Rensselaer Union, Volume 3, Number 19, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 2 February 1871 — John Oakhart and Son. [ARTICLE]

John Oakhart and Son.

John Oakhart and son are Baltic merchants. Young John entered his father’s office as a clerk, at sixty pounds a year, of which he paid his mother forty for board, lodging, and washing, and clothed himself with the odd twenty. Do not imagine that Mr. Oakhart’s establishment required this assistance. The old gentleman desired to make his son feel independent—he was a man; he earned his own livelihood, and he should feel that he supported himself. At twenty-five years of age, young Oakhart marries, receiving with his wife a moderate sum of money. He wants to purchase a share in his father’s business; they cannot come to terms. Young John can make a better bargain with a rival house in the trade. The old man hesitates; he likes the sound of John Oakhart <& Son, but business is business, and, as a calculation, he can’t do it. So young John becomes a chief partner in a rival Ann to Hi at which must one day be his, and trades against the old man, whose only sin is to lay up wealth for his son. Every day, at four o’clock, leaning against a particular comer on ’Change stands the elder merchant, his hands deeply sunk •in his dog’s-eared pockets. A young city man approaches; they exchange a quiet, earless nod. “ Feel inclined to discount for £1,200 at long date!” “ What security ?” asks the old man. “ Turkish ’54.” “ Any names’" “My own, only; it’s a private matter, and has nothing to do with our house,” .replied the younger. “I should want more than that, as money goes—say ‘ “ The brokers ask only 4>£ ” replies the young man. “ Then givet it.” And they separate with an indifferent nod. That was father and son. Every Sunday young John and his wife dineat Russell Square, in the same house where old Oakhart has lived for thirty years. His name has been cleaned out of the brass plate on Ute door. This house John still looks upon and speaks of as his home. All (he a&*iations of his childhood are there—every piece of furniture is an old is sacred in his eyes, from his own picture, taken at four years old, with its chubby fhce and fat legs, to the smoke-dried picture Of Gen. Abercrombie. They form the architecture of that, temple of his heart —his home. After dinner the ladies have retired. The crimson curtains are comfortably closed. . The crackling tire glows with satisfac- ' tion. • - “ Jack, my boy," savs the fatbefeJ' what do you want with £I2OO J ’* ,

“ Well, sir," replies young John, “ there is a piece of ground Hext U> my villa at Brixton, and they threaten to build upon it,- if so, they will spoil our view. Emily," —meaning his wife—“has often begged me to buy it and inclose it in our ganden. Next Wednesday is her birth-day, and I wish tv gratify her with a surprise; but I have reconsidered the matter—l ought riot to afford it—so I have given it up. “ Quite right, Jack," responded the old man ; “it would have been a piece of extravagance." And the subject drops. Next Wednesday, being Emily’s .birthday, the old people dine with the young folks. Just before dinner, old John takes his daughter-in-law aside, and places in her hand a parchment—it is the deed of the little plat of ground she coveted. He stops her thanks with a kiss, and hurries away. Ere the ladies retire, Emily finds time to whisper the secret to her husband And the father and son arc alone. Watch the old man’s eyes fixed on the fire, for he has detected this piece of affectionate treachery, and is almost ashamed of his act, because he docs not know how to receive bis thanks. Fora few moments a deep, gentle feeling broods upon the young man’s heart; he has no words—it isa prayer syllabled in emotion that makes Iris lips tremble; he lays his hands qpou his father’s arm, and their eyes meet. “ Tut, Jack, sir! pooh, sir! It must all come to you some day—God bless you, my lx>y, and make you as happy at my age as lam now.” In silence the souls of these men embrace. But who is that seraph that gathers them beneath her outstretched angel wings? 1 have seen her at the fireside, fluttering like a dove from bosom to Ixisom. I have seen her link distant hearts parted by the whole world —she is the good genius of the Anglo : Saxon family —and her name is Home.