FINDING A LOST OPPORTUNITY.
It was a few weeks after Nat's return to his native place, where he was
most cordially welcomed by his old companions, Charlie and Frank in
particular. He was now an apprentice in the machine-shop, a stirring,
healthy youth of about seventeen years.
"What have you there?" said Charlie to him, as he saw Nat take a book
from his pocket to spend a leisure moment over it.
"My grammar," answered Nat, smiling.
"Have you discovered that you can't write a letter with propriety
without it?" inquired Charlie, referring rather jocosely to a scene we
have sketched.
"I am pretty thoroughly convinced of that," responded Nat. "At any rate,
I shall find that lost opportunity if I can. Better now than never."
"You think better of that grammar class than you did five years ago, do
you?"
"I have thought better of it for a good while, and should like to join
it now if I had the opportunity. We were both very foolish then, as I
have found out to my sorrow."
"I have often thought of that time," said Charlie; "I think we were
rather too set in our opinions."
"Yes; and if the teacher had just given us what we deserved, perhaps I
should not now be obliged to study grammar," added Nat.
"I am glad to see you so willing to own up, only it is a little too late
to profit much by it. This 'after wit' is not the best kind."
"It is better than no wit at all," said Nat, rather amused at Charlie's
way of "probing an old sore."
"The fact is, we were too young and green then to appreciate the
teacher's reasons for wanting us to study grammar. He was right, and we
were wrong, and now I am obliged to learn what I might have acquired
then more readily."
"But we studied it, did we not?" inquired Charlie.
"Only to _recite_. We did not study it to _understand_. I knew little
more about grammar when I left off going to school than I do about Greek
or Hebrew. It is one thing to commit a lesson, and another to comprehend
it. I am determined to understand it now."
"How long have you been studying it?"
"A few weeks ago I commenced it in earnest. I looked at it occasionally
before."
[Illustration]
"Have you advanced so far as to know whether Sam Drake is a proper or
improper noun?" asked Charlie, in a jesting manner.
"Possibly," answered Nat, dryly. "By the way, I hear that Sam has
removed from town, and all the family."
"Yes, they have gone, and I have cried none yet, and hope I shall not.
Sam is a worse fellow now than he was when you left town."
"He is! He was bad enough then, and if he is much worse now, I pity the
people who are obliged to have him about."
"They told some hard stories about him last summer; if half of them are
true, he is a candidate for the state prison."
"What were the stories?" asked Nat, not having heard any thing in
particular about him since his return.
"Some people thought he robbed Mr. Parton's orchard, and stole Mrs.
Graves' pears and plums. He went off several times on Sunday and came
back intoxicated. In fact, almost every evil thing that has been done in
the night-time, for months past, has been laid to him. Perhaps he was
not guilty, but people seem to think there is nothing too bad for him to
do."
"And they think about right, too," added Nat. "I never saw a fellow who
seemed to enjoy doing mischief like him. But how is it with Ben? I used
to think he would do better if Sam would let him alone."
"People generally are of the same opinion. Ben is no worse than he was
when he went to school, though he has frequently been in miserable
scrapes with Sam. I guess they will end about alike. But I want to talk
more about your grammar. Do you really expect to master grammar without
a teacher?"
"Of course I do, or I should not undertake it. We conquered worse
difficulties in mathematics than I have yet found in grammar."
"But how can you have patience to pursue such a dry study alone?"
"It is not dry now. It was dry to us that winter because we did not want
to know any thing about it. Any book will be dry when we don't care to
read it. I have found that no study is dry which I really want to know
about. I like grammar first-rate now."
"Then you think that _we_ were dry, and not the grammar?" inquired
Charlie.
"Certainly; and you will find it so, if you will try it. When a person
really wants to comprehend any subject, he will be interested in it, and
he will quite readily master it."
"I shall not dispute your position," said Charlie. "But when you have a
good grammar lesson you may recite it to me. I think you will make a
good grammarian after all--you certainly will if a good resolution will
accomplish it."
"I do not expect to distinguish myself in this branch of knowledge,"
replied Nat. "But I am determined to know something about it. A person
need not learn every thing there is to be known about a study to make it
profitable to him."
Nat was accustomed, at this period of his life, to carry some book with
him for use every spare moment he found. He had a literary pocket into
which volume after volume found its way, to remain until its contents
were digested. The grammar had its turn in this convenient pocket, and
every day was compelled to disclose some of its hidden knowledge.
Pockets have been of great service to self-made men. A more useful
invention was never known, and hundreds are now living who will have
occasion to speak well of pockets till they die, because they were so
handy to carry a book. Roger Sherman had one when he was a hard-working
shoemaker in Stoughton, Mass. Into it he stuffed geography, history,
biography, logic, mathematics, and theology, in turn, so that he
actually carried more science than change. Napoleon had one, in which he
carried the Iliad when he wrote to his mother, "With my sword by my
side, and Homer in my pocket, I hope to carve my way through the world."
Hugh Miller had one from which he often drew a profitable work as he
was sitting on a stone for a few moments' rest from his hard toils.
Elihu Burritt had one from the time he began to read in the old
blacksmith shop until he acquired a literary fame, and on "a grand scale
set to working out his destiny at the flaming forge of life." In writing
to a friend, he said, "Those who have been acquainted with my character
from my youth up, will give me credit for sincerity when I say, that it
never entered into my head to blazon forth any acquisition of my own.
All that I have accomplished, or expect, or hope to accomplish, has
been, and will be, by that plodding, patient, persevering process of
accretion which builds the ant-heap,--particle by particle, thought by
thought, fact by fact. And if ever I was actuated by ambition, its
highest and warmest aspiration reached no further than the hope to set
before the young men of my country an example in employing those
invaluable fragments of time, called 'odd moments.'" He was once an
agent for a manufacturing company in Connecticut, and his pocket served
him a noble purpose, for it furnished him with a valuable work often, in
unfrequented spots, where he would let his horse rest, and spend a few
moments in studying by the road-side. The horse soon learned to
appreciate the wants of his driver, and would voluntarily stop in
certain lonely retreats for him to pursue his studies. Thus pockets that
have carried the leanest purses, have often proved the greatest blessing
to mankind.
But how many youth there are, having much leisure time every day, who
carry nothing better than a knife, purse, and sometimes a piece of
filthy tobacco, in their pockets! It would be infinitely better for them
to put a good book there, to occupy their attention whenever a spare
moment is offered. If only a single hour in a day could be saved from
absolute waste by such reliance on the pocket, this would be sufficient
to secure a large amount of information in a series of years. The
working-days of the week would yield, in this way, six precious hours,
equal to one day's schooling in a week, and fifty-two days, or ten weeks
of schooling in a year. Is not this worth saving? Multiply it by ten
years, and there you have one hundred weeks,--nearly two years of mental
culture. Multiply it by twenty, and you have about four years of this
intellectual discipline. Multiply it once more by fifty years (and he
who lives to three score years and ten, beginning thus in boyhood, will
have even more time than that for improvement), and you have nearly ten
years of mental discipline. If we could gather up all the wasted moments
of the young, who prefer a jack-knife to a book, what a series of years
we could save for literary purposes! Nat's pocket was worth a cart-load
of those who never hold any thing more valuable than money. If some kind
friend had proposed to give him one well filled with gold in exchange
for his, he would have made a poor bargain had he accepted the offer.
In regard to finding lost opportunities, few persons are ever so
fortunate. Here and there one with the decision, and patient persevering
spirit of Nat makes up for these early losses, in a measure, but they
have to pay for it at a costly rate. Nat thought so when he struggled to
master grammar without a teacher. Deeply he regretted that he let slip a
golden opportunity of his early boyhood, when he might have acquired
considerable knowledge of this science. But his perseverance in finally
pursuing the study furnishes a good illustration of what may be done.
"What do you say to starting a debating society, Charlie?" inquired Nat,
on the same day they discussed their grammar experience.
"I would like it well; and I think we could get quite a number to join
it. Where could we meet?"
"We could probably get the use of the school-house, especially if a
number of the scholars should join us. For such a purpose, I think there
would be no objection to our having it."
"Let us attend to it at once," said Charlie. "Marcus and Frank will
favor the movement, and I dare say we can get fifteen or twenty in a
short time. Some will join it who do not think of debating, for the sake
of having it go."
This reference to Marcus renders it necessary to say, that he had left
the district school, and was learning the hatter's trade. During Nat's
three years' absence, he was intimate with Frank and Charlie, and was
disposed to improve his leisure time in reading. He was such a youth as
would readily favor the organization of a debating society, and become
an active member.
"Come over to our house early to-night," said Nat, "and we will see what
we can do. If we form the society at all, we can do it within a week."