Bonaparte and the Leg of Mutton.
Some forty years ago, we are told that in England, such was the horror generally entertained of Bonaparte, that he was not only the fear of statesmen, but the bug-bear of the nursery and the schoolroom. “If you do this,” said the schoolma’m, birch in hand, “I’ll send Bony after you;” and, “if you don’t do that, I’ll do the same thing.” Bony was, in fact, the great scare-crow,—and many a child grew up under the impression that he was a sort of secondary evil spirit.
We are told by an English writer, that, at a certain boarding school, upon one occasion, a leg of mutton was stolen, and, as almost every evil thing was laid to Bonaparte, the children immediately supposed that he must be the thief! The writer himself, then a child, fancied the emperor, with the mutton in his fist, running off with it, and taking enormous strides in his eagerness to escape.
How many lasting prejudices, how many abiding errors are fixed in the mind by the inconsiderate threats of those who have the charge of youth! It is probable that many of the various defects, weaknesses and eccentricities of character,—those is some cases which are fatal to success in life,—are caused by the foolish and false modes of government to which we allude. We hardly know of a more unpardonable offence than for a person to endeavor to govern a child through fear of some fictitious evil.