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OLMSTEAD & CO., PUBLISHERS.
_ . “SEVEN UP.”
Ia a pleasant farm-house, one wintry eve, after
supper and a hard day’s work at threshing, Samuel
Grey rose from his chair with a’ sad, weary look,
and stood before the drawer of an old bureau.
. “Samuel, what is thee doing ?” asked his mother,
following him.’ “Thee is not going out to-night,
when so tired.” ,
“Yes, mother!” he replied, taking up, with a
sigh, a small calico bag, which seemed well filled.
“Why, that is the mortgage money, Samuel;
- .What does thee want with that? It is not due till
next spring.”
“I know it, mother; but I must have this money
this night,” he answered, in a determined tone.
“For what, my son? Thee has always told me
everything. We earned the money together.”
- “I know it, mother. All these years we have
toiled to pay off that mortgage left on the farm at
my father's death, and now it has come to nothing.
Sit down in your chair, mother, and I will tell you
“the truth, as I trust I have ever done. I do not
. fear your blame, as I have always loved your praise.
This one egregious error has taught me great les-
sons already. They say women can bear trouble
better than men.”
“Samuel's mother’ trembled very much, but she
sat quietly down. ‘Ter face was pleasant to look
‘at,—healthy and fresh, with a clean Quaker cap
crimped about it. She could not believe that her
son had done anything so very wrong; but all was
> & mystery. t
“Last evening you know how late I stayed away,
and I presume you thought I was with Ellen at the
* farm ; but I was not; more is the pity. I went on
anerrand to the tavern, to get some oil for our
lame horse’s leg. The bar-room was a blaze of
colight, and gil the boys there, and I stepped in to
warm. There were two finely-dressed gentlemen
” from Boston sitting around a table, calling for the
best of port wine, and treating the company. They
called me to join so cordially that I consented, and
felt rested with the good fire and exhilarating glass.
Soon one of the strangers brought out a pack of
cards, ‘and played with Joe Lampson and Jim
White. Isat and smoked in the corner, and did
not take much notite of the game. They played
for cigars and wine, and then for money, and the
game was ‘Seven Up.’ Now, when I was a boy I
used to have an excellent run of luck at cards, and
beat everybody; and I suppose I was elated with
my reputation; for when Joe Lampson said, “I
have won two hundred dollars,” I was astonished,
especially when the strangers paid it over as quick
and easy as they would brush off a fly. I thought,
‘Jf dull Joe has won so quickly such a sum, why
may not J, who am so lucky at cards ?”
“They urged me to take a hand, and the sight
of the new bills on the ‘Merchants’ Exchange
Bank’ so won upon my better understanding, that
I drew right up to the table. I thought only of
winning; I never thought of losing. We played
and won, and played and lost and lost and lost.
O mother, I lost all this money quick as a flash;
and they taunted me’ that I could not pay; but J
must pay it, or have my honor lost before the whole
village. 1 know how wrong it was, but if hard
work will make it up to you, you shall never want.”
Here Sam broke down, and cried like a child.
“Thee is welcome to take the money, Sam,” said
his mother, quietly. “I wish thee would promise
never to touch a card again.” “Dear mother, I
solemnly—”. “No, Sam! no oaths. Remember,
thee will be tempted this very night to try and win
back this very money.”
.. “No, I have seen too many winks pass between
those two men. They are gamblers, who have
come down to impose upon us ‘green-horns’ in the
“country. When I think how many hard days’
“work I have performed, and how many chickens
and eggs you ‘have raised to sell, all for one good
object, and that my folly has ruined all, I am ready
to despair.” . .
“J shall not live long to want money, Sam; I
only thought of thee and Ellen, who is so soon’ to
become thy wife.” Samuel groaned, and left the
house with a heavy heart. He knew by the twink-
ling light across the fields that Ellen sat watching
for his visit, but he sped on toward the village, un-
til, stamping the snow from his shoes, he entered
Again, in a private parlor,
once more the tavern.
aa
lH
i
su
HARRY HAYWARD.
he found the companions of a previous night. He.
went firmly up to the table and deposited his
money.. “I have come,” he said, in a bold voice,
“to pay you what you won from me lest night.”
The man merely waved his hand, on which shone a
jewel, toward him, in a negligent manner, and went
on with his game.
“O,a mere trifle,” he said ; “time enough by-and-
2
Sam turned toward the fire, with a groan. Evil
thoughts took possession of his mind. . “Can some
men make money thus easily by the toss of a card,
or the turn of a die? and yet, after all my honest
labor, must I be turned from my humble home,
and my happy prospects broken up for life by two
desperate gamblers?” Fierce passions seemed at
war within him, as the sweet visions of former
hopes passed away. He did not notice that there
were mutterings of wrath at the table, as one after
another was fleeced in his turn. Cries of “unfair,”
“unfair play,” were met by contemptuous sneers
from the successful men who pocketed the gains.
Samuel's little roll of bills still laid upon the
table, and he could not bear to leave it. there. It
seemed sacred money. ‘How little my father
thought when he left me the farm, with only this
mortgage as an encumbrance, that I should prove
so recreant to my solemn engagement to take care
of my dear mother! O! God, forgive me, and
spare me, that 1 may.do better in the future.”
And at that moment a softer emotion sprung up in
his heart. He felt a loathing for sin of all kinds,
and a determination to shun even the smallest de-
viation from duty, if its retribution was so dreadful,
This was a more desirable state of mind; and a
humble spirit breathed its blessing over him, as he
rose up and buttoned his thin coat over his breast,
again to face the cutting wind of the wintry night.
About this time a handsome sleigh had driven up
to the door of the tavern. The horses were flecked
with foam, ‘and the frost hung about their trap-
by
J
pings, showing how swiftly they had travelled. | .
Two strong men had leaped from it, and hastily en-
tered the house. The host came obsequiously to
the door. They drew him aside.
“We have tracked two notorious blacklegs from
Boston here, and, thinking they might be moking
alittle mischief, have come down. Indicate, I say,
the room where they now are, or we shall arrest
you as an accomplice! Quickly!” as the gleam of
a revolver shone in the cold moonlight. “In there,
in there!’ stammered the landlord, trembling with
alarm. The detectives came very softly, but not so
gently that the gamblers did ‘not listen intently.
One said, “Throw the cards in the fire! raise the
window! hark!” Just then the door was thrown
violently open. “Ab, my hearties, well met! We
bave had quite a drive for you;” adjusting hand-
cuffs all the time, as though they were used to the
business, in spite of the desperate struggles of the
two men.
“Now, my birds, we will see what you have
caged” said these ainiong of, the law, and forth-
with began to pick their pockets, having laid. them
at length on the floor.
“Counterfeit bills in plenty, some golden eagles,
silver! Get pen and paper, landlord, and state the
amount. Now, young men,” the sheriff said,
addressing Samuel Grey and his friends, who stood
in silent amazement beholding the scene, “we
might consider you under arrest for gambling, but
presume you were just’ green enough to be en-
trapped by these Boston youths, Didn’t. under-
stand the ways of our wicked city. However, I
will just advise you to beware of bad company for
the future; it does not lead to pleasant results.”
“Tow much have you been robbed of this night?”
“There is my money,” said Samuel, as each one
stated the amount, and pointed to the roll upon
the table.
“Well, take it, and go instantly,” said the men.
Samuel obeyed; and when once more in the si-
lent fields, and within sight of his mother’s cottage,
he fell on his knees and wept aloud, giving thanks
to God, as he had never done before. Ue was
not yet twenty-one; life was before him; hope
again dawned: let us trust that the sad lesson was
not in vain.
The old mother could not knit the long, blue
woolen sock that evening. She paced the low
room with prayers and tears. Never in her lonely
widowhood had sorrow come so heavily upon her
heart ; and when the door opened, and Ellen stole
gently in to inquire what was the matter, missing
her lover, Aunt Rachel threw her arms about’ her
neck, and gave way to grief. So Samuel found
them when he returned, most unexpectedly, to
change their tears to joy. So much for “playing
cards,” young friends.— The Mother's Assistant.
to
FEEDING THE PIGEONS., .
Some years ago aman left some money to the
city, directing in bis will that at two o'clock every
day, in one of the public squares, all the pigeons
should be fed. Now, perhaps you may think that
pigeons do not know how to count, and cannot tell
the difference between two o’clock and four o’clock,
or between a quarter before two and a quarter after
two. Well, I do not suppose they can tell the time
by looking at the large ‘clock, or that they can
count; but this I know, that they can tell when
their dinner is ready as well as any of the children
wh@ Tread this paper, A large bell, and it is a very
large: one,. strikes the hours, and a smaller bell
22 SCHOOL STREET, BOSTON. ,
two; then the great bell says one. That means’
two-quarters after one, or half-past one. By-and- .
by the little bell strikes one, two, three, and the’
big bell strikes one; that means three-quarters after |
one, or, quarter before two. But pigeons do not
mind that at all. In a little while the small bell
says one, two, three, four. Then I saw crowds of
pigeons coming in all directions, over the houses,
through the streets and lanes, and by the time the *
big bell had struck one, two, a great number had :
collected, and they kept coming for about a minute. ”
After they had picked up their dinner. they flew
away, and paid no more attention to the big bell or ~
the little bell, although’ they kept on striking the ’
hours and the quarters just as before. No more |
pigeons came until two o'clock the next day. Can’
any of the chidren tell how the pigeons know when |
the clock strikes two? And are the little readers’ +
of this true story as punctual to their duties as-
these pigeons?—Child at Home.» a
ey
For the Companion. .
PRESENTS ON NEW YEAR’S DAY.
A stir and flutter, thena silence, followed by two {
vociferous “Wish you a Happy New Year, auntie,”
and two-bright faces peeped out from behind the
half-open door.
Miss Ray returned the congratulation, then
asked, “Why do you make more of this particular *
day than of any other?” ~
“Why, auntie, it is the first day of the year 1863,
and—” here Edward looked blank, fumbled in his ‘
pockets, then whirled upon his sister. ‘
“Qut with your reasons, Sue, I’ve used mine up.”
“Its—its—the first day of—O, nonsense, tell us,
Aunt Rosa.”
“I have asked five or six young people the same
question... 863 years since what?” =, -
“O! [know that, ‘since Christ was born,” Ed-
ward broke out. | sgt
“Was he born on the Ist of January P” .
“No, indeed, Christmas is celebrated on that ac-
count, Dear me, I dont know.”
“Here is a calendar. Now what does the word
calendar come from ?” .
“J find,” answered Susie, “the word calends, in my
dictionary ; it meant among the Romans the first
day of the month, and calendar is a register of the
year in which the months, weeks and days are set
down in order, with the feasts observed by the
church; an almanac.”
“Very well, and almanac is derived from an Ar-
abic word, .4/ manach; to count. What does our
word January come from ?”
“From the Latin,” answered Edward. -
“When was it introduced among the months ?”
Asilence. _ a .
“Ah! you feel as much surprised at your own
ignorance as I did when I first began to ask myself
the reason for all these common things. ‘The “Little
Philosopher” in the Companion first directed my
curiosity into such laudable channels. 672 years
before Christ, Numa Pompilius, the second Roman
king, added January and February to the ten
months then reckoned in the Roman calendar.
The name of January is deriyed from their god
Janus.” :
«Janus was represented with two faces, I remem-
ber, and his temple was only opened in a time of
peace,” remarked Edward. .° -
: “Yes, and the first day of the year was dedicated
to Janus, because, being two-faced, he is the emblem
of retrospect and foresight united. The day was
observed by riotous feasting and the giving of
presents, .But a Roman workman would not spend
the kalends, or first day, entirely in sports. He
worked a little at his trade for the sake of luck.
In the time of Romulus and Tatius the usual pres-
ents were figs and dates, covered with gold leaf,
and sent by clients to patrons, with a piece of
money, which was spent to purchase the statues of
gods.”, . . .
“Why, auntie!” exclaimed Susie, “have we bor-
rowed our New Year from the heathen? I thought
Anno Domini meant the year of our Lord.”
“Did you suppose the Christian era was adopted
as a mode of reckoning exactly 1863 years ago?”
“TI confess to a vague idea of that kind;” said
Edward, :
strikes the quarters.’ Thus, the little bell says one,
“Recall the true condition of Christianity in the
first ages of its existence.” :
cn ane lly o
OO
