No. 247. Let Brotherly Love prevail.—Another of like spirit, under five, in his regular evening prayer, remembered his younger brother with a sob, who was in a very bad way, after the following fashion: "Oh Lord, don't let my little brother die. Help Dr. S., oh Lord, to make him well—though his parents are Democrats."
No. 248. Baby Champions.—In the "Life of Aaron Burr," by Davis, we have a little incident—the first—which that bad man delighted to recall. An old he-goat, or a ram, I forget which, came at his little grandson, while yet a baby, and threatened him with his horns. The child, having the blood of his grandfather in him, seized a stick, and let him have it with such effect, that the animal sheered off, greatly to the satisfaction of "grumpa," who saw it from the window. And here is another case in pint. A little four-year-old of Mr. Cheney, living in Ashland, N. H., was playing on the front yard with a younger sister and a pet bantam. A large hawk suddenly swooped down upon the poor thing, fastened his talons upon it, and would have carried it off but for the child, who, seizing a hatchet he had been playing with, fell upon the hawk, and pounded him till he let go his prey, and "skedaddled."
No. 249. Budding Nature.—Matthews used to tell a story about a little boy, who, on seeing the cherubim sculptured in Westminster-Abbey, exclaimed, "O mamma, how I do wish I was a cherubim!" to the great joy of his mother, who had to spank him oftener than he thought desirable; but, on being asked wherefore, he said—almost sobbing—"'Cause they ain't got nothin' but wings and head," rubbing his—behind—at the same time, with uncommon energy.
"Ah," said another little chap to a playfellow who had just been sorely trounced, "Ah, ha! I guess you hain't got any gran'-mother!"
And again. "Mamma," said another little tantrybogus, "why are them orphans you talk so much about, and pity so much, the happiest little creatures in the world, arter all?" "They are not, my son; but why do you ask?" "'Cause they hain't got nobody to wallop 'em."
No. 250. A definition of Pride.—"What is pride, my dear?" "Walking with a cane, when you ain't lame," said the little four-year-old to whom the query was propounded.
No. 251. Liberty of Speech.—"Chickerin', is meetin' out?" said a little fellow, perched upon a high fence, many years ago, to Dr. Chickering, on his way from church.
No. 252. The same little rogue, who, by the way, has gone bravely up since, leaving his own monument behind him—as most people do, I believe—was crowing pretty loudly one day, when I was going by. "Holloa there!" said I, "Holloa! I can lick you, Sam Fessenden!"
"Well—I'll tell you what you can't do!" said he.
"What is it?"