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Page 44
I have known boys and girls at school attempt to pass for more than their
real value. Whenever I hear a boy asking somebody to write a composition
for him, or to help him write one, which he intends to palm off as his own,
or see him jog the boy that sits next him in the school-room, to get some
help in reciting a bad lesson, I think of the pistareen, and want very much
to caution the little fellow not to pass for more than he is worth. And it
makes very little difference that I know of, whether it is a boy or a girl.
It seems just as bad in one case as it does in the other.
It happens once in a while that a young lady puts on a great many charms
that are not natural to her, and uses every kind of deception, just for the
sake of being admired, or, perhaps, to get a good husband. It is bad
business, though. Sensible men are not often caught with such a trap; and
if they are, when they find out how the matter stands--and they will find
it out sooner or later--they despise the trick as one of the meanest that
was ever invented. I have a notion, too, that this kind of deception is
pretty common among young gentlemen, as well as young ladies. But it is a
miserable business, whoever may work at it. It never turns out well in the
end, if it does after a fashion at first. It is a great deal better to be
natural, and to act like one's self. This passing for more than one is
worth, to buy a husband or a wife, as the case may be, don't pay, as the
merchant says.
Some people work like a horse in a bark-mill, to make every body believe
they are most excellent Christians, very nearly as pious as the angel
Gabriel, when the truth is, their religion is all sham, and they will lie
and cheat as bad as any body, if they think they will not be found out.
Whenever I see one of this class, trying with all his might to pass for a
saint, with his face as long as a yard-stick, or, perhaps, all lighted up
with kindly smiles, I can't help thinking of the pistareen. It will come
into my mind in spite of all I can do. Why, all the time the man is putting
on these airs, he is plotting some scheme for selfish gain, or some
mischief, just as likely as not. "He does not rise toward heaven like the
lark, to make music, but like the hawk, to dart down upon his prey. If he
goes up the Mount of Olives to kneel in prayer, he is about to build an
oil-mill up there. If he weeps by the brook Kedron, he is making ready to
fish for eels, or else to drown somebody in the stream." Poor man! he has a
hard time of it, trying to keep up appearances. But it will be harder
still, by and by, if he does not look out. He cannot carry his mask with
him into the other world. There no one will pass for any more than he is
worth.
LAMENT OF THE INVALID.
The earth is arrayed in the robes of spring,
And by the soft zephyr the green leaves are stirred;
With the wood-bird's note the pine forests ring,
And the voice of the robin's glad music is heard.
I see my companions abroad on the plain,
But the beauties of spring, they are not for me.
Oh! when shall I leave my dull prison again?
I am pining to roam 'mid the wild flowers free.
O green is the turf in the wildwood now,
And my spirit flies from the dwellings of men,
Where the wind blows soft through the cedar's bough,
And the voice of the streamlet is heard from the glen.
This dim-lighted chamber I long to resign
For my cherish'd retreat, 'neath the wide-spreading tree.
Through the long, long hours of day I pine
For the breath of the flowers and the hum of the bee.
No, not for me are the beauties of spring,
Nor the zephyr that sighs in the cedar's bough;
The birds of the forest all sweetly may sing,
But not for my ear is their music now.
Yet, merciful Father! I will not complain;
My hopes are all centred on heaven and Thee;
I know that thy grace will my spirit sustain--
I ask not for more--'tis sufficient for me.
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