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BARKER'S BOY.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
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BARKER'S BOY.

Yonder he goes, that lad of fourteen years,
Denounced by people as “that Barker's boy;”
Cause of his father's wrath, his mother's tears;
Plague of the house, the neighborhood's annoy,
As nuisance branded;

261

He breaks the palings of the garden fence;
Throws stones at nothing, reckless where they fall;
Pounds the tin pan with dinning vehemence;
And chalks queer figures on the red brick wall,
In style free-handed.
He climbs the trees—his clothes were made to tear,
He kicks the stones—the cobbler needs employ;
His whoops and yells rise shrilly on the air;
In aimless mischief lies his chiefest joy,
All quiet scorning;
Sunburned and freckled, turbulent, untamed,
Cats flee his presence, pet dogs keep aloof;
For all unfathered damage he is blamed;
Subject of finger-threatening, sharp reproof,
And angry warning.
You look upon him as the village pest;
You greet him with a cold, forbidding frown,
Or smile contemptuous at his strange unrest,
And feel a strong desire to batter down
His way defiant;
But, tell me! did you come to being then,
Cast at beginning in a perfect mould,
Ready at birth to take your place with men,
Self-poised, self-regulated, self-controlled,
And self-reliant?
I think that all true men have had his ways—
At least were quite as thoughtless at his age:
And, notwithstanding Weems, the preacher, says,
That Washington as boy was grave and sage,
I doubt the story;

262

Bacon and Newton both at marbles played,
Engaged in mischief, and were flogged at times;
Cæsar his father troubled—had he stayed
Always a boy, his life had fewer crimes,
And he, less glory.
This Barker's boy is ill-conditioned, quite;
Yet in the wildest nature ever seen,
The darkest spot is not without its light;
The arid waste has still one spot of green
To half relieve it;
And when I heard that wrinkled Granny Jones,
Who dwells in yonder hovel, weak of limb,
Poor, lone, and friendless, spoke in feeling tones
Her lively sense of gratitude to him,
I could believe it.
When that old woman sick and bed-fast lay,
Shunned by her neighbors as reputed witch,
That boy of Barker served her day by day,
As tenderly as she were great and rich,
Through kindness only;
Begged food and fuel, brought the doctor there,
And coaxed his mother to old granny's side;
Roused older people's sympathy through his prayer;
Without his care the woman might have died,
Unhelped and lonely.
Therefore restrain your stern forbidding looks;
Kindness is best to move a heart that's kind;
Your model boy lives but in story-books,
And there dies young; if not to errors blind,
See traits redeeming;

263

Wait till his manhood to its height is bred;
Wait till the froth of youth has blown away,—
Till older shoulders find an older head,
And on the last behold the kindly ray
Of virtue beaming.