which excited
his lmpatience and gave me chance to
give him five or six kisses, I would say
three" and throw the stocking off in
to the room. Then there was frolic
He would throw himself back in my
arms, kick up his little bare legs, and
from his wide open mouth, in which we
could see two rows of little pearly teeth,
would come shouts of joyous laughter.
His mother, who would laugh also.
would say at that instant, Come, baby;
come, my darling, you will take cold"
She would try to be stern, but could not
restrain smile at the sight of
that rosy. happy face framed
IN mass of tangled golden curls
dying across my knee, Then she would
say, "Come, enough nonsense What a
child he is ~ But I knew very well
that she thought chow handsome he is,
and how happy, our pet, our little man,
our own little son." And in fact he
was adorable; at least he was to me.
had the good sense-I can say it now
that am grey-haired- mot to let single
one of these precious moments pass
without extracting all the pleasure pos
sible from them; and in truth I did well.
Those fathers are to be pitIed VINO do
not know how to enjoy their preroga-
tives, who do not know how to play
horse, to play wolf, to undress doll, to
bark like a dog, to roar like a lion,
and to play hide-and-seek behind
the sofa. It is not only the
pleasure of childish fun and frolic
that they miss, but real and delicious
Joy; the particles and crumbs of that
happiness whose existence they ca
illuminate and doubt because they are
waiting for it to fall from the skies in
one huge lump, when it is in reality al
our feet reduced to fine powder.
Let US then gather up the fragments
and not complain too much, and every
day brings its daily bread and its share
of happiness.
[ always laugh at those people who go
through life at full speed, with dilated
nostrils, restless eyes and glance fixed
on the horizon. It seems as If the pres
ent burned their feet; and when you
say to them, 'sStop a moment, dis
mount; take glass of this delicious
wine; talk little; laugh while; play
with your children" they invariably
reply, impossible, they await me yon-
der; tomorrow win stop to talk; to-
morrow | will give myself up to
enjoyment; tomorrow [ will devote
myself to my family and when the to-
morrow comes to them and breathless
and weary, they demand the reward
of their labors, the present laughs at
them through her spectaces and cries,
Monsieur, the door is shut"
The future promises; it is the present
that pays; and it is well to be on good
terms with the one vino holds the keys
of the chest.
When you have watched your child
from the very first day of his life; when
you have witnessed his laughter and
tears; when you have heard him call
you papa, DEAR" as he extended bis
little arms 10 clasp you around the
neck, you may believe that you have
experienced every paternal emotion;
and, satisfied with these everyday joys
enyeloplng your life. imagine you can
foretell the events of the day following