Bridget. They have yet a value to
her; and I don't believe Frank will care.

For Heaven's sake, Mrs. A., what is the matter? I will not be disturbed
by such outcries, even from your first-born angel.--His boots hurt
him?--Come here, little Tommy, and show me the wound that the naughty
peg has made. Ah, my dear boy, have you found out so soon that every new
delight hides somewhere a new pain? Where is the peg?--There! I have
smoothed it away. The parental hand can, as yet, remove from your steps
the sharp points which would tear your tender flesh. By-and-by it will
be powerless for your protection, and the pegs that prick and tear must
be crushed out by your own unaided exertions. See to it, my boy, that
you do not drive them in yourself, so firmly, so rootedly, that all your
efforts to dull them, to break them, to destroy them, are in vain. Do
you think that the cobbler alone puts trenchant points in your sole? Ah,
my boy, we oftener plant ourselves the thorns we tread upon! He can
readily remove the pain he has carelessly caused; but rasp and file can
never dull those self-driven points which rankle in our tortured flesh,
each onward step forcing them deeper and deeper in. There are roses in
our path,--sweet, blushing roses,--and we stride over them, intoxicated
with their beauty and odor; we crush out their fragrance with our
heedless tread; we drink in the exciting aroma that rises around our
bewildered senses; and when we have passed on, and awaken from the
inebriation, we find that their thorns have pierced through and through,
and we limp along on our journey, which permits of no tarrying nor rest.
Who has not some peg pricking in his sole? How many times has Crispin
rubbed and rasped over it, and yet there it is, as sharp as though it
were just driven in! Confound the cursed thing! Bring me another pair;
and now I will step off manfully and free. Hang the fellow, what does he
mean? Here it is again, in the same place, and sharp as ever. Ah,
Crispin's hammer will never flatten out! Crispin's hand never drove it
there. Satin and velvet you may wear, and line with softest down; yet
every step you tread will be on that remorseless point; and the
lacerated nerves must quiver to the last.--You don't know what I am
talking about, Tommy?--Pray God, my darling, that you may ever wonder
what your father meant, when you were pricked with the peg in your first
boots!

My dear Madam, did you ever see Blondin disport himself