THE THE FIRST LEAF OF AUTUMN. I SEE thee fall, thou quivering leaf, The first to feel the autumn winds, To brave, all desolate and lone, Alas! the first, the yellow leaf- To rustle on the crisped grass, 1 It tells of those that soon must drop, And it hath wak'd a sadder chord In deathless memory. Thou eddying leaf, away, away, And thou dost tell how from the heart The blooms of hope decay; How each one lingers, loth to part, ROVER. wanted, with the variations, therefore why not adapt them to our purpose? But without going into the poetical at all, we must say, in sober prose, that probably thousands of our readers do not understand the true guage and measure of Maine-are not aware of the extent of her natural power, wealth, and capabilities. While they are thinking of her as a little out-of-the way, down east corner of the union, covered up with fogs and forests, they would be surprized perhaps to be told, that there are but two states in the union that have more shipping than Maine; that she has more territory than all the other New England states put together; that she has three hundred miles of sea coast, and if you follow round the shores of her bays and |navigable rivers, you may set it down at more than a thousand miles; that she has three times as many excellent harbors as any other state; that she has much more water power, readily available for manufacturing purposes, than any other state; that she has pine timber enough in her forests to pay off the heaviest state debt in the union; that she has granite enough along her seaboard to build cities in all the Atlantic states for a thousand years to come; and last, not least, that she has a hardy, intelligent, sober, industrious, and enterprizing population, already numbering more than half a million, and rapidly increasing. Yet such is the State of Maine, which is destined hereafter to become one of the leading and most important states of this great Republic. EAST PORT AND PASSAMAQUODDY BAY. THE beautiful engraving, which we lay before the readers of the ROVER this week, presents a fine view, as our friend Major Downing used to say, "away down east, in the State of Maine." It is even far beyond the notable village of Downingville, for that, as the Major was wont to have it, is "jest about the middle of down east ;" whereas the view we here present is on the eastern border of the state, clear to the very "jumping off place;" where Jonathan, if his arm was only long enough, could stand on his own hills and reach across the river and shake hands with John BY LAWRENCE LABREE. ONE cold and desolate evening last winter when Palmo's was thronged with visitors, and the gay song and the merry laugh-a coarse mixture of music and revelry-indicated a kind of "banish-care" feeling ving to cultivate, a poor boy in tattered garments, and which the company present seemed industriously strishivering with the intense cold, sat himself patiently Bull. conned he this lesson : It is said that John and Jonathan often have rather funny races with each other across these waters, in boats and vessels of various kinds, in search of smug-down upon the stone steps in front, and continually gled goods, and in winter time in sleighs on the ice; and many a hair-breadth escape have the smugglers had in running round the islands and points, and skulking into the bays and under cover of the woods. But it is not our purpose here to go into any detailed account of these border achievements. As our plate however gives a view of a portion of the scenery on the rough and rockbound coast of Maine, our native state, we cannot let the occasion pass without recording a word to her memory. "God save the State of Maine." She is a noble state, and a high and prosperous destiny awaits her. What though her climate is cold, and her summers short? Her sons and daughters are warm-hearted and long-lived; and as her forests are cleared away and her bosom laid open to the sun, her climate will grow milder, and the day will come, "When smiling spring will earlier visits pay, And parting summer's lingering blooms delay." The last two lines, the reader will perceive, are Goldsmith improved; but they were just the things we VOL. II.-No. 4. THE YOUNG MENDICANT. A REAL INCIDENT. mother a loaf of bread ?" But no one heeded him. Their thoughts were thrown beyond the patient petition of the poor beggar boy. Though they had money to spend-money to throw away for a humiliating and disgusting purpose, they could not give one thought to the condition of the desolate being before them-that like an upbraiding spectre threw himself between them and pleasureeven upon the very steps of the temple of Bacchus. Ah! what place more fitting for the mendicant to utter his supplication, than at the doors of our public houses of amusement? Where, with more propriety, can the beggar sit, than upon the steps of our theatres, before the doors of our fashionable groggeries, and in the entrances of the halls of vice and dissipation? If any class of persons are able to relieve the wants of the needy, it is such as daily and nighly visit those places. But perhaps they have no mony to spare-at least, to throw away upon a beggar! Piteously the poor boy preferred his humble petition, and the blast blew, and the cold snow fell around him, and the crowd passed laughingly on, nor heeded their perishing brother. To be sure, they were merry all that evening, and at last went to a comfortable home and refreshing slumber, and their dreams were of anything else than poverty and distress; the vision of the beggar boy did not haunt their midnight slumbers. How it does fret our patience to be held one moment by the button-hole on a cold wintry day; yet patiently, and without murmuring, sat that desolate child upon the stone steps, continually conning this lesson: "Please sir give me a couple of pennies to buy my mother a loaf of bread ?" What! nothing to spare? Not one glass less for the sake of the poor pleader? Hark! there is a clapping of hands within-a song is encored, and the crowd hurry forward to the scene of excitement. The boy is forgotten. No! there are two middle aged gentlemen stopping to speak with him; they are no doubt honest mechanics, and being comfortable in the world, and satisfied with the necessaries of life, have hearts full of sympathy and kindness. Thank God! the poor boy will be relieved. One of them speaks. s'pose that bimeby they'll be for knocking us down in the street to take from us by force what they now ask for. I tell you, Jenkins, there's too much of it-there's too much of it." "That's my opinion egzactly, Mr. Smirkins," said Jenkins. "You're a man of sense, Mr. Jenkins, as well as myself; I wish there was more on us. If there is anything on airth I do abominate and detest, it is a beggar. They aint to be believed half on 'em, the lazy varmints. And many on 'em as begs for a livin in the streets, I've hearn tell, has more money, and is better off for this world than either you or I, Mr. Jenkins." "I don't doubt it, Mr. Smirkins." "Don't doubt it? Of course not, Mr. Jenkins. And then there is the old women, and the old men, and the blind, and the lame, and them as has the palsy. Bless my soul! if I was to give a penny to every beggar I met, I should soon be a poor man if I lived long enough." "I dare say you would, Mr. Smirkins. You are rich now, and what good will riches do you if you give money to every one that asks you. What is the use, I say, of money, if you don't know how to take care of it?" "Well, my little fellow, what are you setting here for "That is the philosophy I go on, Mr. Jenkins. Your in the cold? Why dont you go home?" glass is out-take another-here, waiter! No, Jen"Please sir give me a couple of pennies to buy my kins; my rule is, never to spend a cent that I don't mother a loaf of bread?" know where it goes; and as to throwin money away "Who is your mother, my little man? and where do upon beggars in the street, I know a tune worth two you live?" "She goes out to day's work, sir, and she takes in washing, but she's sick now, and haint got nothin to do; and she sent me out to get something to buy her some bread." "Poor boy! how old are you?" "Eight, in my ninth year, sir." of that. Now you've seen women beggin in the street with a little baby in their arms-of course a woman with a baby in her arms gets up more sympathy-and sometimes when they haint got no baby of their own, they make out to borry one of some one else. Oh, you needn't start, for I'm sartin that sich a thing's done regularly every day. But, then 'taint every baby "Do tell! Sinart boy for his age, aint he Jenkins. that's fit to be borred. None o' your fine, healthy, Where do you go to school, my son ?" "Dont go 'tall." hearty lookin young'uns 'ill do at all; but what's wanted is a little sufferin cretur that's got somethin or "Dont go to school!" exclaimed Mr. Smirkins in nother the matter with it—no matter what-no matastonishment. "Pray what do you do then?" "Nothin, sir." "Dreadful!" again exclaimed Mr. Smirkins. "Who'd a thought that in this ere inlightened country, free and inderpendunt as it is, that there was a child of eight years that had'nt never bin to school! I declare it's an unnatural shame!" "It's most preposterous, Mr. Smirkins!" replied Jenkins. "And if I had my way, both mother and child should go to the house of reformation." "I'll jine you in them sentiments, Mr. Jenkins. See here, my son; I guess you'd better go to home you'll freeze there. I'm sorry I can't do nothing for you. Jenkins, I'm most froze-s'posin we go in and take something to warm us. Go home, my little fellow-go home." And into the fashionable grog-shop they went, called for hot punches, and sat themselves down to a table, in the meantime, to chat, and listen to the music when they did not chat. "I'll tell you what 'tis, Jenkins," said Smirkins, after they had taken a sip of their punches; "there's gittin to be too many lazy beggars in this city by a jug-full; and if I had my way about it, I'd have them all sent to Blackwell's Island before I was a week older. They've got to be a complete nuisance; they stop you everywhere in the street, and assail our houses, and I ter if it haint had nothin to eat for two or three daysso much the better, poor little thing! It sarves all the better to git up the sympathies of maidens what haint got no little uns themselves, nor never expects to have in the natural way; besides, it's a capital pint to make an effect of by young women what want to git up a reputation of bein tender-hearted, and sich like. Oh, by all means, a sickly baby's the best. They would'nt give a pin for one that did'nt look distressin-like, and did'nt cry nigh about all the time. No, no; you can't tell me nothin about beggars that I don't know already, and as for throwin away my hard airnins by encouraging 'em, it's what I wont do as long as I've got senses about me, I know. Good gracious! Mr. Jenkins, how terribly the wind blows. It must be gittin colder fast.. S'pose we begin to think about goin home?" "Well, Mr. Smirkins, jest as you say; not that I'm at all in a hurry. It is gittin little chilly out I do. think." Here Mr. Smirkins and Mr. Jenkins rose from their. seats, buttoned their great-coats up to their chin, tied large handkerchiefs over their mouths and noses,. thrust their hands deeply into their pockets, and left the house. As they passed out at the door, they were again accosted by the beggar boy, who still sat shivering on the cold stones. "Bless my soul!" exclaimed Mr. Smirkins in a THE YOUNG MENDICANT. "Aint it though!" significantly replied Smirkins. Shrugging their shoulders the two citizens passed on. How sad a thing it is that we have so little sympathy for persons in distress-that is, sympathy of the right kind. We have a large quantity of the convenient article-as far as the tongue goes-but the sentiment does not extend to the pocket. There the charm lies; and rarely does misery find the "open sesame," though pleasure, and often times pride, draw largely upon the good nature of our money-loving principle. There are too many persons among us like Mr. Smirkins and Mr. Jenkins-with plenty of money for pleasure, but none for charity. To be sure, the public is gulli ble-very. Money can be raised sometimes for foreign purposes-repeal, missions, &c. We are not a nearsighted people, by any means; our vision extends to the remotest portions of the earth-entirely beyond our own necessities-over the heads of our own poor. However, I suppose other goverments, in turn, have an eye to our necessities. No doubt great sympathy is expressed for our "lower orders" by the civilized portions of Europe, and by the benighted population of Africa. Well, we should be thankful even for that. It is a pity that Mr. Smirkins, or Mr. Jenkins, did not bestow some charity upon the beggar boy, as the event will show; and this is no fable. The poor boy sat upon the steps the entire evening, piteously uttering the burden of his melancholy supplication. A great many Mr. Smirkenses and Jenkinses passed to and from the gilded saloon, but, like those two worthy citizens, none seemed to heed the poor boy's plaint. Many greeted him with unkind words, and some smart young fools thought it a good joke to annoy the poor lad. Unkindness, insults, coldheartedness he submitted to with patience that would have claimed pity from a savage, while his teeth chattered, and his half-clad limbs shivered with the intense cold. 51 figures upon the walls. Now, there is silence for a moment. Hark! the keys of a piano are touched by a skillful hand. Melody comes gushing out like the limpid flow of a wild-wood stream, and a sweet and soul-enchanting voice takes up the burden of the song. The poor boy, though shivering with cold, is thrilled by its rare tones, and he mounts the steps to the door, and listens. Oh! how eagerly did his ear drink in every word as she sang, perhaps not without motive, the following: Ye who in haughty pride do sit- Whose ears ne'er hear the dismal cry Oh, ye are cold and hard of heart While thousands who God's image bear, gilded halls-in gay saloons, Hark! there's a wailing in the air- The cold, bleak wind hath chilled her breast- She has no home-no hope-no joy, As fades the sun's last ray of light She hears your revelry, oh, ye rich! She bends to kiss its lips-oh God! The poor boy clung closer and closer to the door as the song progressed, and the streaming tears from his eyes told too sadly how the tones and the sentiment sank into his desolate heart; and as the singer concluIded, he bust into convulsive sobs, and slowly retraced his way into the street. Ere many minutes, however, he returned, and rang the bell, and as the servant opened the door, he preferred to him his humble suit in most pitiful accents. Angered to be called from his warm corner by so trivial a thing, the man slammed the door in his face; while at the same moment from within came a burst of heartless, unrestrained laughter from a half-dozen young bucks as devoid of feeling as of common sense. Late in the evening he moved from the door, with but a solitary penny or two. His eyes were moist with tears, not more from the cold and stormy night than from the cold hearts of the multitude around him. He thought of his poor mother who lay sick in her miserable hovel, and perishing for the want of bread. Oh, what a gloomy picture seemed the world to that cheerless, lonely child. He was amazed with misery, and his spirit struggled as one in a mysterious, halfdefined dream. Street after street did he pass along, ever and anon stopping to gaze at the windows of some wealthy mansion which emitted a blaze of light, while within music and laughter rang a merry note. He less-disheartened by vain petitions, he again sought thought a moment of his own cheerless home, and the street, and slowly wended his way he knew not wiping a tear from his eye, he struggled on through whither. Bewildered in his despair he had no thoughtthe "pelting of the pitiless storm." Oh, how happy of his whereabouts. The storm was increasing; the he might have been made, and not a whit taken from wind was blowing the snow about in drifts, and the the happiness of thousands who reveled amid plenty. lad's courage began to fail fast. At last he halted in front of an elegant mansion in the upper part of the city-the abode of one of our "merchant princes." Music and merry laughter resounded within; he could see the shadows of gay Alas! for that one moment's agony of the poor boy.. Desolate, starving, freezing, without a solitary friend in the world to pity him but his mother who lay help. He stopped at last near a pile of boards, and while the biting blast whistled shrilly around him, he looked about him in his desolateness for a place of shelter. He was lost! In the dreariness of his misery he had 52 CHILDREN-WHAT ARE THEY? wandered beyond the limits of his knowledge. Keener blew the blast, and faster fell the snow, and at last the raging storm drove him to seek shelter beneath some of the boards that were piled up near him. But why keep the curtain drawn longer from the sad picture? In a few moments, a half-unconscious numb-hearts playing upon their little faces like sunshine up Among the children who are now playing together, like birds among the blossoms of the earth, hunting all the green shadowy places thereof, and rejoicing in the bright air; happy and beautiful creatures, and as changeable as happy, with eyes brimful of joy and with on clear waters ;-among those who are now idling together on that slope, or pursuing butterflies together on the edge of that wood, a wilderness of roses, you would see not only the gifted and the powerful, the wise and the eloquent, the ambitious and the renowned, the longliving and the long-to-be-lamented of another age; but the wicked and the treacherous, the liar and the thief, the abandoned profligate and the faithless husband, the gambler and the drunkard, the robber, the burglar, the ravisher, the murderer and the betrayer of his country. The child is father of the man. Among them, and that other little troop just appearing, children with yet happier faces and pleasanter eyes, the blossoms of the future-the mothers of nationsyou would see the founders of states and the destroyers of their country, the steadfast and the weak, the judge and the criminal, the murderer and the executioner, the exalted and the lowly, the unfaithful wife and the broken-hearted husband, the proud betrayer of his pale victim, the living and breathing portents and prodigies, the embodied virtues and vices of another age and of another world, and all playing together! Men are but children of a larger growth. ness crept over his limbs, his eyelids grew heavy, and ere long he slept a calm and peaceful slumber, and all the misery and all the wants of the poor beggar boy were at an end. The body was found in the morning, and a coroner's inquest returned the following verdict which was published in the city pasers on the morning following: "Died from exposure;" and the reporter added: "He was recognized by several of the citizens as a boy whom they had frequently seen begging in the neighborhood." CHILDREN, WHAT ARE THEY? BY JOHN NEAL. What are children? Step to the window with me. The street is full of them. Yonder a school is let loose; and here, just within reach of our observation, are two or three noisy little fellows; and there another party, mustering for play. Some are whispering together, and plotting so loudly and so earnestly, as to attract every body's attention; while others are holding themselves aloof, with their satchels, gaping so as to betray a part of their plans for to-morrow afternoon, or laying their heads together in pairs for a trip to the islands. Look at them, weigh the question I have put to you, and then answer it, as it deserves to be answered. What are children? To which you reply at once, without any sort of hesitation perhaps,-"Just as the twig is bent, the tree's inclined;" or "Men are but children of a larger growth," or peradventure, "The child is father of the man." And then, perhaps, you leave me, perfectly satisfied with yourself and with your answer, having "plucked out the heart of the mystery," and uttered without knowing it, a string of glorious truths, pearls of great price. But instead of answering you as another, might, instead of saying, very true, what if I were to call you back to the window with words like these'-Do you know what you said? Do you know the meaning of the language you have employed? or in other words, do you know your own meaning? What would you think of me? That I was playing the philosopher perhaps, that I wanted to puzzle you with a childish question, that I thought I was thinking, or at best that I was a little out of my senses. Yet if you were a man of understanding, I should have paid you a high compliment; a searcher after truth, I should have done you a great favor; a statesman, a lawgiver, a philanthropist, a patriot, or a father who deserved to be a father, I should have laid you under everlasting obligations, I should have opened a boundless treasury underneath your feet, I should have translated you instantly to a new world, carried you up into a mountain as it were, and set before you all the kingdoms of the earth, with all their revolutions and changes-all further historythe march of armies-the growth of conquerors-the waxing and the waning of empire, the changes of opinion, the apparition of thrones dashing against thrones, the overthrow of systems, and the revolution of ages. Pursuing the search, you would go forth among the little creatures, as among the types of another and loftier language, the mystery whereof has been just revealed to you, a language to become universal hereafter, types in which the autobiography of the Future was written ages and ages ago. Among the innocent and helpless creatures that are called children, you would see warriors, with their garments rolled in blood, the spectres of kings and princes, poets with golden harps and illuminated eyes, historians and painters, architects and sculptors, mechanics and merchants, preachers and lawyers, here a grave-digger flying his kite with his future customers: there a physician playing at marbles with his, here the predestined to an early and violent death for cowardice, fighting the battles of a whole neighborhood, there a Cromwell, or a Cæsar, a Napoleon, or a Washington, hiding themselves for fear, enduring reproach or insult with patience; a Benjamin Franklin higgling for nuts or gingerbread, or the "old Parr" of another generation, sitting apart in the sunshine and shivering at every breath of wind that reaches him. Yet we are told that "just as the twig is bent, the tree's inclined." Hereafter is made up of the shreds and patches of Heretofore. If "Men are but children of a larger growth," then what are children? Men of a smaller growth. And this happens to be the truth, not only in the world of imagination, but in the world of realities, not only among poets, but among lawyers. At law children are men; little children murderers. A boy of nine, and others of ten and eleven, have been put to death in England, two for murder, and a third for "cunningly and maliciously" firing two barns. Of the little murderers, one killed his playmate and the other his bed fellow. One hid the body and the other himself. And therefore, said the judges, they knew they had done wrong, they could distinguish between good and evil; and therefore, they ordered both to be strangled. And they were strangled accordingly. As if a child that CHILDREN-WHAT ARE THEY? is old enough to know that he has done wrong, is therefore old enough to know that he deserves death. * 53 two of the others called out from the fence, "You, Joe! you better mind! that's our cow!" The plea was admitted without a demurrer; and the cow was left to be tormented by the legal owners. Hadn't these boys the law on their side? * I remember a little boy who was a lexicographer from his birth, a language-master and a philosopher. From the hour he was able to ask for a piece of bread-and- A youth once lived with me who owned a little dog. butter, he never hesitated for a word, not he! If one One day I caught the dog worrying what I supposed to would n't serve, another would, with a little twisting | be a rat, and the boy standing over him encouraging and turning. He assured me one day, when I was him. It proved to be a toad; the poor creature escapholding him by the hand a little tighter than he wish-ed during my interference. Before a month had gone ed, (he was but just able to speak at this time,) that I over, the dog showed symptoms of hydrophobia, and I should choke his hand; at another, he came to me all shot him. Not long after this, I found the boy at a out of breath, to announce that a man was sharing the pump trying to keep a tub full, which appeared to have wall. Upon due inquiry it turned out that he was only no bottom. I enquired what he was doing, and it turnwhite-washing. But how should he know the differ-ed out that he was trying to drown a frog. I asked the ence between white-wash and lather, a big brush and reason. Because a toad had poisoned the poor little a little one? Show me if you can a prettier example of synthesis or generalization, or a more beautiful adaptation of old words to new purposes. I have heard another complain of his school-fellow for winking at him with his lip; and he took the affront very much to heart I assure you, and would not be pacified till the matter was cleared up. dog. "Well, my lad, you've been to meeting, hey?" "Yes sir." "And who preached for you?" "Mr. P-," "Ah! and what did he say?" "I can't remember, sir, he put me out so." "Put you out!" "Yes sir, he kept lookin' at my new clothes all meetin' time." That child must have been a close observer. Will any body tell me that he did not know what people go to meeting for? Here was a process of ratiocination worthy of any Autocrat that ever breathed. Because A suffered, soon after worrying B. therefore C. shall be pumped to death. Precisely the case of Poland. I knew another little boy once lost a favorite dog. About a week afterward, the dog re-appeared, and the boy was the happiest creature alive. But something happened a little out of the way, which caused further Another, now at my elbow, hardly five, has just been prattling about the handle of a pin, meaning the head; to him shavings were board-ravellings, about a twelve-enquiry, when it turned out that the new dog was not month ago, and I shall never forget his earnestness the old, though astonishingly alike. The only differabout what he called the necklace of the gate-a heavy ence I could perceive was a white spot under the neck. iron chain with a large weight swinging to it—which Well, what does our boy do? receive the the stranger a wood-sawer had forgotton to replace, after finishing with thankfulness, and adopt him with joy, for his exhis work. traordinary resemblance of a lost favorite? No indeed. But he gives him a terrible thumping, and turns him neck-and-heels out of doors on a cold rainy night! As if the poor dog had been guilty of personating another!! How perfectly of a piece with grown people who have cheated themselves and found it out. Wo to the inno It is but yesterday that a little boy, being asked by an elder sister in my presence, what a widow was-he had been talking about a widow-replied, a poor woman that goes out a washing. What better definition would you have? At home or abroad, is not the poor widow always a washing-now the floor of a wealthier neigh-cent and helpless who lie in their path! or sleep in their bor-and the clothes of somebody who happens not to bosom, or inhabit among their household-gods! be a widow-and now with her own tears the face of But children are not merely unjust and cruel and her little baby, that lies asleep and half sobbing in her treacherous as men are. Like men they are murderlap? Other children talk about the bones in peaches-ers, mischief-makers, devils, at times. I knew two osteologists are they; and others when they have the boys, the oldest not more than four, who caught a hen, toothache, aver that it burns them. Of such is the em- and having pulled out her eyes with crooked pins, then pire of poetry. I have heard another give a public chal- let her go; after which on seeing her stagger and tumlenge in these words to every child that came near, as ble about, and perhaps afraid of discovery, they detershe sat upon a door step with a pile of tamarind-stones, mined to cut off her head. One was to hold her and the nut shells and pebbles lying before her. "Ah! I've other perform the operation; but for a long while they got many-er than you!" That child was a better gram- could not agree upon their respective shares in the permarian than Lindley Murray. And her wealth, in formance. At last they hit upon a precious expedient. what was it unlike the hoarded and useless wealth of They laid her upon the steps, put a board over her bomillions? dy, upon which one of the two sat, while the other sawed off her head with a dull case knife! Parents! Fathers! Mothers! What child of four years of age was ever capable of such an act, without long course of preparation ? for neglect is preparation. Both were murderers, and their parents were their teachers. If, the child is father of theman, what is to become of such children? If it be true that "just as the twig is bent, the tree's inclined," how much have you to answer I saw three children throwing sticks at a cow. She for? If, "men are but children of a larger growth," grew tired of her share in the game at last, and holding watch your children forever, by day and by night! pray down her head and shaking it, demanded a new deal. for them forever, by night and by day! and not as chilThey cut and run. After getting to a place of compar-dren, but as men of a smaller growth, as men with ative security, they stopped, and holding by the top of most of the evil passions, and with all the evil propena board fence, over which they had clambered, be- sities, that go to make man terrible to his fellow-men, gan to reconnoitre. Meanwhile, another troop of chil- his countenance hateful, his approach a fiery pestilence, dren hove in sight, and arming themselves with brick-and his early death a blessing, even to his father and bats, begun to approach the same cow. Whereupon mother! |