Year: 1875




School "took up" Monday. There
was needed no announcement of the
fact in the papers; 1t was published
on every street leading to a school
house in Burlington. 1t was heart
rending to see the wretched looking
children who crcpt along the side
walks this morning. There was the
boy whose face eXpresse every de-
termination to commit suicide just as
soon as he could think of way Of
destroying himself sufficiently horri-
BILE to make his parents regret, to the
end of their lives, their cruelty in
sending him to school. There was
the boy who carried only one
book with the back off, and a slate
cracked clear across and Il triangular
hole in one corner, and the boys who
carried us high us two or even three
books, fastened together with Il strap,
which scholastic slung-shot they
whirled around their head, to the inn
minent danger of every creature who
passed them on the same side of the
street. And the good boy, who takes
his books home at night and studies
his lessons before he goes to bed
he was there, too. Sweet boy, we
smiled at him as he passed by, vainly
striving to keep up with the bad boys
whose company he loves, if they do
tear their books and break their states.
He carried an atlas as big as An
dreas Lyter & Co.'S "Des Moines
County Biographies and Photographs
Of Eminent Men" On the atlas was
Il slate rs big as some of those frag-
lie affairs that politicians frequently
carry to conventions. And on the
slate was piled u huge pyramid of
books, all neatly covered with sam
pies of calico worn by the mother
and sisters of the good boy. lie
could barely tuck this mountain OF
crudition under his arm and cllnch
the lower end of the atlas with the
tips of his fingers. He bent far over
to one side, and carried the books on
his spine, his countenance, mean-
while, distorted with the most horri-
flying expressions of agony. If he
tried to run and keep up with the
bad boys, who never studied at home
and rarely at school, and who invari-
ably lose all all their books during
vacation, and 'marched light" carry
ing no heavy baggage when school
'takes up" in the fall, his books fell
out, and if he caught up with them,
they treated his woebegone face with
shrieks of derision, and pushed him,
and poked his books from under his
encircling arm, AID Knocked him, and
if he lifted up his voice and wept,
they laughed HIM to scorn. His tel-
lows looked upon him with scorn be-
cause he habitually wears n clean
face. They could endure that on the
first day Of the term, when every face
in school is red and polished and
bears every indication of recent an
nointing with yellow soap, and every
ear glows with Indignation at clean
ly gouging from maternal hands,
But clean, red, shining face every
day in the term is an insult to the
natural complexion of the bad boys.
The life of a good boy at school is a
mild species of martyrdom. Dear,
dear, good boy! we felt our heart go
out in love for him as we watched
him yesterday morning. For we
were good boy. That's us. 1t new
er struck in on us, but we had it.
Bad Took it young. We used to
pile up twenty-three books on our
slate and march out of the school
house every night, wearing the most
studious look that Providence ever
permitted II guileless good boy to
assume and we received therefor an
approving smile, an encouraging pat
on the head, and a good mark from
our teacher dear. And then we
sneaked around behind the school
house and hid that stack of books in
the cold air passage that led to the
furnace, and ran off with the bad