The Boy Emigrant in the Quaker City.
"It was a dismal winter evening," said the governess, "neither snow nor rain, but such a sleet! Sleet that sent, that very day, some of our Philadelphians with broken bones to the hospital. The circle, however, in the doctor's pleasant parlor took little notice of the storm. We were so comfortable, the ample grate glowing with coal, and the gas lighted up everything. The doctor was resting in his large arm chair, after the fatigues of the day, and dividing his attention between his newspaper and the pursuits of his family. A five years' old girl was laughing merrily at a cat running after a string cut from the selvage of flannel we were making up for the poor. An older daughter was busy with slippers she was embroidering for her father, and the only son was poring with delight over his Virgil—the book so distasteful to most boys, and we were all settled for the evening. The servant-girl suddenly threw open the door and said in a slightly impatient tone, "An Irish beggar boy at the basement door." She dared not neglect the doctor's strict orders, "Never send away beggars till I see them, if I am in the house." And he went immediately to the basement. There stood a boy of about fourteen years—one of the most ill-clad, uncared-for fellows that beg or steal in the street, and looking half-starved, too. Provisions were ordered and quickly devoured, while the boy passed through close scrutiny. Underneath the torn garments, wild, uncombed hair, and unwashed face, was a clear eye, and a good humored, intelligent expression. He said he had heard of the doctor, and wanted to get work. Only yesterday he had landed from an emigrant ship, and had been robbed of all his money. He had stopped for the night at a hotel on Market street. He had been put in the room with another boy whose friendly ways greatly cheered him. But in the morning his companion was not to be found. Going to his purse he found it empty, and his bundle was gone. "I felt very sore," he went on to say. "I ran to the landlord and told him how it was. He looked hard at me, and told me I lied. But he was afterwards kind, and gave me a good breakfast. He had changed his mind. I have had nothing to eat all day, and got no work. Nobody knows me, and I have no character; but I'll work anywhere, if I can earn a living." "What kind of work do you want?" The doctor looked about, and was quite at a loss. At last a thought struck him. There was a barrel of ashes mixed with a few bits of coal waiting to be carried out. And he turned to the boy. "If you want to sift this coal from the cinders, I will pay you." He set about it in good earnest, so that it was soon done. Putting some money in his hand the doctor told him to call the next evening. "Where are you going, dear papa, this dark night?" asked his little girl anxiously—for he had taken down his coat and his umbrella, and was putting on his heavy boots. "Never mind, my dear;" and this always meant that there was to be no further questioning. He sallied forth on the slippery pavement from Walnut Street, across Chestnut, till he found the little hotel on Market street. He inquired about the emigrant boy, and the landlord gave the same account he had already heard. "That boy tells the truth," said he. "At first I had no doubt he was lying—the old story, sir—scallawags are always crying robbed, robbed, to impose on you. But I understand their ways. This lad is straight-forward. I was sorry for him, but in too much hurry to mind much. I let him have his breakfast and go." All the way home the doctor was trying to think of some way to help the poor little stranger, and next day he went round among his business friends seeking employment for him. The answers he received were curious. "Anything on earth," said one, "but being bothered with a raw hand—above all, a fresh Irish boy." "Just what I was wanting," said another; "only too late. I just engaged a boy yesterday." "You ask me to take a strange boy," said a third; "why, my last boy had to go to the penitentiary for stealing. I want a boy but must know all about him beforehand." Still the doctor did not lose heart. He was too familiar with the work of this sort, and finally he secured a situation. The boy was to have $6 a month with board. He proved faithful and honest, and was full of energy. After seven months, he found a place for himself with better wages, spending part of his evenings in study. Meantime the doctor gave him advice in many ways. Years rolled on. One cold evening we again gathered at the delightful home in Walnut street. The furniture and surroundings were not greatly changed. A small grandchild from the West and the mother were on a visit. The child's glee and a passage read aloud from the "daily" imparted unusual life. The son had received the highest honors of his class at a New England college, and the youngest of the household was eager for the arrival of her father, that she might hear of it. His "click" sounded at the front door, and he entered heartily into the common topic. But at the same time, and while caressing the baby who had rushed to him with open arms, it was plain that he, too, had pleasant news. There was a happy smile on his benevolent face, his whole countenance fairly lighted. "Father has found somebody to help," whispered the little girl, "and he is in fine spirits." Coming up the street an unknown person accosted him by name, heartily shaking his hand. He stopped, looking at him, and told him there was a mistake in the person. "Don't you remember, sir, the little Irish boy that sifted your cinders one dark night to whom you gave a supper?" The doctor started. Before him was a handsome young gentleman. He told his own history something like this: "What a desperate night to me! without home, friends, or money! Refused employment or food all day! You, sir, took me up and made a man of me. I have been highly prospered ever since. My second situation I gave up. The master had a brain disease, and his exactions became unbearable. I was soon, however, in another situation still better, having received recommendations from both employers. I put money all the time in the bank, and now I have capital enough to go into business myself, and have settled in a neighboring city. But I want to thank you for your kindness. Without you, I never could have succeeded. To you alone under Providence I owe it all." He was obliged to hurry away for the night boat. But his looks and his manner, even more than his words, showed the depth of his gratitude. "It paid me a thousand times over," said the doctor, while a little mist gathered over his eyes. "They say I am sometimes duped. It may be true; and yet all the impositions of a lifetime are nothing to me—compared to one day like this."—Christian Intelligencer.