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ped upon the dock there, than one of the boys belonging to the gang that always assemble about the steamboat landings espied the glossy new coat. “ Mister! Mister!” said he,“ how much will you take for your long-tailed coat ?

A country lad, somewhat older than Christopher, who had before visited the city, was to be his guide through the great metropolis. They hurried along without taking much notice of the insult, Christopher merely saying, “I suppose these are what they call dock-rats."

But it is no easy matter to get rid of the mischievous rogues. A whole troop of young tatterdemalions followed, crying “Mister! Mister! what will you take for the long-tailed blue ?

Christopher turned an imploring look towards them, which struck them as peculiarly ludicrous, for they began imitating it, with their thumbs on their noses and their fingers in rapid motion.

The country boys, quite dismayed, started upon a full run, the skirts of Christopher's coat flying out behind him, like the tail of a kite. Their persecutors took mud from the gutters and threw after them, crying, “ Look out for the brassy buttons ! there goes Tom Thumb, junior.” Christopher and his companion were at last obliged to take refuge in a shop, and when the “ dock-rats” had dispersed, they sneaked back to the steamboat. Christopher took off his mud-bespattered coat, his once beautiful, glossy coat, and, putting on his old round-about jacket, sagely concluded that the coat does not make the gentleman.

“ Bill what are you, a Loco-Foco or a Whig ? said one of these would-be-gentleman to a boy about his own age; they might have been each twelve years old, or thereabouts.

“I am a Loco-Foco, 'cause mother is a Whig. She is for ever talking about it; and it is my opinion that women have nothing to do with politics, and I should be ashamed to be what my mar wants to have me. That's the reason I am such a raving, tearing Loco-Foco."

" That's right, Bill," was the reply, "you had just as lief your anxious mar would know you are out as not." “Sure I had! None of your mammy-calves

I am thankful that I shall be a man before my mother." So saying, the youngster spit out the tobacco-juice from his mouth in the most approved manner. The accomplishment must have required a great deal of practice.

for me.

“ Their feet perhaps may want a shoe,

Yet they are patriots through and through,
Their tongues can for their country roar,

As loud as twenty men or more.

Disrespect for a mother's opinion, certainly, never will make a boy a gentleman. The wisest and best men that ever lived have acknowledged, with gratitude, that they owed their wisdom and goodness more to their mother's influence than any other earthly cause. It is a very bad sign when a boy or a man speaks disrespectfully of his mother.

Women, it is true, have not much to do with politics, but they have a right to an opinion, and they often form correct ones.



JOSEPH BRANDON was a boy who did not respect his mother's opinion; yet she was a good woman, an excellent woman. Joe wanted to be a gentleman, and did not like to be tied to his mother's apron-string. She was a widow, and Joe was her only son. She had a house of her own, and a snug, pretty house it was ; and she had a small but comfortable income from well-invested funds. She had made up her mind to send Joe to college, and for this purpose she instructed her two daughters at home, – that she might save by that means enough to educate her son in the best possible manner. The two girls, Susan and Fanny, were affectionate and kind to their mother, and as nice, pretty girls as one would wish to see.

Joe was the most tormenting tease to his sisters. He pulled the ears of Susan's favorite kitten every time he could get a chance. He trampled upon the flower-beds in Fanny's little garden. Because Susan had a small



gave her the sobriquet of Pug; and Fanny, who had light brown hair, he called Tow. In short, he invented every possible way to make them uncomfortable, until Mrs. Brandon concluded that she must send Joe


school. He had got entirely beyond her management, and had not the least respect for her opinions.

The morning came for Joe's departure for school. His kind mother had prepared every thing for his comfort in the neatest order. His sisters had each secretly put a little packet of

goodies ” into Joe's carpet bag, that he was to have the pleasure of coming upon unexpectedly, when far from home.

The stagecoach was at the door. Joe drew on his new kid gloves with a very important air, and called out to the driver, Here, fellow, come and take my luggage.” It was carried out.

“Good by, mother,” said he, in a swaggering kind of indifferent manner.

“Stop, Joseph, my son,” said Mrs. Brandon, are you not going to give us one kiss before

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