Robert Merry's Museum, Volumes I-II (1841)

by Various

This is very important for the happiness of children, while they are children,—for there is no pleasure so sweet as that which is found in doing something useful and right; but it is still more important in another point of view. In early life, we form habits, and they are likely to guide us ever after. It is easy for us to act according to habit, and it is difficult for us to act otherwise. A child who is brought up in the habit of finding pleasure in doing his duty, is likely to go on so through life; and thus he will secure happiness in this world and that which is to come: while a child who is brought up without a sense of duty, and at the same time is permitted to follow his fancy, is apt always to be guided rather by his whims, his caprices, and his passions, than by any right feeling or right principle. Such a person is almost sure to meet with much trouble in life, and there is great danger that he will turn out an unhappy and unfortunate man.

Now I was brought up in this manner, and though my uncle intended me the greatest kindness by his system of indulgence, it was, in point of fact, the most mischievous that could have been devised. I grew up headstrong and passionate, and though my temper was naturally good, it seemed rather to be injured than benefited by the manner in which I was treated. I could not bear anything that thwarted my wishes. I was very easily offended, and became selfish, unreasonable, and unjust, in proportion as I was petted and flattered. Thus it happened in my case, as it always happens, that having my own way made me what is called a spoiled child; and accordingly, I became disagreeable to myself and almost everybody else.

I am particular in telling all this for two reasons:—first, to show to parents, that if they do not wish their children to be miserable and disagreeable—if they do not wish to lay the foundation of selfishness, caprice, and injustice in the hearts of their offspring—let them govern their children, make them mind, make them do right. If parents do not wish to have their children ruined, let them avoid a system of indulgence. My other reason for giving these details is, that I hope to persuade children to do their duty cheerfully, because this is really the best, the happiest way. It is not only the best for the future, but the present; not only best in view of manhood, but for childhood itself.

I am now going to relate some circumstances, which will illustrate some things I have been saying. It will show not only how much my temper had been injured, but into what evils a thoughtless and headstrong youth will rush, if given up to his own guidance.

On a certain day in January, it had been agreed between Bill Keeler and myself, that we would proceed to the mountain for the purpose of hunting. My uncle had bought me a new fowling-piece, and on this occasion I was to take it with me. I looked forward to the day with great impatience, and when at last it arrived, Bill and myself were up by day-break, ready to depart. The winter had thus far been remarkably mild and open. There was as yet no snow on the ground. But when we were about to leave the house on our expedition, my uncle, who had been out of doors, told us that it was going to snow, and we had better not venture among the mountains. I was immediately angry at this advice, and told my uncle that I would go, whether he thought it best or not. With more than ordinary spirit, he replied that I should not go! This resistance set me in a blaze. I seized my gun, uttered some words of defiance, and rushed out of the house. Finding me thus determined and incorrigible, my yielding uncle told Bill, who stood still all the time, seeming to know how it would turn out, to go with me, and take good care of me. Accordingly, he soon joined me, and we went on together, laughing heartily at the scene which had just passed.

We soon reached the forests that lay at the foot of the mountain, and while it was yet somewhat dark, we began to climb up the ledges. As we were passing through a small copse of tall trees without underwood, I heard the step of something near by, and immediately discovered a dark object passing slowly on before me. I drew up my piece, and was on the point of firing, when Bill struck down the barrel of my gun, and exclaimed, “For Heaven’s sake, don’t fire!—it’s Old Sarah!” This was said and done in season to prevent my shooting the object at which I aimed, but not to stop the discharge of my firelock. The shot struck the ground at the very feet of my companion, thus coming very near taking his life.

The noise of my gun aroused the attention of the singular old woman, whom, with the ardor of a youthful hunter, I had taken for a wild-cat or a wolf. She turned round, and began to speak in a warning voice. “Go back!” said she, at the pitch of her lungs, “go back! for the snow is already falling, and you will both get lost in the woods. In one hour the paths will be covered, and then you cannot find your way among the mountains!”

Bill and I both laughed at all this, and I am sorry to say that we returned the kind anxiety of the old woman for our safety, with jeers and gibes. “Take care of yourself! and we will take care of ourselves,” said I. “Keep your breath to cool your porridge,” said Bill. With this and similar impertinence, we passed up the acclivity, leaving the decrepit old woman to climb the mountain as she might.

I had seen this personage before, and had heard something of her story; but I was now curious to know more. Accordingly, I asked Bill about her, and he proceeded to tell me all that was known of her character and history. She was a native of Long Island, and during the war of the Revolution had become attached to a British officer, who was stationed there. He wronged her cruelly, and then deserted her. With a mind somewhat bewildered, she wandered into the country, and took up her abode in a cave of the very mountain we were now ascending. Here she had lived for years, visiting the villages in the vicinity in the open seasons, but retiring to her den and subsisting on nuts and roots, during the winter. Many wild stories were told of her. It was said that she had lived so long in the mountain, that the foxes had become familiar with her, and would come and lick her hands. It was said the crows would sit on her head, and the rattlesnakes coil in her lap. Beside all these tales, it was said that “Old Sarah,” as she was called, was a witch, and many persons declared that they had seen her just at dark, or before a thunder-storm, flying through the air on a broomstick.

Bill’s narrative was cut short by the sudden whizzing of a partridge from a bush just before me. Another and another soon followed. These creatures are very cunning. They are always on the watch, and when they hear or see any one coming, they get on the opposite side of some rock, or thicket, or tree, and remain concealed till the person comes near. Then they burst away with a startling, rushing sound, taking good care to keep the rock, or tree, or thicket between them and their enemy, until they are at a distance.