University of Virginia Library

THAT AWFUL BOY.

A FAMILY of some pretensions, living on Nelson Street, had a party of five to tea Thursday evening. The table was set out in fine style, as the company were from the city, and it was absolutely necessary to show them that folks may live in a village like Danbury, and yet understand the requirements of good society. When they were all at the table, and the lady was preparing to dish up the tea, her little son, whose face shone like the knees of a country clergyman's pants, pulled her secretly by the dress. But she was too busy to notice. He pulled her again; but, receiving no response, he whispered,—

"Ma, ma!"

"What is it?"

"Ain't this one of Miss Perry's knives?" holding up the article in his hand, and looking, as he properly should, very much gratified by such an evidence of his discernment.

She made no reply in words; but she gave him a look that was calculated to annihilate him.

The tea was dished out, and the party were buttering their biscuit, when the youth suddenly whispered again, looking at his plate with a pleased expression, "Why, ma, my plate is different from the others."

"Thomas!" she ejaculated under her breath.

"Why, it is, ma," persisted Thomas. "Now, just see here: this plate has"—

"Thomas," again ejaculated his mother with crimsoned face, while his father assumed a frown nearly an inch thick, "if you don't let your victuals stop your mouth, I'll send you away from the table."

This quieted Thomas at once. He was not a very particular boy; and he concluded that the difference in the plates was not of such moment as to admit of tedious argument at this time.

Several minutes passed without any further interruption. The young man industriously attended to his food, but at the same time kept a close eye on what was going on around him. He was lifting up his cup for a sip, when his glance unfortunately fell upon the saucer. It was but a glance; but, with the keenness of a young eye, he saw that the two were not originally designed for each other.

"Why, ma," he eagerly whispered, "this cup don't belong to"—

Then he suddenly stopped. The expression of his mother's face actually rendered him speechless, and for a moment he applied himself to his meal in depressed silence. But he was young, and of an elastic temper; and he soon recovered his beaming expression. A little later, he observed a lady opposite putting a spoon of preserved grapes in her mouth; then he twitched his mother's dress, and said again,—

"Ma!"

The unhappy woman shivered at the sound; but

his remark, this time, appeared to be on an entirely different subject, as he asked,—

"Ain't Miss Walker a funny woman?"

"Funny?" said his mother with a sigh of relief. And then turning to the company with the explanation, "Mrs. Walker is an old lady who lives across the way," she smiled on her hopeful son, and asked, "What makes you think she is funny?"

"Why, you know—you know," began Thomas, in that rapid, moist way which an only son assumes when he is imparting information before company, in response to a cordial invitation, "when I went over there this afternoon to get the spoons, she said she hoped the company wouldn't bite 'em, as it would dent"—

"Thomas!" shrieked the unhappy mother as soon as she could break in.

"Young man," gasped the father, "leave this table at once."

And Thomas left at once. His father subsequently followed him, and the two met in a backroom; and, had both been flying express-trains coming together, there could scarcely have been more noise.

IT was quite cold in the car. The passengers were shrinking up into as small a space as possible, and looking straight ahead into nothing with frowning

visages. A very little boy was snuggled up in his mother's arms. The train stopped at a station, when he said,—

"Am I goin' home, mamma?"

"Yes, dear."

"Papa's home?"

"Yes."

"Are you goin' to see papa?"

"Yes, dear."

The child lifted up his head, and, looking eagerly into his mother's face, enthusiastically exclaimed,

"When papa sees me, he'll say, 'Come here, you peshous lam'.'"

The smile which illuminated the passengers' faces upon this outburst of childish expectation drove away the frown, and brought them out of themselves for the rest of the journey.

THERE can be no doubt whatever that a pew-bench is the most dreadful object in existence. However cautiously you may approach it, it is sure to fly up at one end, and come down again with a thud that makes your scalp creep, and draws upon you the indignant glances of everybody in the building. And, even if you don't put your foot on it, the fear that you may do so, when not thinking, draws your mind from the sermon, and fastens it upon the dread possibility in lively terror. Pew-

benches should be run full of lead at both ends, and held down by iron cables attached to rocks sunk in the cellar; but, until this is done, the only alternative offered is drawing your legs up on the seat, and sitting on them till the service is over.