V.

THE TANNER BOY.

WE have said that Jesse Grant was a tanner, and that Ulysses, his son, learned the business. His tannery was a small one; and, at that time, the leather business of the country was small. But Mr. Grant understood the business thoroughly, and was regarded as a first-class

tanner.

The first work of Ulysses was driving the horse in the bark-mill. A horse ground the bark by travelling round in a circle, hitched to a pole that was attached to the sweep which he drew. The pole led the horse, and Ulysses applied the whip. The lazy old beast required considerable urging at times to keep from falling to sleep in his monotonous work. Our embryo tanner was the boy to quicken his pace.

Another boy stood at the hopper of the mill, and, with a hammer, broke the strips of bark (which were brought to the mill three feet long) into it. In due time Ulysses was promoted to do this work, which was less attractive to him because there was less horse in it. Step by step, from year to year, he acquired a knowledge of different parts of the business, until he could tan hides as well as he tanned rebels twenty-five years later. All his time out of school was not spent in the tannery; indeed, the tannery was not in operation all the time; and it was for this reason that Mr. Grant

turned his attention occasionally to other business. He had other irons in the fire nearly all the time. Ulysses liked some of the irons better than he did the tannery. To tell the plain truth, he did not like the tanner's business at all. Teaming, farming, choring, skating, swimming, almost anything else which he did, was preferable to tanning leather. Even the log school-house had more attractions for him than the tannery. Any assistance that he could render his father with the help of a horse suited him exactly.

One day his father was going to Ripley on business, and he said to Ulysses,

"I shall not be back until evening; see that the chores are done, and the rest of the time you can play." Mr. Grant believed that there was a time for play as well as for work—that is, for boys; but he would make work the rule.

His father had not been absent a half hour before Ulysses thought of the colt, a very promising young animal which had never been harnessed. He thought of the brush in the woods, also, for he had heard his father say that he should haul it up before long.

"Now," he said within himself, "if I could take the colt and haul up the brush to-day, father would be mightily pleased."

Something else inside said to him, "But the colt was never harnessed, and suppose he should be scared, and kick and thrash about, and break the harness, and a leg, too, what would your father say?"

"Oh, Billy will never do that to me; he is gentle as a lamb," he argued silently, but thoughtfully. "I don't believe he will kick if the cart should strike his heels. Then, there is no business without some risk, as I have heard father say forty times. I'll take the risk."

And he did; and just here was one of the points of Ulysses' character which helped him win success in later life, especially in the war. He took risks, as we shall see hereafter.

The colt was taken out by his young master, who was then but seven years and six months old, to be initiated into actual labour. The lad was too short to reach the animal's head, so he inverted a half bushel, and, standing thereon, proceeded to bridle him. Docile and happy, the colt yielded to the appeal of kind words, and allowed the whole harness to be adjusted without objection. Cautiously Ulysses advanced to the more difficult part of the experiment, that of hitching Billy to the cart. But it was done successfully, the considerate beast not protesting in the least. And he started off as steadily as the old family horse would have done, worked all day without any refractory demonstration and closed his first day's work with evident self-complacency. If the colt could have talked as distinctly as Balaam's ass, he could not have made it more evident that he meant to help Ulysses through that experiment, that the wisest men must assume risks.

to prove

At the close of the day Ulysses had a pile of brush in the yard as big as the log school-house; and he was in his element. His mother enjoyed the result as well, although her venturesome son did not venture to consult her about using the colt. He knew very well that she would issue an order to arrest the plan, and an order from headquarters must be obeyed. no doubt, that if his experiment with the colt had proved a failure, he would have been court-martialled by his mother before the head of the family returned at night. But taking the risk turned out well, and all were happy.

It is equally true,

It was dark when Mr. Grant reached home, but not dark enough to conceal the huge pile of brush. It was close by the carriage-drive.

"What's this?" he said, in a tone of surprise to Ulysses, who was on the spot awaiting his father's arrival.

"A pile of brush I have hauled to-day."

“A pile of brush!" exclaimed his father, "I did not tell you to haul brush."

"No; but I heard you say that you were going to haul it up some time, and I thought if I hauled it to-day, it would be clear gain."

"But what did you haul it with?" inquired his father, wondering.

"With the colt and cart."

"The colt, bless you," replied Mr. Grant, with still greater surprise. "How in the world did you manage him? I should have thought he would kick the brains out of you."

"Well, you see he didn't; my brains are all right," answered Ulysses. "He behaved just as well as the old horse would."

Going into the house, the subject was renewed with Mrs. Grant, and the conversation ended by Mr. Grant saying,

"Lyss will turn into a horse yet."

"If I do," retorted Ulysses, "I shall be worth more to you than that drunken journeyman in the tan-yard." "I guess you are right there, Lyss," answered his father laughing. "Jack is a miserable fellow any way, and I am only waiting for a favourable opportunity to send him adrift."

Jack was a journeyman, a roving, drinking fellow from New York, who floated into the place, and Mr.

Grant hired him. He was a good workman, but a man of dissolute habits. Soon afterwards, the opportunity to dismiss him, for which his employer was waiting, offered itself in this way. Jack was on a spree, and, getting out of money, he appropriated several calf-skins belonging to his employer, and offered to sell them to a shoemaker. The latter exposed him, and he was expelled from the tannery. He lingered about the place for some time, however, until Mr. Grant met him one day, and ordered him out of town.

"When I get ready, and not before," was Jack's laconic reply; at the same time drawing his jack-knife upon Mr. G.

"You villain!" exclaimed Mr. Grant, seizing the fellow at the same time, and wresting the knife from him; "we will see whether you will go or stay. Here, Lyss, run and bring my cowhide." Lyss, who was with his father at the time, never moved his feet more nimbly than he did then, his father holding the wretched culprit with an iron grip, and occasionally shaking him up, until Ulysses returned with the cowhide. A more thorough basting was never administered to a mean man, than Jack got from the Georgetown tanner. He did leave town, and never returned.

Ulysses was a kind-hearted boy, and had a poor opinion of cowhides in general; but ever afterwards, for this particular cowhide he cherished profound respect. The proof was now overwhelming, that if Jesse Grant's son were nothing better than horseflesh, he would be more valuable to his father than the brute of a journeyman in the tannery.

There was more or less teaming to be done to and from the tan-yard; and, at eight years of age, Ulysses did it with a pair of horses. He enjoyed this hugely,