THE STORY OF THE BAD LITTLE BOY--[Written about 1865]
Once there was a bad little boy whose name was Jim--though, if you willnotice, you will find that bad little boys are nearly always called Jamesin your Sunday-school books. It was strange, but still it was true, thatthis one was called Jim.
He didn't have any sick mother, either--a sick mother who was pious andhad the consumption, and would be glad to lie down in the grave and be atrest but for the strong love she bore her boy, and the anxiety she feltthat the world might be harsh and cold toward him when she was gone.Most bad boys in the Sunday books are named James, and have sick mothers,who teach them to say, "Now, I lay me down," etc., and sing them to sleepwith sweet, plaintive voices, and then kiss them good night, and kneeldown by the bedside and weep. But it was different with this fellow.He was named Jim, and there wasn't anything the matter with his mother--no consumption, nor anything of that kind. She was rather stout thanotherwise, and she was not pious; moreover, she was not anxious on Jim'saccount. She said if he were to break his neck it wouldn't be much loss.She always spanked Jim to sleep, and she never kissed him good night; onthe contrary, she boxed his ears when she was ready to leave him.
Once this little bad boy stole the key of the pantry, and slipped inthere and helped himself to some jam, and filled up the vessel with tar,so that his mother would never know the difference; but all at once aterrible feeling didn't come over him, and something didn't seem towhisper to him, "Is it right to disobey my mother? Isn't it sinful to dothis? Where do bad little boys go who gobble up their good kind mother'sjam?" and then he didn't kneel down all alone and promise never to bewicked any more, and rise up with a light, happy heart, and go and tellhis mother all about it, and beg her forgiveness, and be blessed by herwith tears of pride and thankfulness in her eyes. No; that is the waywith all other bad boys in the books; but it happened otherwise with thisJim, strangely enough. He ate that jam, and said it was bully, in hissinful, vulgar way; and he put in the tar, and said that was bully also,and laughed, and observed "that the old woman would get up and snort"when she found it out; and when she did find it out, he denied knowinganything about it, and she whipped him severely, and he did the cryinghimself. Everything about this boy was curious--everything turned outdifferently with him from the way it does to the bad Jameses in thebooks.
Once he climbed up in Farmer Acorn's apple tree to steal apples, and thelimb didn't break, and he didn't fall and break his arm, and get torn bythe farmer's great dog, and then languish on a sickbed for weeks, andrepent and become good. Oh, no; he stole as many apples as he wanted andcame down all right; and he was all ready for the dog, too, and knockedhim endways with a brick when he came to tear him. It was very strange--nothing like it ever happened in those mild little books with marbledbacks, and with pictures in them of men with swallow-tailed coats andbell-crowned hats, and pantaloons that are short in the legs, and womenwith the waists of their dresses under their arms, and no hoops on.Nothing like it in any of the Sunday-school books.
Once he stole the teacher's penknife, and, when he was afraid it would befound out and he would get whipped, he slipped it into George Wilson'scap poor Widow Wilson's son, the moral boy, the good little boy of thevillage, who always obeyed his mother, and never told an untruth, and wasfond of his lessons, and infatuated with Sunday-school. And when theknife dropped from the cap, and poor George hung his head and blushed,as if in conscious guilt, and the grieved teacher charged the theft uponhim, and was just in the very act of bringing the switch down upon histrembling shoulders, a white-haired, improbable justice of the peace didnot suddenly appear in their midst, and strike an attitude and say,"Spare this noble boy--there stands the cowering culprit! I was passingthe school door at recess, and, unseen myself, I saw the theftcommitted!" And then Jim didn't get whaled, and the venerable justicedidn't read the tearful school a homily, and take George by the hand andsay such boy deserved to be exalted, and then tell him come and make hishome with him, and sweep out the office, and make fires, and run errands,and chop wood, and study law, and help his wife do household labors, andhave all the balance of the time to play and get forty cents a month, andbe happy. No it would have happened that way in the books, but didn'thappen that way to Jim. No meddling old clam of a justice dropped in tomake trouble, and so the model boy George got thrashed, and Jim was gladof it because, you know, Jim hated moral boys. Jim said he was "down onthem milksops." Such was the coarse language of this bad, neglected boy.
But the strangest thing that ever happened to Jim was the time he wentboating on Sunday, and didn't get drowned, and that other time that hegot caught out in the storm when he was fishing on Sunday and didn't getstruck by lightning. Why, you might look, and look, all through theSunday-school books from now till next Christmas, and you would nevercome across anything like this. Oh, no; you would find that all the badboys who go boating on Sunday invariably get drowned; and all the badboys who get caught out in storms when they are fishing on Sundayinfallibly get struck by lightning. Boats with bad boys in them alwaysupset on Sunday, and it always storms when bad boys go fishing on theSabbath. How this Jim ever escaped is a mystery to me.
This Jim bore a charmed life--that must have been the way of it. Nothingcould hurt him. He even gave the elephant in the menagerie a plug oftobacco, and the elephant didn't knock the top of his head off with histrunk. He browsed around the cupboard after essence-of peppermint, anddidn't make a mistake and drink aqua fortis. He stole his father's gunand went hunting on the Sabbath, and didn't shoot three or four of hisfingers off. He struck his little sister on the temple with his fistwhen he was angry, and she didn't linger in pain through long summerdays, and die with sweet words of forgiveness upon her lips thatredoubled the anguish of his breaking heart. No; she got over it. Heran off and went to sea at last, and didn't come back and find himselfsad and alone in the world, his loved ones sleeping in the quietchurchyard, and the vine-embowered home of his boyhood tumbled down andgone to decay. Ah, no; he came home as drunk as a piper, and got intothe station-house the first thing.
And he grew up and married, and raised a large family, and brained themall with an ax one night, and got wealthy by all manner of cheating andrascality; and now he is the infernalest wickedest scoundrel in hisnative village, and is universally respected, and belongs to thelegislature.
So you see there never was a bad James in the Sunday-school books thathad such a streak of luck as this sinful Jim with the charmed life.