JEMMY LAWTON.
School was out! “Hurra!” screamed all the boys, and up went their caps in the air, as they all commenced trying the strength of their limbs and trowsers, some by climbing up trees, some over fences, some by leap-frog, some by bat and ball; and thus they all separated, and went their different ways home, and Jemmy Lawton went his, too. It was not with so light a step as his schoolfellows; and when the last boy was out of sight, he drew a deep sigh, and crowding his cap down over his eyes, and looking carefully about him in every direction, as if to reassure himself that not one boy lingered to keep him company, moved on. He was an honest boy; he had no thought of stealing anything on the way—it was not that; he was not afraid of “the master,” for he was always at the head of his class, and seemedmore anxious to understand his lessons than any boy in school. He was not afraid any big boy would thrash him, nor was he lying in wait for any smaller boy to thrash. No, Jemmy was no such coward. On he moved, with leaden feet, past the old, familiar spots; past the grocer’s, with his peanuts, and oranges, and cocoanuts, and nicely potted flowers, that he hoped would attract the housewives who came to buy his sugar and tea; past the baker’s, with his tempting pies and tarts, and piles of sugared cakes, and heaps of candy; past the toy shop, and the tinman’s, and the shoe store: he had read all their signs till they were as familiar to him as his own name, and now he had turned the last corner of the street in which was his own house.Nowit was that the child turned pale, and set his white teeth together, and drew his breath hard. His house was a very pretty one, with a nice little garden spot in front, in which were fragrant flowers, for his mother was very fond of them—almost as fond as she was of Jemmy.
He had a kind mother, then? Yes; but do you see that crowd of boys, like a little black swarm, round the pretty white gate before hishouse? You cannot see what they are looking at so earnestly inside the fence, but you can hear their shouts and laughter, and so, alas! does Jemmy. His face is not white now—it is as red as the daisies in his mother’s garden, and his eyes flash like the raindrops on the daisies’ bosoms, that the bright sun is now shining upon. Alas! when will there be sunshine in Jemmy’s house?
“Ah, there’s Jim now,” said a rude boy, loud enough for Jemmy to hear. “Here’s your drunken father, Jim.”
“Stand away! go home! off with you all!” shouted Jemmy, in a harsh, fierce voice, that contrasted strangely with his slight figure, and sweet, infantile face; “off with you!” and he walked into the centre of the group, where, crouched upon the ground, was a man, vainly trying, on his hands and knees—for he could not stand—to reach the door to get in; his nice broadcloth coat was covered with dirt; his hat was crushed in; bits of straw and grass were sticking in his thick, black hair; his eyes were red, and he did not even see his own little boy, who was crimson with shame as he stood over him, and vainly tried to help him to his feet. “Off with you!” shoutedJemmy again to the boys, who laughed as his father fell against him, almost knocking him over; “off with you, I say!” bringing his little foot to the ground with a stamp that made them all start; then, rushing up to the door, he rang the bell violently, and turned his head away, to conceal the tears that would no longer be kept back. A woman came to the door—it was Jemmy’s mother, and together they helped in the drunken husband and father.
No wonder Jemmy dreaded going home from school! It was not the first time, nor the second, nor the third, that he had helped his father in at the area door when he was too drunk to find his way up the front steps to his own house; and sometimes Jemmy, only that he thought of his mother, would have wished himself dead. It was so terrible—the brutal laugh and jests of those cruel boys. Oh! I hope you never do such mean things. I have known children who taunted their playmates and schoolfellows with such troubles when they were angry with them, or sometimes, as in this case, for mere sport. It is a sign of a base, mean, cruel nature, and the boy or girl who would remind any child of their acquaintance of adisagreeable thing of this kind, which is hard enough to hear at best, and twit and taunt them with it, or pain them by noticing it in any way, is a boy or a girl to be shunned and avoided. Nero, the tyrant, who roasted people for his amusement, must have been such a boy. I am sorry to say I have known little girls equally malicious and wicked—bad women they will surely grow up, if not broken of such mean cruelty before they are women.
A drunkard is a drunkard all the same, whether he gets drunk on bad rum or champagne; whether he takes his senses away at the club house, or low, corner grocery: he comes to the gutter just as surely in the end. It made no difference to little Jemmy that his father got drunk on rich old wine, and sipped it from cut glasses in a handsome apartment; his mother was just as heart-broken, and her children just as miserable as they could be. Dollar after dollar the man was swallowing; and Jemmy might well study hard, and be at the head of his class, for he would need all he could earn to coin into bread and butter, by the time he got old enough to keep his mother and little brothers and sisters. AndJemmy’s fatherusedto be so kind—that memory came often to the child, to make him patient under his trouble, to help him to excuse him for the wrong he was doing both himself and them. “He was so kindonce!” Jemmy would sob out in his little bed at night. “I remember——,” and then he would beguile himself by remembering the walks and rides he used to take with him—the Christmas presents—how pleased father was to hear his lessons well recited—and now! Oh, nobody who has not dropped from such a height of happiness down to that dreadful “now” can tell how bruised the poor heart may be by the fall! God help little Jemmy and all like him, who have sorrows all the greater that they must bear the burden alone; that they areunspeakablesorrows, save to Him who will never taunt us with their heavy burden, or turn to us a careless ear.
You may be sure that when Jemmy grew up he never drank. Long before the beard grew on his soft, white chin, his father’s bloated face was hidden under a tombstone; and when, in after years, young men of his own age locked arms, or clapping each other on the shoulder, as they passed some gilded saloon, said to one another and tohim, “Come in and take a drink,” you may be sure that the smile died away on Jemmy’s face, and he saw—not the bright lights in the saloon window, nor the gay, laughing throng inside—but instead, a form crouching like a beast at his feet, dirt-besmeared, with bloodshot eyes—creeping, crawling, like a loathsome reptile, who has no soul to save—for whom there is no Heaven, no glorious future after death—nothing but annihilation. Ah, no; Jemmy could not “take a drink”—his very soul sickened when they asked him.