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Charles Duran Or, The Career of a Bad Boy By the author of "The Waldos"

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Subjects

Boys -- Conduct of life -- Juvenile fiction Sunday school literature

In: Children & Young Adult Reading·Novels

Public-domain ebook sourced from Project Gutenberg #15507.

About this book

The work is a nineteenth‑century juvenile moral tale that follows the life of Charles Duran from his birth in a bucolic Connecticut homestead through his wayward childhood. The opening chapters establish a richly described rural setting, yellow‑painted farmhouse, fragrant gardens, a well‑filled stream, before moving to the newborn’s arrival and the parents’ hopeful expectations. From the outset the narrative frames Charles as a “bright, active boy” whose early indulgence breeds a “bad disposition,” and it proceeds to detail his increasingly disruptive behavior at school, where he torments classmates, defies teachers, and ultimately faces expulsion. The story is presented as a cautionary chronicle, interweaving observations on parental training, biblical admonitions, and the consequences of unchecked indulgence.

Written in a didactic, formal prose typical of late‑1800s Sunday‑school literature, the voice is earnest and often sermon‑like, employing frequent moral commentary and direct address to the reader. Its style favors long, descriptive passages and moralizing explanations over fast‑paced plot twists. Readers who appreciate historical moral fiction, especially those interested in early American domestic life and the evolution of juvenile conduct literature, will find the book’s detailed setting and its earnest exploration of discipline and character formation engaging.

Characters in this book

Charles DuranYoung boy, about ten, tousled chestnut hair, freckled face, plain cotton shirt, suspenders, muddy boots

The opening · free to read

THE DURAN HOMESTEAD.

Before giving the history of Charles Duran's birth, life, and early death, I will partially describe his father's residence. It was situated in the town of ----, in the State of Connecticut, and about six miles from the west bank of the beautiful Connecticut river. The house stood on a level road, running north and south, and was about one mile from the centre of the town.

Mr. Duran's house was large and commodious. It was built of wood, two stories high, and painted a deep yellow. In the front was a fine court-yard. In this yard were lilacs of a large growth, roses of various kinds, and flowering almonds. These shrubs blossomed early in the spring, and sent forth their fragrance to perfume the air.

On the south was a rich and well-cultivated garden, producing an abundance of vegetables, gooseberries, currants, and raspberries. The borders of the main alley were decked with pionies, pinks, and sweet-williams.

Between the garden and the house was the well. A long sweep, resting on the top of a high post, with a pole fastened to the upper end, was the rude contrivance for drawing water. To the lower end of the pole was attached a bucket. How many of New-England's sons remember with delight the "old oaken bucket that hung in the well!"

On the north side of the house was a small orchard. In the rear were the barn, sheds, crib, and other out-buildings.

The grounds in the immediate neighborhood were level or slightly undulated. On the north and east were beautiful meadows. On the south and west were excellent tillage and pasture lands. The season that I spent there was one of nature's bountifulness. The tall herd's-grass, the rustling corn, and the whitened grain waved in the summer's breeze, and bespoke the plenty that followed the toil and industry of the husbandman. The herds were feeding in the fields. The innocent lambs, free from care, were leaping and frisking about--some in the sun and some in the shade--while their more sober dames were either grazing, or quietly masticating the food they had previously collected.

Half encircling these premises was a fine stream of water, varying from three to seven yards in width. It was supplied with dace, trout, roach, and perch. Its plaintive, monotonous murmur sometimes impressed the mind with sadness. This was soon dispelled, however, by the twittering, the glee, and the sweet notes of the birds, that hopped from spray to spray, or quietly perched themselves on the overhanging branches.

Some little distance to the northwest of Mr. Duran's house was a forest of thrifty growth, covered with a varied and beautiful foliage. Its shady bowers and pleasant walks made it a delightful place of resort,--especially toward the time of sunsetting. Nature seemed to lend to it then peculiar charms.

In the centre of the town stood the old church, antiquated in its appearance, but venerable and holy in its associations. In that old-fashioned church have been settled three successive ministers of the gospel. In those high-backed, square pews were other generations wont to sit. Those pastors and their flocks now sleep in the grave. Their sons occupy their places in the sanctuary, and another herald of the cross proclaims to them the word of life. It was in this pleasant place, which I have briefly described, that Charles Duran was born.

The birth of Charles was an occasion of great joy in Mr. Duran's family. Blessings long withheld are frequently more highly prized when at length received. Mr. Duran had no children, and was now past the meridian of life. To him this child seemed like one born out of due time.

It was amusing to see the effect produced on the parents by this, till recently, unexpected event. "Well, Molly," said Mr. Jones,--a neighbor of Mr. Duran, whose wife had just been to see the strange visitant, and who had reared a large family of children,--"how do Mr. and Mrs. Duran act with the boy?" "Act? why just like two grown-up children. And they think it is the most wonderful child that ever was born. But they don't know what it may live to be!"

These last words were spoken in a tone of voice which told of hidden springs of sorrow. One of Mrs. Jones' own dear children, a promising, lovely boy, had early become intemperate, and was now sleeping in a drunkard's grave!

Having passed through the ordinary nursery incidents of the first months of infancy, Charley--for so he was familiarly called--became a fine fat child. "Sweet boy," said his mother, as she rather clumsily patted his cheeks, and felt of his tender limbs, "you will be a comfort to your parents in their old age."

"I was just thinking of that," added the father. "What a blessing he will be to us! He will manage the farm--administer to our comfort, and inherit our estate."

Many a bright sunny morning has been followed by a dark cloudy evening. Our supposed blessings often prove to us a source of disappointment and sorrow. I have seen the mother clasp her lovely infant to her breast, and fondly and dotingly caress it, and press its little hands and feet, soft as velvet, with her lips. And I have seen that child, the rainbow of promise, and the cause of so much joy, bring down that mother's head, ere it was gray, with sorrow to the grave.

Thoughts like these, however, never crossed the minds of Mr. and Mrs. Duran. They dreamed not that sickness and death might blast their hopes, and leave them more lonely than they were before. So staid and uniform had been their own life, that they never once supposed that Charles, if he should grow up, could pursue any other course.

Every day little Charles became more and more the object of cherished hopes and affections. The hearts of the parents were bound up in him. He became their idol. His wants, real and imaginary, were all met. His danger was of being spoiled by too much indulgence.

"I believe they will kill him with kindness," was the remark of Ann, a colored woman, who had long lived in the family. "It is just the way Mr. Parsons used to do with his Jim, who never amounted to anything."

"Train up a child in the way he should go; and when he is old he will not depart from it." Prov. xxii, 6. The proper training of children is of the utmost importance. Upon it to a great extent depend their usefulness and happiness in the world. And as the happiness of parents is so intimately connected with the course of conduct pursued by their children, it should be with them a constant study how they may promote the well-being of their offspring.

On this subject much has been said and written. Some recommend indulgence as the surest way to give a child a good disposition, and to lead to the formation of correct habits. Others urge the necessity of restraint and uncompromising obedience, on the part of children, to the commands of their parents. There may be extremes in both. Children should be taught to fear and love their parents, and to respect their wishes. The government of children should be strictly parental. The parent's will should be the law of the child. Proper indulgence should be allowed; entire obedience enforced. Parents and children should both remember the words of the apostle: "Children, obey your parents in all things: for this is well pleasing unto the Lord. Fathers, provoke not your children to anger, lest they be discouraged." Col. iii, 20, 21.

Mr. and Mrs. Duran were very indulgent to their only child. His wants were met with a liberal hand, and his wishes, as far as possible, gratified. If his desires were not immediately granted, he soon learned that a little crying would accomplish his object.

Improper indulgence begets unlawful desires. Unlawful desires can never be fully satisfied. So it was with Charles Duran: everything he saw, he wanted. When he was not indulged, as he could not be always, he soon showed his bad spirit. Sometimes he pouted out his lips, and had a long fit of the sulks.

Perhaps my readers never saw a child affected with the sulks. I will briefly describe them. First, the eyes begin to roll rapidly in their sockets, and the sight turns upward. The chin falls down a little, and the corners of the mouth are slightly drawn back. The lower lip then rolls down nearly to the chin. Soon a whining commences, which grows louder and louder, and becomes disagreeable to every person present. At the same time the eyes turn red, the face gets out of shape, and the child becomes blind! I saw a little boy once have the sulks so badly that when his mother sent him into his room to get his apron, before sitting down to dinner, he could not find it, though it was in plain sight! Before he was two years old, Charles showed a very bad disposition. This, instead of being corrected, was fostered by the training which he received. To the domestics in the family he was insolent and unkind; and even to his parents, "I will" and "I won't" were said with fearful frequency. Still the doting parents would merely say to him, "You should not do so, Charles! You should say, 'I don't want to,' or, 'I do want to,'" as the case might be. Thus they indirectly taught him disobedience, which he was learning fast enough without such assistance. In this way did these parents, with cruel kindness, help on the ruin of their child!

Charles Duran, with all his faults, was a bright, active boy. What he needed was training,--_parental training_. His parents committed two very common errors: they promised him correction for his disobedience, without inflicting the punishment; and they often repeated his sayings, and spoke of his doings, to others, in his presence. Parents should always keep good faith with their children; and, while they encourage them, when they are alone, by suitable and well-timed praise, they should rarely repeat what they have said, or speak of what they have done, to others, in their presence. This is injurious to the child, betrays vanity in the parents, and is not very edifying to others. The singing of a young raven may be music to its parents, but to us it is like the cawing of a crow.

Charles was now old enough to go to school. He was accordingly sent to the district school, not far from his father's house. Teachers say that they can tell whether children are good and obedient at home by their conduct in school. Those children who mind their parents will generally obey their teachers; and those scholars that are obedient generally learn well.

How was it with Charles Duran at school? Did he obey his teacher? At first, as all things in the school were new and strange to him, he was somewhat restrained. He soon, however, became acquainted with his teacher and the scholars, and as soon learned to break the rules of the school. He became disrespectful to his teacher, and caused him much trouble.

Charles was also very inattentive to his books. The teacher did the best he could to make him learn; but his lessons were never more than half learned, and the greater part of the time they were not studied at all: and, though naturally he was a bright, smart boy, he seemed determined to grow up a blockhead.

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