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ON A VULGAR LITTLE BOY.
The subject of this article is at present leaning
against a tree directly opposite to my window. He
wears his cap with the wrong side before, apparently for
no other object than that which seems the most obvious
—of showing more than the average quantity of very
dirty face. His clothes, which are worn with a certain
buttonless ease and freedom, display, in the different
quality of their fruit-stains, a pleasing indication
of the progress of the seasons. The nose of this
vulgar little boy turns up at the end. I have noticed
this in several other vulgar little boys, although
it is by no means improbable that youthful vulgarity
may be present without this facial peculiarity.
Indeed, I am inclined to the belief that it is rather
the result of early inquisitiveness—of furtive pressures
against window panes, and of looking over fences,
or of the habit of biting large apples hastily—than
an indication of scorn or juvenile superciliousness.
The vulgar little boy is more remarkable for his obtrusive
familiarity. It is my experience of his predisposition
to this quality which has induced me to
write this article.
My acquaintance with him began in a moment of
weakness. I have an unfortunate predilection to cultivate
originality in people, even when accompanied
by objectionable character. But, as I lack the firmness
and skillfulness which usually accompanies this
taste in others, and enables them to drop acquaintances
when troublesome, I have surrounded myself
with divers unprofitable friends, among whom I
count the vulgar little boy. The manner in which
he first attracted my attention was purely accidental.
He was playing in the street, and the driver of a
passing vehicle cut at him, sportively, with his whip.
The vulgar little boy rose to his feet and hurled after
his tormentor a single sentence of invective. I refrain
from repeating it, for I feel that I could not do
justice to it here. If I remember rightly, it conveyed,
in a very few words, a reflection on the legitimacy
of the driver's birth; it hinted a suspicion of his father's
integrity, and impugned the fair fame of his mother;
it suggested incompetency in his present position,
personal uncleanliness, and evinced a skeptical doubt
of his future salvation. As his youthful lips closed
over the last syllable, the eyes of the vulgar little
boy met mine. Something in my look emboldened
him to wink. I did not repel the action nor the
complicity it implied. From that moment I fell into
the power of the vulgar little boy, and he has never
left me since.
He haunts me in the streets and by-ways. He
accosts me, when in the company of friends, with repulsive
freedom. He lingers about the gate of my
Distance he overcomes by main strength of lungs,
and he hails me from the next street. He met me
at the theatre the other evening, and demanded my
check with the air of a young footpad. I foolishly
gave it to him, but re-entering some time after, and
comfortably seating myself in the parquet, I was
electrified by hearing my name called from the gallery
with the addition of a playful adjective. It was
the vulgar little boy. During the performance he
projected spirally-twisted playbills in my direction,
and indulged in a running commentary on the supernumeraries
as they entered.
To-day has evidently been a dull one with him.
I observe he whistles the popular airs of the period
with less shrillness and intensity. Providence, however,
looks not unkindly on him, and delivers into
his hands as it were two nice little boys who have at
this moment innocently strayed into our street.
They are pink and white children, and are dressed
alike, and exhibit a certain air of neatness and refinment
which is alone sufficient to awaken the antagonism
of the vulgar little boy. A sigh of satisfaction
breaks from his breast. What does he do?
Any other boy would content himself with simply
knocking the hats off their respective heads, and so
vent his superfluous vitality in a single act, besides
precipitating the flight of the enemy. But there are
aesthetic considerations not to be overlooked; insult
is to be added to the injury inflicted, and in the
struggles of the victim some justification is to be
boys perceive their danger and draw closer to each
other. The vulgar little boy begins by irony. He
affects to be overpowered by the magnificence of
their costume. He addresses me, (across the street
and through the closed window,) and requests information
if there haply be a circus in the vicinity. He
makes affectionate inquiries after the health of their
parents. He expresses a fear of maternal anxiety in
in regard to their welfare. He offers to conduct
them home. One nice little boy feebly retorts; but
alas! his correct pronunciation, his grammatical exactitude
and his moderate epithets only provoke a
scream of derision from the vulgar little boy, who
now rapidly changes his tactics. Staggering under
the weight of his vituperation, they fall easy victims
to his dexter mawley. A wail of lamentation goes
up from our street. But as the subject of this article
seems to require a more vigorous handling than I
had purposed to give it, I find it necessary to abandon
my present dignified position, seize my hat, open
the front door, and try a stronger method.
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