THE END OF SCHOOL-DAYS.
In the course of the afternoon Nat's father met the agent of the
factory, and the following conversation ensued:--
"What do you say about letting your boy come into the factory to work?"
said the agent. "We are greatly in need of a boy to carry bobbins, and
we will give him two dollars a week."
"I'll see what his mother says about it. I suppose he will have to do
something for a living soon. I shall not be able to do much more for
him."
"But Nat has worked some already in a factory, has he not?"
"Well, not exactly to make it a business. He was at his uncle's, in
Lowell, about six months, and he was a 'picker boy' a short time."
"That is enough to initiate him. It is only a step from 'picker boy' to
'bobbin boy.'"
The facts about his going to Lowell were these: He had an uncle there
who was a clergyman, and Nat was one of his favorites, as he was
generally with all those who knew him intimately. This uncle proposed
that Nat should come and stay with him a few months in the new "city of
spindles" (for the city was then only about four years old), a sort of
baby-city. The lad was only eleven years old, at that time, though he
was more forward and manly than most boys are at fifteen. He was
somewhat pleased with the idea of going to his uncle's, and engaged in
preparing for the event with a light heart. As the time drew near for
his departure, he found he loved home more than he thought he did, and
he almost wished that he had not decided to go. But being a boy of much
decision, as we have seen, he was rather ashamed to relinquish what he
had undertaken to do. He said little or nothing therefore about his
feelings, but went at the appointed time. Soon after he became a member
of his uncle's family, where he was a very welcome visitor, a "picker
boy" was wanted in the factory, and arrangements were made for Nat to
fill the place. He entered upon the work, well pleased to be able to
earn something for his parents, and he fully satisfied his employers, by
his close attention to his work, his respectful manners, and his
amiable, intelligent, and gentlemanly bearing. But Nat loved home too
well to be contented to remain long away. He had seasons of being
homesick, when he thought he would give more to see his father and
mother again than for any thing beside. His uncle saw that the boy was
really growing thin under the intense longing of his heart for home, so
he wrote to his parents, and arrangements were made immediately for his
return. It was a happy day for Nat when he reached home, and took his
parents once more by the hand. Home never seemed more precious than it
did then. If he had been a singer, I have no doubt that he would have
made the old homestead resound with the familiar song of Payne,
"'Mid pleasures and palaces though we may roam,
Be it ever so humble, there's no place like home."
It is a good sign for boys to love home. Good boys always do love home.
It is the place where their parents dwell, whom they love and respect.
No ties are so dear as those which bind them to this sacred spot. No
love is purer than that which unites them to parents, brothers, and
sisters. It may be a home of poverty, where few of the comforts, and
none of the luxuries of life are found, but this does not destroy its
charm. Sickness and misfortune may be there, and still it is home, loved
and sought. Others may have more splendid homes, where affluence gathers
much to please the eye and fascinate the heart, but they would not be
received in exchange for this.
Such boys as Sam and Ben Drake seldom love home. Disobedient and
headstrong children do not love their parents much, and, for this
reason, home has few charms except as a place to eat and sleep. The
history of nearly all base men will show that in early life they broke
away from the restraints of home, and ceased to love the place where
parents would guide them in the path of virtue. Some years ago a
distinguished philanthropist visited a young man about twenty-eight
years of age, who was confined in prison for passing counterfeit money.
His sentence was imprisonment for life. He had become very sad and
penitent in consequence of his imprisonment, and the fact that
consumption was rapidly carrying him to the grave. The philanthropist
inquired into his history. When he spoke to the prisoner of his mother,
he observed that his chin quivered, and that tears came unbidden to his
eyes.
"Was not your mother a Christian?" inquired the visitor.
"Oh yes, sir!" he answered; "many and many a time has she warned me of
this."
"Then you had good Christian parents and wholesome instruction at home,
did you not?"
"Certainly; but it all avails me nothing now."
"Then why are you here?"
Raising himself up in bed to reply to this last inquiry, the young man
said,
"I can answer you that question in a word. I did not obey my parents
nor care for home." And he uttered these last words with a look and tone
of despair that sent a chill through the interrogator's heart.
This is but one illustration of the truth, that boys who do not love
home usually make shipwreck of their characters. Probably Sam Drake
would have laughed at Nat, or any other boy, for being homesick, and
said,
"I should like to see _myself_ tied to mother's apron strings. It will
do for babies to cry to see their mothers, but it will not do for men.
Suppose it _is_ home, there are other places in creation besides home.
I'd have folks know that there's one feller who can go away from home,
and stay too."
A great many men who are now in prison, or dishonored graves, talked
exactly so when they were young. They thought it was manly to have their
own way, and show that they cared little for home.
Nat's love of home, then, was a good omen. It was not a discredit to him
to long to get back again to his father and mother. It was the evidence
of an obedient, affectionate, amiable son.
After the conversation between the agent and Nat's father, the latter
went home to consult his wife upon the subject. He related to her the
substance of his conversation with the agent, and waited her reply.
"I hardly know what to say," said she. "Nat is only twelve years old,
and needs all the schooling he can get. His teachers have said so much
to me about his talents, and their wish that he might be educated, that
I have hoped, and almost expected, some unforeseen way might be opened
for his love of study to be gratified."
"That is entirely out of the question, I think," replied her husband.
"The time has come, too, when he must earn something for his support. I
see not how we can get along and keep him at school. He loves his books
I know, and I should be very glad to see him enjoy them, but poor folks
must do as they can and not as they want to."
"Very true; but it is so hard to think that his schooling must end here,
when he is only a little boy. I don't know but it would break his heart
to be told that he could go to school no more."
"He need not be told _that_," added her husband. "He may not know but
that he will go to school again at some future day."
"It will be difficult to satisfy him on that point, if we keep honesty
on our side. You are not with him so much as I am, so that you do not
know how inquisitive he is, nor how much he talks about his books, and
getting learning. The first thing he will think of will be, whether he
will go to school any more. He knows that factory boys are deprived of
this privilege, and as he is to become a factory boy, his inference will
be that there is no more schooling for him."
"Well, it must come to that, and he may as well know it first as last.
But I do not apprehend that he will lay it seriously to heart, for he is
always ready to do what his parents think is best. I think he is
remarkable for that."
"I think so too; and I shall rely more upon his disposition in this
respect to be reconciled to the privation of school, than upon any thing
else. I think if the subject is brought before him at the right time,
and in the right way, I can convince him it is for the best, and I am
sure he will be ready to do what will be best for all of us."
The conclusion of the matter was that Nat should enter the factory on
Monday, and that his mother should open the subject to him as soon as he
came home.