There was no school within about three miles of a property my father
bought when I was a little over two years of age. With some help from
the neighbours my father built a school, which I believe is now endowed,
but at that time it was principally supported by voluntary
contributions. I was sent there as a first instalment. I was an
involuntary contribution. Nurse carried me there every morning, but I
always managed to walk coming back. By sending a child of tender years
to a day-school, negative rather than positive good was all that was
expected, for my mother frankly confessed that I was only sent to keep
me out of mischief. The first few days of my school life flew past
quickly enough, for my teacher, a little hunchback, be it remembered,
whom you may know by the name of Dominie W--, was very kind to me,
candied me and lollipopped me, and I thought it grand fun to sit all day
on my little stool, turning over the pages of picture-books, and looking
at the other boys getting thrashed. This latter part indeed was the
best to me, for the little fellows used to screw their miserable visages
so, and make such funny faces, that I laughed and crowed with delight.
But I didn't like it when it came to my own turn. And here is how that
occurred:--There was a large pictorial map that hung on the schoolroom
wall, covered with delineations of all sorts of wild beasts. These were
pointed out to the Bible-class one by one, and a short lecture given on
the habits of each, which the boys and girls were supposed to retain in
their memories, and retail again when asked to. One day, however, the
dromedary became a stumbling-block to all the class; not one of them
could remember the name of the beast.
"Did ever I see such a parcel of numskulls?" said Dominie W--. "Why, I
believe that child there could tell you."