Democratic Sentinel, Volume 5, Number 26, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 5 August 1881 — Boys. [ARTICLE]

Boys.

The original noise producers and nerve destroyers of the time. And yet in themselves a most interesting study. F’rinstance: The beet boy—every mother owns him, every hither is proud of him, and yet it takes a great deal of the ** corrective ” to keep him at his best. The worst boy—belongs to the nextdoor neighbor every time, and is the hatefulest, meanest, homeliest, stnckupest boy that ever stole a schoolmate's dinner and drowned your little girl’s pet kitten—and how ridiculously they do dress that boy. The funny boy—is always cutting up some rusty to bring a laugh. He turns himself inside out, and if he makes a hit he keeps at it until he winds up his career in the circus ring retailing thou-sand-year-old jokes. The saucy boy—calls his mother a “squint-eyed logorithm,” twigs his fingers on his nose at his father, invents astonishing nicknames for all the cranky people in the neighborhood, and, with his hands in his pockets, stands on the street comers and yelps his “sass” right in the face and eyes of everybody—yet he never seems to reap his reward. The wicked boy—works on the sly. He wanders forth after dark, tying strings across the walks, setting logs of wood against back doors and ringing the bells. Essentially mischievous, with a tinge of ugliness, he holds court with a reign of terror, and every boy stands in fear of him. But he is the sleekest, quietes t- looking boy on the street. The scholarly boy—pores over school books when he ought to be out playing ball. He corrects his mother’s grammar, improves the style of his father’s conversation, and with an air of superiority kindly allows his parents to exist under the same roof with him, and be proud of his attainments. The chances are that he will one day teach a district school at sl2 a month, and really think he is moving the world. The tough boy—reads dime novels, smokes a clay pipe, frequents the “ nigger heaven ” in theaters, steals from the apple stands on the corners, is up nights, goes home in a beastly state of intoxication by the time he is 14; and at 20 stands on the corner in checked pants, “loud” ulster, plug hat and a low-necked shirt, a living picture of dissipation. Boys, don’t think it “smart” to be tough. The newsboy—take one whiff of him as he stands sixteen deep waiting to buy liis papers. The world over, the newsboy carries a distinctive odor, reeking with tobacco smoke, onion soup, and the result of a changeless shirt. But he can give an intelligent answer to any question you ask him, and is the longest distance from a fool of any of the boys. He eats great quantities of taffy and delights in “giving it away.” Boys, yes, boys. We were all boys once," with exceptions in favor of girJs, of course, and let us not forget it. Let us remember that the w orld was once a distant panoramic show to us as it is to boys now, and let us encourage boys in. their boyishness, that they may never entirely work out of their systems the good spirits and fun that were born in them. Let us be old boys ourselves and feel better for it. —New Haven Register.