The Aimwell Stories (Illustrated) E-Book

Walter Aimwell

• Herausgeber: BookRix
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2014

Beschreibung

William Simonds (October 30, 1822 – July 7, 1859) was an American author who usually used the pen-name Walter Aimwell. He was born in Charlestown, Massachusetts, and his father died when he was young. After attending school at Salem and spending some time in learning the jewelry business at Lynn, Massachusetts, he was apprenticed to a Boston printer in 1837. While thus engaged he wrote his first book, "The Pleasant Way" (1841), which was published by the Massachusetts Sabbath-school society. This was followed in 1845 by "The Sinner's Friend," which was also well received. In December, 1845, he left the printing-office where he had spent nearly nine years, and early in 1846 began the publication of "The Boston Saturday Rambler," of which, after the first six months, he became the sole editor. In November, 1850, "The Rambler" was merged in the "New England Farmer," of which Simonds was general editor until his death. In 1848 he began the publication of a monthly entitled "The Pictorial National Library," but was unable to issue it longer than eighteen months. Mr. Simonds was convinced that he had a mission to perform in writing for the young, and he employed every means in his power to render his tales natural and attractive, and to make them accurate reflections of life. He died in Winchester, Massachusetts. His chief work is "The Aimwell Stories," written under the pen-name of Walter Aimwell. These stories deal chiefly with New England farm-life. Their titles are: Oscar; or, The Boy Who Had His Own Way (1854) Clinton; or, Boy Life in the Country (1853) Ella; or, Turning over a New Leaf (1855) Whistler; or, The Manly Boy (1856) Marcus; or, The Boy Tamer (1857) Jessie; or, Trying To Be Somebody (1858) Jerry; or, The Sailor Boy Ashore (1863) The second book of the series, "Clinton", was published first. Simonds intended to extend the series to twelve volumes, but lived to complete only six. The last one, "Jerry," was left unfinished, and to it is added a memoir of the author. Besides these books he published "Thoughts for the Thoughtless" (Boston, 1851); "The Boy's Own Guide" (1852); and "The Boy's Book of Morals and Manners" (1855).

Leseprobe

Walter Aimwell

The Aimwell Stories (Illustrated)

BookRix GmbH & Co. KG81371 Munich

PREFACE.

In the story of OSCAR is portrayed the career of a bright but somewhat

headstrong boy, who was over-indulged by his parents, and who usually

managed to "have his own way," by hook or by crook. The book is designed

to exhibit some of the bad consequences of acquiring a wayward and

lawless spirit, and of falling into indolent, untruthful, and disobedient

habits. These are its main lessons, intermingled with which are a

variety of others, of scarcely less importance to the young.

Winchester, Mass.

ADVERTISEMENT.

"PRECEPTS MAY LEAD BUT EXAMPLES DRAW."

"THE AIMWELL STORIES" are designed to portray some of the leading phases of juvenile character, and to point out their tendencies to future good and evil. This they undertake to do by describing the quiet, natural scenes and incidents of everyday life, in city and country, at home and abroad, at school and upon the play-ground, rather than by resorting to romantic adventures and startling effects. While their main object is to persuade the young to lay well the foundations of their characters, to win them to the ways of virtue, and to incite them to good deeds and noble aims, the attempt is also made to mingle amusing, curious, and useful information with the moral lessons conveyed. It is hoped that the volumes will thus be made attractive and agreeable, as well as instructive, to the youthful reader.

Each volume of the "Aimwell Stories" will be complete and independent of itself, although a connecting thread will run through the whole series.

The order of the volumes, so far as completed, is as follows:-- I. OSCAR; OR, THE BOY WHO HAD HIS OWN WAY.

II. CLINTON; OR, BOY-LIFE IN THE COUNTRY.

III. ELLA; OR, TURNING OVER A NEW LEAF.

IV. WHISTLER; OR, THE MANLY BOY.

V. MARCUS; OR, THE BOY-TAMER.

VI. JESSIE; OR, TRYING TO BE SOMEBODY.

CHAPTER I.

A KITCHEN SCENE.

Bridget, the Irish servant girl, had finished the house-work for the day, and sat down to do a little mending with her needle. The fire in the range, which for hours had sent forth such scorching blasts, was now burning dim; for it was early in October, and the weather was mild and pleasant. The floor was swept, and the various articles belonging in the room were arranged in their proper places, for the night. The mistress of the kitchen,--for Bridget claimed this as her rank, if not her title,--was humming a queer medley of tunes known only to herself, as her clumsy fingers were trying to coax the needle to perform some dextrous feat that it did not seem inclined to do in her hands. What she was thinking about, is none of our business; but whatever it was, her revery was suddenly disturbed, and the good nature that beamed from her face dispelled, by the noisy clattering of more than one pair of little boots on the stairs. In a moment, the door opened with a jerk and a push, and in bounded three boys, with as little display of manners or propriety as so many savages might exhibit. The oldest directed his steps to the closet, singing, as he peered round among the eatables: "Eggs, cheese, butter, bread,-- Stick, stock, stone-dead.”

"Biddy," he continued, "I 'm hungry--give me something to eat, quick.”

Bridget paid no attention to this demand, but only twitched her needle with a little more energy.

"I say, Biddy," continued the boy, "what did you have for supper?

Come, give me some, I 'm half starved.”

"And why did n't ye come when the supper was ready, if ye wanted any?”

said Bridget. "If ye won't ate with the rest, it's not me that will wait upon ye, Master Oscar.”

"Well," continued Oscar, "if you won't help me, I guess I can help myself. Ralph, what did you have for supper?”

The boy addressed named over several articles, among which were cake and mince-pie, neither of which could Oscar find in the closet.

"Where did you put the pie, Biddy?" he inquired.

"It 's where ye won't find it," replied Bridget, "that's jist where it is.”

"I bet I will find it, come now," said Oscar, with a determined air; and he commenced the search in earnest, prying into every covered dish, opening every drawer and bucket, and overhauling and disarranging every part of the closet. Bridget was just then in too irritable a mood to bear this provoking invasion of her realm with patience. In an angry tone, she ordered the intruder to leave the closet, but he took no notice of the command. She repeated the order, making it more emphatic by calling him a "plague" and a "torment," but he did not heed it.

Then she threatened to tell his parents of his misconduct, but this had no effect. Oscar continued his search for some minutes, but without success; and he finally concluded to make his supper of bread and butter, since he could find nothing more tempting to his appetite.

The fact was, Oscar was getting in the habit of being absent from his meals, and calling for food at unseasonable hours, much to the annoyance of Bridget. She had complained of this to his mother several times, without effect; and now she thought she would try a little expedient of her own. So, when she cleared away the supper-table that evening, before Oscar came home, she hid away the cake and pies with which the others had been served, and left only bread and butter in the closet. She gained her end, but the boy, in rummaging for the hidden articles, had made her half an hour's extra work, in putting things to rights again.

As Oscar stepped out of the closet, after his solitary supper, he moved towards the youngest of the other boys, saying: "Here, George, open your mouth and shut your eyes, and I 'll give you something to make you wise.”

George declined the gift, but Oscar insisted, and tried to force it upon him. A struggle ensued, and both rolled upon the floor, the one crying and screaming with anger, and the other laughing as though he considered it good fun. George shut his teeth firmly together, but Oscar succeeded in rubbing enough of the mysterious article upon his lips to enable him to tell what it was. It proved to be a piece of pepper, a plate of which Oscar had found in the closet.

This little experiment, however, did not leave George in a very pleasant frame of mind. It was some time before he got over his blubbering and pouting. Oscar called him a "cry-baby," for making such a fuss about a little bit of pepper, which epithet did not aid him much in forgetting the injury he had received.

After awhile, quiet and harmony were in a measure restored. Ralph and George got their school-books, and began to look over the lessons they were to recite in the morning; but Oscar not only remained idle, himself, but seemed to try to interrupt them as much as possible, by his remarks. By-and-bye, finding they did not take much notice of his observations, he took from his jacket pocket a small tin tube, and commenced blowing peas through it, aiming them at his brothers, at Bridget, and at the lamp. Ralph, after two or three had taken effect on his face, got up in a pet, and took his book up stairs to the sitting-room. George scowled and scolded, as the annoying pellets flew around his head, but he did not mean to be driven away by such small shot. Bridget, too, soon lost her patience, as the peas rattled upon the newly-swept floor.

"Git away with yer pays, Oscar," said she; "don't ye be clutterin' up the clane floor with 'em, that's a good b'y.”

"They aint 'pays,' they are peas," replied Oscar; "can't you say peas, Biddy?”

"I don't care what ye call 'em," said Bridget; "only kape the things in yer pocket, and don't bother me with 'em.”

"Who 's bothering you?" said Oscar; "me 'pays' don't make any dirt--they 're just as clean as your floor.”

"Ye 're a sassy b'y, that's jist what ye are.”

"Well, what are you going to do about it?”

"Faith, if it was me that had the doin' of it, I bet I 'd larn ye better manners, ye great, impudent good-for-nothin', if I had to bate yer tin times a day.”

"You would n't, though, would you?" said Oscar; and he continued the shower of peas until he had exhausted his stock, and then picked most of them up again, to serve for some future occasion. He had hardly finished this last operation, when his mother, who had been out, returned home. As soon as she entered the kitchen, George began to pour out his complaints to her.

"Mother," he said, "Oscar 's been plaguing us like everything, all the evening. He got me down on the floor, and rubbed a hot pepper on my mouth, and tried to make me eat it. And he's been rummaging all round the kitchen, trying to find some pie. And then he went to shooting peas at us, and he got Bridget real mad, and Ralph had to clear out, to study his lesson. I told him--”

"There, there, George, that will do," replied his mother; "I am sick of hearing these complaints. Oscar, why is it that I can't stir out of the house, when you are at home, without your making trouble with Bridget or the children? I do wish you would try to behave yourself properly. You are getting the ill-will of everybody in the house, by your bad conduct. I really believe your brothers and sisters will begin to hate you, before long, if you keep on in this way. For your own sake, if for nothing more, I should think you would try to do better. If I were in your place, I would try to keep on good terms with my brothers and sisters, if I quarrelled with everybody else.”

Oscar made no reply to this, and the subject was soon dropped. His mother was too much accustomed to such complaints of his misconduct, to think very seriously of them; and he was himself so used to such mild rebukes as the foregoing, that they made little impression upon his mind. The boys, who all slept in one chamber, soon retired for the night; but Oscar took no further notice of the occurrences of the evening, except to apply the nickname of "mammy's little tell-tale" to George--a title of contempt by which he often addressed his little brother.

I am afraid that the title of "tell-tale" was not wholly undeserved by George. True, he often had just cause of complaint; but he was too ready to bring whining accusations against his brothers and sisters, for every trifling thing. He complained so much that his mother could not always tell when censure was deserved. It had become a habit with him, and a dozen times a day he would go to her, with the complaint that Oscar had been plaguing him, or Ella had got something that belonged to him, or Ralph would not do this or that.

George, who was the youngest of the children, was at this time seven years old; Ralph was two years and half older, and Oscar, who was the oldest son, was about half way between thirteen and fourteen. They had two sisters. Alice, the oldest, was fifteen years of age, and Eleanor, or Ella, as she was commonly called, was about eleven.

The father of these boys and girls was a shop-keeper in Boston. His business required so much of his attention, that he was seldom with his family, except at meal-times and nights. Even in the evening he was usually at the shop; but when it so happened that he could remain at home after tea, it was his delight to settle himself comfortably down in the big rocking chair, in the well-lighted sitting-room, and to muse and doze, while Alice sang, and played upon the piano-forte. He had so many other cares, that he did not like to be troubled with bad reports of his children's conduct, This was so well understood by all the family, that even George seldom ventured to go to him with a complaint.

The management of domestic affairs was thus left almost entirely with Mrs. Preston, and she consulted her husband in regard to these matters only when grave troubles arose.

I have thus briefly introduced to my readers the family, one of whose members is to form the principal subject of the following pages.

CHAPTER II.

OSCAR IN SCHOOL.

The school which Oscar attended was held in a large and lofty brick building, a short distance from the street on which he lived. His brothers attended the same school, but his sisters did not, it being only for boys. The pupils numbered four or five hundred--a good many boys to be together in one building. But though belonging to one school, and under the control of one head master, they did not often meet together in one assembly. They were divided into eight or ten branches, of about fifty scholars each, and each branch had its own separate room and teacher. There were however, only four classes in the whole school; and a this time Oscar was a member of the first, or highest class. There was a large hall in the upper story of the building, in which the entire school assembled on exhibition days, and when they met for the practice of singing or declamation.

There were lively and merry times in the vicinity of the school-house, I can assure you, for half an hour before the opening of school, and for about the same length of time after the exercises closed. Four hundred boys cannot well be brought together, without making some stir.

Every morning and afternoon, as the pupils went to and from school, the streets in the neighborhood would for a few minutes seem to swarm with boys, of every imaginable size, shape, manners, dress, and appearance.

Usually, they went back and forth in little knots; and with their books and slates under their arms, their bright, happy faces, their joyous laugh, and their animated movements, they presented a most pleasing sight,--"a sight for sore eyes," as a Scotchman might say. If anybody disputes this, he must be a sour and crabbed fellow.

Oscar, although not the most prompt and punctual of scholars, used occasionally to go to school in season to have a little fun with his mates, before the exercises commenced. One day, entering the school-room a little before the time, he put on an old coat which his teacher wore in-doors, stuck a quill behind his ear, and made a pair of spectacles from some pasteboard, which he perched upon his nose.

Arranged, in this fantastical manner, he seated himself with great dignity in the teacher's chair, and began to "play school-master," to the amusement of several other boys. It so happened that the teacher arrived earlier than usual that day, and he was not a little amused, as he suddenly entered the room, and witnessed the farce that was going on. Oscar jumped from his seat, but the master made him take it again, and remain in it just as he caught him, with his great-coat, pasteboard spectacles and quill, until all the scholars had assembled, and it was time to commence the studies of the day. This afforded fine sport to the other boys, but Oscar did not much relish the fun, and he never attempted to amuse himself in that way again.

I am sorry that this harmless piece of roguery is not the most serious charge that candor obliges me to bring against Oscar. But to tell the truth, he was not noted either for his studious habits or his correct deportment; and there was very little prospect that he would be considered a candidate for the "Franklin medals," which were to be distributed to the most deserving members of his class, when they graduated, the ensuing July. And yet Oscar was naturally a bright and intelligent boy. He was quick to learn, when he applied himself; but he was indolent, and did not like to take the trouble of studying his lessons. Whenever he could be made to take hold of a lesson in earnest, he soon mastered it; but the consciousness of this power often led him to put off his lessons to the last minute, and then perhaps something would happen to prevent his preparing himself at all.

A day or two after the "kitchen scene" described in the preceding chapter, Oscar was sitting at his desk in the school-room, with an open book before him, but with his eyes idly staring at a blackboard affixed to one of the walls. The teacher watched him a moment, and then spoke to him.

"Oscar," he said, "what do you find so very fascinating about that blackboard? You have been looking at it very intently for several minutes--what do you see that interests you so!”

Oscar hung his head, but made no reply.

"Are you ready to recite your geography lesson?" continued the master.

"No, sir.”

"Why do you not study it, then'“

"I don't feel like studying," replied Oscar.

"Very well," said the teacher, quite pleasantly; "if you don't feel like it, you need n't study. You may come here.”

Oscar stepped out to the platform on which the teacher's desk was placed.

"There," continued the master, pointing to a blackboard facing the school, "you may stand there and look at that board just as long as you please. But you must not look at anything else, and I would advise you not to let me catch your eyes turning either to the right or the left.

Now mind and keep your eyes on the board, and when you feel like studying let me know.”

Oscar took the position pointed out to him, with his back towards the boys, and with his face so near the blackboard, that he could see nothing else without turning his head--an operation that would be sure to attract the attention of the master. At first he thought it would be good fun to stand there, and for awhile the novelty of the thing did amuse him a little. When he began to grow weary, he contrived to interest himself by tracing out the faint chalk-marks of long-forgotten problems, that had not been entirely obliterated from the blackboard.

This afforded employment for his mind for a time; but by-and-bye he began to grow tired and uneasy. His eyes longed to see something else, and his legs were weary of standing so long in one position. He wondered, too, whether the boys were looking at him, and whether they smiled at his strange employment. At last, after doing penance about an hour, his exhaustion got the better of his stubbornness, and on informing the master that he thought ho could study now, he was permitted to take his seat.

After returning to his desk, Oscar had but little time to finish learning his geography lesson, before the class was called out to recite. As was too often the case, he was but half prepared. The subject of the lesson was New York State. Several of the questions put to Oscar were answered wrong, either wholly or in part. When asked what great lakes bordered on New York, he replied: "Lake Erie and Lake Superior.”

When the question was given to another, and correctly answered, Oscar exclaimed: "That's what I meant--Erie and Ontario; but I was n't thinking what I said.”

This was somewhat of a habit with Oscar. When he "missed" a question, he was very apt to say, after the next boy had answered it, "I knew, only I could n't think," or, "I was just going to say so.”

Another question put to him was, whether the water of the great New York lakes was fresh or salt. Oscar replied that it was salt. It is but justice to add, how ever, that nothing was said in the lesson of the day, on this point, although the question had occurred in a previous lesson. Noticing that several of the boys laughed at Oscar's blunder, the teacher remarked: "That was a very foolish answer, Oscar, but you are not the first nor the wisest person that has made the same mistake. When the British went to war with us, in 1812, it is said that all their war vessels intended to navigate the lakes, were furnished with tanks and casks for carrying a full supply of freshwater; and I have been told that an apparatus is still in existence in one of the Canadian navy yards, which the English government sent over, some years ago, for distilling fresh water from Lake Erie. But an American school-boy of your age ought to know better than this, if an English lord of the admiralty does not. These great lakes are among the remarkable features of our own country, and every American child should know something about them.

I should suppose," continued the teacher, "that a boy who could afford to look steadily at nothing for an hour, might take a little pains to inform himself about so common a matter as this, so as not to appear so ridiculous, when a simple question is asked him.”

Before the lesson was concluded, Oscar made still another mistake.

There was an allusion in the lesson to the great fire of 1885, by which an immense amount of property in New York city was destroyed. When the teacher asked him how many buildings were said to have been consumed, he replied: "Three hundred and fifty--five hundred and thirty--no, three hundred and fifty.”

"Which number do you mean?" inquired the master.

"I aint sure which it is," replied Oscar, after a moment's hesitation; "it's one or the other, I don't know which.”

"You are about as definite," said the teacher, "as the Irish recruit, who said his height was five feet ten or ten feet five, he was n't certain which. But are you sure that the number of buildings burnt was either three hundred and fifty, or five hundred and thirty?”

"Why--yes--I--believe--it was one or the other," replied Oscar, hesitatingly.

"You believe it was, do you? Well, I believe you know just nothing about the lesson. You may go to your seat, and study it until you can answer every question; and after school I will hear you recite it, and remember, you will not go home until you can recite it.”

The class continued their recitation, and Oscar returned to his seat, and commenced studying the lesson anew. It was already late in the afternoon, and as he did not like the idea of stopping after school, he gave pretty close attention to his book during the rest of the session.

About fifteen minutes after the school was dismissed, he told the teacher he was prepared to recite, and he succeeded in getting through the lesson with tolerable accuracy. When he had finished, the teacher talked with him very plainly about his indolent habits in school, and the consequences that would hereafter result from them.

"I would advise you," he said, "to do one of two things,--either commit your lessons perfectly, hereafter, or else give up study entirely, and ask your father to take you from school and put you to some business.

You can learn as fast as any boy in school, if you will only give your attention to it; but I despise this half-way system that you have fallen into. It is only wasting time to half learn a thing, as you did your geography lesson this afternoon. You studied it just enough to get a few indistinct impressions, and what little you did learn you were not sure of. It would be better for you to master but one single question a day, and then know that you know it, than to fill your head with a thousand half-learned, indefinite, and uncertain ideas. I have told you all this before, but you do not seem to pay any attention to it. I am sorry that it is so, for you might easily stand at the head of the school, if you would try.”

Oscar had received such advice before, but, as his teacher intimated, he had not profited much by it. If anything, he had grown more indolent and negligent, within a few months. On going home that night, Ralph accosted him with the inquiry: "What did you think of the blackboard, Oscar? Do you suppose you should know it again, if you should happen to see it?”

"What do you mean?" he inquired, feigning ignorance.

"O, you 've forgotten it a'ready, have you?" continued Ralph. "You don't remember seeing anything of a blackboard this afternoon, do you?”

"But who told you about it?" inquired Oscar; for though both attended the same school, their places were in different rooms.

"O, I know what's going on," said Ralph; "you need n't try to be so secret about it.”

"Well, I know who told you about it--'t was Bill Davenport, was n't it?" inquired Oscar.

Willie and Ralph were such great cronies, that Oscar's supposition was a very natural one. Indeed, Ralph could not deny it without telling a falsehood, and so he made no reply. Oscar, perceiving he had guessed right, added, in a contemptuous tone: "The little, sneaking tell-tale--I 'll give him a good pounding for that, the first time I catch him.”

"You 're too bad, Oscar," interposed his brother; "Willie did n't suppose you cared anything about standing before the blackboard--he only spoke of it because he thought it was something queer.”

Seeing Oscar was in so unamiable a mood, Ralph said nothing more about the subject, at that time.

CHAPTER III.

PAYING OFF A GRUDGE.

The morning after the events just related, as Ralph was on his way to school, he fell in with Willie Davenport, or "Whistler," as he was often sportively called, by his playmates, in allusion to his fondness for a species of music to which most boys are more or less addicted.

And I may as well say here, that he was a very good whistler, and came honestly by the title by which he was distinguished among his fellows.

His quick ear caught all the new and popular melodies of the day, before they became threadbare, which gave his whistling an air of freshness and novelty that few could rival. It was to this circumstance--the quality of his whistling, rather than the quantity--that he was chiefly indebted for the name of Whistler. Nor was he ashamed of his nickname, as he certainly had no need to be; for it was not applied to him in derision, but playfully and good-naturedly.

Whistler and Ralph were good friends. There was a difference of between two and three years in their ages, Whistler being about twelve years old; but their dispositions harmonized together well, and quite a strong friendship had grown up between them. A very different feeling, however, had for some time existed between Oscar and Whistler. They were in the same class at school; but Whistler studied hard, and thus, though much younger than Oscar, he stood far before him as a scholar.