232

THE YOUTH’S CABINET.

Charlie Cleaveland and Father Blinker.

—

BY MISS C, W. BARBER.

 

Emma, Emma!”
said little Charlie
Cleaveland, break-
ing one morning
very unceremoni-
ously into the
breakfast parlor,
“do come to the
street-door and see
old Father Blinker.
> He is the funniest look-
ing old fellow you ever
saw in your life—you'll
laugh yourself almost to
death when you see him.”

« What is that, Charlie ?”’
said Mrs. Cleaveland, look-
ing up from a letter which she was pen-
ning. ‘Who do you want Emma to go
and see?”

“Why, old Father Blinker, as the
boys call him, mother. He isthe strang-
est looking man you ever saw. His nose
is as red as scarlet, and as large as—as
that apple in the fruit-dish, and his
checks are swollen so that he can hardly
see out of his eyes. He jerks about
every way. I believe the boys say that
he has Sf. Vitus’ Dance, or something
like that. He went by the academy
yesterday, and the boys ran after him,
shouting, ‘Ho! old Father Blinker, how
d’ye do? What ails your nose, and
what makes you dance so?’ It is so
funny, mother, to look at him !”

Mrs. Cleaveland laid down her pen,
and an expression of painful anxiety
came over her sweet face.

“Ts it possible?” at length she ex-

  
 
 
 

claimed; “can it be, that my Charlie
was among the group of wicked, bad
boys, who yesterday shouted after a poor
afflicted gentleman in the street ? Have
all of my good precepts been so lost
upon him? I heard the noise, but I
little thought my son’s voice helped to
swell it.”

«But, mother,” eried Charlie, his
cheek at the same time crimsoning with
shame, ‘he does not look like a gentle-
man at all, I am sure I would not be
rude to a genteel man, even if he were
afflicted ; but Father Blinker looks more _
like a street beggar than a gentleman.
Come to the door and see him.”

Mrs. Cleaveland followed her children
to the porch, and saw, toiling up the
road, a poor, afflicted man, whom she
immediately recognized as one whom
she had known in better days. He was
now truly a miserable object. His whole
face was red and swollen, his hands trem-
bled so that it was almost impossible for
him to hold the cane which supported his
decrepit form, and his head was serked
from side to side, as by some invisible
power. She looked upon him so sadly,
that even Charlie watched his move-
ments thoughtfully, as if he did not see
anything so very funny about him, after
all. At length, when nearly opposite
the house, a gust of wind took his hat
from his head, blowing it far down the
street—and the unfortunate man at the
same time dropped his cane.

«Run, Charlie!” said Mrs. Cleaveland
quickly ; “pick up his hat and cane, and
give them to him, in as respectful a man-