Children of the Public" was printed in Frank Leslie's Illustrated
Newspaper for January 24 and January 31, 1863. The moral which it
tries to illustrate, which is, I believe, an important one, was
thus commended to the attention of the very large circle of the
readers of that journal,--a journal to which I am eager to say I
think this nation has been very largely indebted for the loyalty,
the good sense, and the high tone which seem always to characterize
it. During the war, the pictorial journals had immense influence in
the army, and they used this influence with an undeviating regard
to the true honor of the country.]

CHAPTER I.

THE PORK-BARREL.

"Felix," said my wife to me, as I came home to-night, "you will have to
go to the pork-barrel."

"Are you quite sure," said I,--"quite sure? 'Woe to him,' says the
oracle, 'who goes to the pork-barrel before the moment of his need.'"

"And woe to him, say I," replied my brave wife,--"woe and disaster to
him; but the moment of our need has come. The figures are here, and you
shall see. I have it all in black and in white."

And so it proved, indeed, that when Miss Sampson, the nurse, was paid
for her month's service, and when the boys had their winter boots, and
when my life-insurance assessment was provided for, and the new payment
for the insurance on the house,--when the taxes were settled with the
collector (and my wife had to lay aside double for the war),--when the
pew-rent was paid for the year, and the water-rate,--we must have to
start with, on the 1st of January, one hundred dollars. This, as we
live, would pay, in cash, the butcher, and the grocer, and the baker,
and all the dealers in things that perish, and would buy the omnibus
tickets, and recompense Bridget till the 1st of April. And at my house,
if we can see forward three months we are satisfied. But, at my house,
we are never satisfied if there is a credit at any store for us. We are
sworn to pay as we go. We owe no man anything.

So it was that my wife said: "Felix, you will have to go to the
pork-barrel."

This is the story of the pork-barrel.

It happened once, in a little parish in the Green Mountains, that the
deacon reported to Parson Plunkett, that, as he rode to meeting by
Chung-a-baug Pond, he saw Michael Stowers fishing for pickerel through a
hole in the ice on the Sabbath day. The parson made note of the
complaint, and that a