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〃Spare this noble boythere stands the cowering culprit！ I was passing
the school door at recess； and； unseen myself； I saw the theft
committed！〃 And then Jim didn't get whaled； and the venerable justice
didn't read the tearful school a homily； and take George by the hand and
say such boy deserved to be exalted； and then tell him come and make his
home 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； and
have all the balance of the time to play and get forty cents a month； and
be happy。 No it would have happened that way in the books； but didn't
happen that way to Jim。 No meddling old clam of a justice dropped in to
make trouble； and so the model boy George got thrashed； and Jim was glad
of it because； you know； Jim hated moral boys。 Jim said he was 〃down on
them milksops。〃 Such was the coarse language of this bad； neglected boy。
But the strangest thing that ever happened to Jim was the time he went
boating on Sunday； and didn't get drowned； and that other time that he
got caught out in the storm when he was fishing on Sunday and didn't get
struck by lightning。 Why； you might look； and look； all through the
Sunday…school books from now till next Christmas； and you would never
come across anything like this。 Oh； no； you would find that all the bad
boys who go boating on Sunday invariably get drowned； and all the bad
boys who get caught out in storms when they are fishing on Sunday
infallibly get struck by lightning。 Boats with bad boys in them always
upset on Sunday； and it always storms when bad boys go fishing on the
Sabbath。 How this Jim ever escaped is a mystery to me。
This Jim bore a charmed lifethat must have been the way of it。 Nothing
could hurt him。 He even gave the elephant in the menagerie a plug of
tobacco； and the elephant didn't knock the top of his head off with his
trunk。 He browsed around the cupboard after essence…of peppermint； and
didn't make a mistake and drink aqua fortis。 He stole his father's gun
and went hunting on the Sabbath； and didn't shoot three or four of his
fingers off。 He struck his little sister on the temple with his fist
when he was angry； and she didn't linger in pain through long summer
days； and die with sweet words of forgiveness upon her lips that
redoubled the anguish of his breaking heart。 No； she got over it。 He
ran off and went to sea at last； and didn't come back and find himself
sad and alone in the world； his loved ones sleeping in the quiet
churchyard； and the vine…embowered home of his boyhood tumbled down and
gone to decay。 Ah； no； he came home as drunk as a piper； and got into
the station…house the first thing。
And he grew up and married； and raised a large family； and brained them
all with an ax one night； and got wealthy by all manner of cheating and
rascality； and now he is the infernalest wickedest scoundrel in his
native village； and is universally respected； and belongs to the
legislature。
So you see there never was a bad James in the Sunday…school books that
had such a streak of luck as this sinful Jim with the charmed life。
THE STORY OF THE GOOD LITTLE BOY＇Witten about 1865＇
Once there was a good little boy by the name of Jacob Blivens。 He always
obeyed his parents； no matter how absurd and unreasonable their demands
were； and he always learned his book； and never was late at Sabbath…
school。 He would not play hookey； even when his sober judgment told him
it was the most profitable thing he could do。 None of the other boys
could ever make that boy out； he acted so strangely。 He wouldn't lie； no
matter how convenient it was。 He just said it was wrong to lie； and that
was sufficient for him。 And he was so honest that he was simply
ridiculous。 The curious ways that that Jacob had； surpassed everything。
He wouldn't play marbles on Sunday； he wouldn't rob birds' nests； he
wouldn't give hot pennies to organ…grinders' monkeys； he didn't seem to
take any interest in any kind of rational amusement。 So the other boys
used to try to reason it out and come to an understanding of him； but
they couldn't arrive at any satisfactory conclusion。 As I said before；
they could only figure out a sort of vague idea that he was 〃afflicted；〃
and so they took him under their protection； and never allowed any harm
to come to him。
This good little boy read all the Sunday…school books； they were his
greatest delight。 This was the whole secret of it。 He believed in the
gold little boys they put in the Sunday…school book； he had every
confidence in them。 He longed to come across one of them alive once；
but he never did。 They all died before his time； maybe。 Whenever he
read about a particularly good one he turned over quickly to the end to
see what became of him； because he wanted to travel thousands of miles
and gaze on him； but it wasn't any use； that good little boy always died
in the last chapter； and there was a picture of the funeral； with all his
relations and the Sunday…school children standing around the grave in
pantaloons that were too short； and bonnets that were too large； and
everybody crying into handkerchiefs that had as much as a yard and a half
of stuff in them。 He was always headed off in this way。 He never could
see one of those good little boys on account of his always dying in the
last chapter。
Jacob had a noble ambition to be put in a Sunday school book。 He wanted
to be put in； with pictures representing him gloriously declining to lie
to his mother； and her weeping for joy about it； and pictures
representing him standing on the doorstep giving a penny to a poor
beggar…woman with six children； and telling her to spend it freely； but
not to be extravagant； because extravagance is a sin； and pictures of him
magnanimously refusing to tell on the bad boy who always lay in wait for
him around the corner as he came from school； and welted him so over the
head with a lath； and then chased him home； saying； 〃Hi！ hi！〃 as he
proceeded。 That was the ambition of young Jacob Blivens。 He wished to
be put in a Sunday…school book。 It made him feel a lithe uncomfortable
sometimes when he reflected that the good little boys always died。 He
loved to live； you know； and this was the most unpleasant feature about
being a Sunday…school…boo boy。 He knew it was not healthy to be good。
He knew it was more fatal than consumption to be so supernaturally good
as the boys in the books were he knew that none of them had ever been
able to stand it long； and it pained him to think that if they put him in
a book he wouldn't ever see it； or even if they did get the book out
before he died it wouldn't be popular without any picture of his funeral
in the back part of it。 It couldn't be much of a Sunday…school book that
couldn't tell about the advice he gave to the community when he was
dying。 So at last； of course； he had to make up his mind to do the best
he could under the circumstancesto live right； and hang on as long as
he could and have his dying speech all ready when his time came。
But somehow nothing ever went right with the good little boy； nothing