Wreaths of Friendship Part 9

When the paper did come, we literally devoured its contents. With us it was an oracle. If the "Courier" affirmed or denied a thing, that was enough for us. It was an end to all debate. How confiding children are! He who has read "Robinson Crusoe" when a boy, finds it almost impossible to regard it a fable when he is a man. The newspaper, that makes its weekly visit to the family circle in the country, leaves the marks of its influence upon the mind and the morals of the child. It forms his tastes and controls his character. How careful, then, should parents be, in the selection of periodicals to be the companions of their children.

STORY FOURTH.

THE CIDER PLOT.

When I was an apprentice, some years ago, I lived--no matter where, and served--no matter whom. There were three apprentices besides myself; and it seems necessary to say, that, at the time when the incident happened which I am about to relate, we had neither of us completed that branch of husbandry called the sowing of wild oats; and as the soil was very favorable for the development of that species of grain, we were perhaps a little too industriously engaged in its cultivation. We were in great haste to have the oats all sowed in good season.

One day our employer bought a cast of cider--Newark cider, I believe they called it--and the greater portion of it was nicely bottled, and placed in a dark corner of the cellar, to be used, not for making vinegar, or mince pies, but for a very different purpose--which may be surmised by such as remember that in those days the juice of the apple had a much better reputation than it has now. We were allowed our share of the beverage. But we were not satisfied. We resolved ourselves into a sort of committee of the whole, one afternoon; and after a long and somewhat spirited debate, came to the unanimous conclusion that, in the course of human events, it became necessary to employ the most effective measures to procure additional supplies from the cellar. Now it so happened, that these measures were not of the most peaceable and honorable kind. Such was their nature, in fact, that if we had been discovered in the act of resorting to them, it would no doubt have been deemed necessary, in the general course of human events, that we should be soundly whipped.

The plan was to seize a bottle once in a while, something after the manner of privateers; though I believe the trade of privateering is regarded as piracy, now-a-days. How times are changed! We were to go on this expedition in rotation, from the oldest downward. We commenced, and two of us had performed the feat. It came George Reese's turn next. You didn't know George, I suppose. But I wish you had known him. I think you could appreciate the story better, if you knew him as well as I did. Well, George went down cellar, with his pitcher in his hand, thirsting for cider and glory. You must know that there was a flight of stairs that led directly to the cellar from the room we occupied. You should know, too, that we went down without a light, and felt our way in the dark. George had not been below two minutes, when we heard a report from the cellar very like the discharge of a pistol. It was loud enough to alarm the whole house. We were frightened. We had reason to be. Who knows, thought we, but they have set a spring-gun for us, and poor George is badly wounded? We waited in silence, and with not a little anxiety, for our hero to come up.

He came at last, and a sorry looking fellow he was. He was covered from head to foot with yeast! The cook had placed her bottle of emptyings, tightly corked, in the village of cider bottles; and the truth flashed upon us at once, that George had made a mistake, and captured the wrong bottle; and the most of its contents, being a little angry at the time, were discharged into his face. But this was not all. George thought he had encountered a cider bottle, after all, for he could see nothing in the cellar, and he had poured what little remained of his yeast into the pitcher, and brought it up with him. When he made his appearance, there was such a noisy trio of laughter as that old kitchen had seldom heard before.

This brought in the cook, and she laughed as loudly as the rest of us.

Then, to crown all, the lady of the house, hearing the noise, came to see what we were all about; and she laughed the loudest of any body. I shall never forget the image of George Reese, as he entered that room. It gives me a pain in the side now, only to think of it.

MORAL 1.--Before undertaking any enterprise similar to this cider-plot, it is desirable to count the cost.

MORAL 2.--In your pursuit after glory, take care that you do not come in contact with something else that is not so pleasant.

STORY FIFTH.

MY FIRST HUNTING-EXCURSION.

I shall never forget the first time I sallied out into the woods to try my hand at hunting. Carlo, the old family dog, went with me, and he was about as green in the matter of securing game as myself. We were pretty well matched, I think. I played the part of Hudibras, as nearly as I can recollect, and Carlo was a second Ralph. I had a most excellent fowling-piece--so they said. It began its career in the French war, and was a very veteran in service. Besides this ancient and honorable weapon, I was provided with all the means and appliances necessary for successful hunting. I was "armed and equipped as the law directs," to employ the words of those semi-annual doc.u.ments that used to summon me to training.

Well, it was sometime before we--Carlo and I--started any game. Wind-mills were scarce. For one, I began to fear we should have to return without any adventure to call forth our skill and courage. But the brightest time is often just before day, and so it was in this instance. Carlo began presently to bark, and I heard a slight rustling among the leaves in the woods. Sure enough, there was visible a large animal of some kind, though I could not determine precisely what it was, on account of the underbrush.

However, I satisfied myself that it was rare game, at any rate; and that point being settled, I took aim and fired.

Carlo immediately ran to the poor victim. He was a courageous fellow, that Carlo, especially after the danger was over. Many a time I have known him make demonstrations as fierce as a tiger when people rode by our house, though he generally took care not to insult them until they were at a convenient distance. Carlo had no notion of being killed, knowing very well that if he were dead, he could be of no service whatever to the world.

Hudibras said well when he said,

"That he who fights and runs away, May live to fight another day."

[Ill.u.s.tration: RODERICK'S FIRST SHOT.]

That was good logic. But Carlo went farther than this, even. He was for running away before he fought at all; and so he always did, except when the enemy ran away first, in which case he ran after him, as every chivalrous dog should. In the case of the animal which I shot at, Carlo bounded to his side when the gun was discharged, as I said before. For myself, I did not venture quite so soon, remembering that caution is the parent of safety. By and by, however, I mustered courage, and advanced to the spot. There lay the victim of my first shot! It was one of my father's sheep! Poor creature! She was sick, I believe, and went into a thicket, near a stream of water, where she could die in peace.

I don't know whether I hit her or not. I didn't look to see, but ran home as fast as my legs would carry me. Thus ended the first hunting excursion in which I ever engaged, and, though I was a mere boy then, and am somewhat advanced now, it proved to be my last.

SAt.u.r.dAY IN WINTER.

I.

Our tasks are all done, come away! come away!

For a right merry time--for a Sat.u.r.day play.

See! the bright sun is s.h.i.+ning right bravely on high; Make haste, or he'll soon be half over the sky.

Come! first with our sleds down the gla.s.sy hill side, And then on our skates o'er the river we'll glide.

II.

Now, Harry! sit firm on your sled--here we go!

Swift--swift as an arrow let fly from a bow!

Hurrah! downward rus.h.i.+ng, how gayly we speed, Like an Arab away on his fleet-going steed.

Hurrah! bravely done! Down the icy hill side, Swift--swift as an arrow, again let us glide.

III.

And now for the river! How smooth and how bright, Like a mirror it sleeps in the flas.h.i.+ng sunlight.

Be sure, brother Harry, to strap your skates well; Last time you remember how heavy you fell.

Now away! swift away! why, Harry! not down?

Are you hurt? You must take better care of your crown.

IV.

Up, up, my good brother! now steady! start fair!

Away we go! swift through the keen, frosty air.

Down again! Bless me, Harry! your skates can't be right-- Just wait till I see--no--but now they are tight.

Here we go again! merry as school-boys can be, From books, pens, and pencils, and black board, set free.

V.

Tired, at last, of our sport, home to dinner we run, And find that, two hours ago, dinner was done.

But our meat and potatoes we relish quite well, Though cold--and the reason we scarcely need tell.

Five hours spent in scudding and skating, I ween, 'Twould give to such lads as we, appet.i.tes keen.

VI.

At last the dim twilight succeeds to the day; Our week's work is ended, and ended our play.

'Tis Sat.u.r.day night, and we know with the morn, Another dear Sabbath of rest will be born.

O'er wearied, we sink into slumber profound, a.s.sured that G.o.d's angels are watching around.

ROVER AND HIS LITTLE MASTER.