THE KNICKERBOCKER.
VOL. X. NOVEMBER, 1837. NO. 5.
'NURSERIES OF AMERICAN FREEMEN.'
NUMBER ONE.
GENERAL EDUCATION is the attribute and glory of republican America.
It constitutes one of the strongest pledges of the success of
that interesting experiment in politics, which has astonished and
enlightened the nations of the eastern continent, and which promises,
in future times, to be the grand means of extending the blessings
of freedom to the civilized world. Education, in some of the most
enlightened European countries, is like the sun rising in majesty,
and gilding with surpassing brightness a few mountain tops. Education
in the United States is like the sun pouring his cheering radiance
over every hill, and into every valley.
The peculiar importance of universal and well-conducted education,
in a republican government, must be evident from the slightest
consideration. Every American citizen is a juror, before whom each
officer of the government is on trial, in regard to his capacity and
fidelity. The public prints are the pleaders, oftentimes very artful,
and sometimes not altogether honest; and these jurors need to be well
furnished with an enlightened understanding, that they may not be
imposed upon by misrepresentation and sophistry. Universal suffrage
can never be safely trusted but in the hands of an intelligent and
virtuous population. And it is questionable whether another country
can now be found, beside the United States, where education is
sufficiently general, and conducted upon such principles, as to form
a sufficient basis on which to rest the structure of a republican
government.
The want of a well-educated population has been the occasion of
most of the difficulties and disorders which have agitated the
South American republics, where one stormy revolution has succeeded
another, and where a strong tendency has been evinced to return to
the death-like calm of despotism. This is a great reason why France,
with all her aspirations after freedom, and all her toil, and sweat,
and blood, to obtain it, has had no more success in securing its
substantial blessings. This is one reason why reform in the English
government is a work of such immense difficulty, and why it cannot be
obtained but by a severe struggle, and, as it were, by inches. Some
master-spirits in that country, in which there is much to admire, and
to approve, and to imitate, have recently engaged in a noble effort
to advance the cause of popular education. These men, whether they
may be aware of it or not, are firing a train that may eventually
produce an explosion, which will shake the lordly aristocracy of
that country to its base. There is reason, however, to hope, that
in England arbitrary power will gradually give way to liberal
principles, and that the desired end may be at length attained,
without violent convulsion. This may be hoped for with greater
confidence, since intelligence is always friendly to order.
But aside from its political bearing, a general and well-conducted
education is a matter of vast importance. Every man has a mind, which
can never take its proper rank, and secure its highest enjoyment,
without being enlightened; without a proper development of its power,
and a suitable direction in applying them to practical purposes. A
fire-side in Iceland, a land of frost and of poverty, becomes a scene
of contentment and happiness, because it is surrounded by a reading
population; and the long and dreary winter's nights pass pleasantly
away, in the entertainment afforded by historical narration, or
native poetry, or other means of mental cultivation. Every family is
a school, and every child receives the rudiments of an education by
his own fire-side. In civilized countries, valuable books constitute
one of the cheapest, most domestic, and noblest amusements, for the
enjoyment of which, however, a good education is an indispensable
requisite.
But leaving this strain of general remark, it is proposed to give the
subject a practical bearing, by a brief consideration, in the present
number, of the importance of a legislative provision for the support
of schools, and for the qualification and preparation of teachers.
A legislative provision for the support of schools is a matter of
great importance. Every free government is bound by the principle
of self-preservation to afford every necessary facility for the
education of its whole population. And the most substantial aid which
it has in its power to afford is, to furnish pecuniary assistance,
by setting apart adequate funds, to bring the means of instruction
alike within the reach of the poor and the rich. Schools, and
especially common schools, are the _Nurseries of Freemen_; and not
merely of those who are to exercise the important right of suffrage,
but also, to an unknown extent, of those who are to sustain the
weight of magistracy, and to wield the destinies of the nation. Many
a man, during the short continuance of the American republic, who
has risen to the highest stations of honor and of trust, who has
surrounded his own name and that of his country with distinguished
honor, and filled both continents with his fame, has grown up from
the humblest circumstances in life, and has been indebted to the
common schools of the country for the elements of his reputation and
his usefulness; and but for the system of universal education, might
have lived in obscurity, and never extended his influence beyond
his native village. FRANKLIN, the statesman and the philosopher,
was once a humble printer's boy; and had he lived in a country
where the aspirations of genius are checked by the principle that
every man must keep his place, and not attempt to rise above the
condition in which he was born, he might have lived and died a
merely respectable setter of types. DAVID RITTENHOUSE, the son of a
plain farmer, was educated a goldsmith; and by his extraordinary
mechanical genius, he invented a planetarium, which may justly be
regarded as one of the mechanical wonders of the world. Pursuing
his researches, he became one of the first practical astronomers of
his time, and he succeeded the venerable Franklin as President of
the American Philosophical Society, at Philadelphia. ROGER SHERMAN,
until the age of twenty-three, occupied a shoemaker's bench. To him
it would have been injurious to apply the adage, '_Ne sutor ultra
crepidam_.' To the acquirements of a good common school education,
he added, to a respectable extent, the higher attainments of legal
and political science; and no man brought into the councils of this
country, at the trying period of the revolution, a sounder head, or
a more patriotic heart. To these distinguished examples, hundreds of
others might be added, who, if they have not fully equalled those
that have been mentioned, in fame, have perhaps not fallen behind
them in respectability and usefulness. And what has been true in
this respect, in time past, is true at present, and is likely to be
equally true in time to come. No man now fills a greater space in the
national councils, than the son of a plain farmer in New-Hampshire,
who commenced his brilliant career on the benches of a common school,
in his native town. And no man can tell what future farmers' or
mechanics' sons may occupy the highest and most responsible posts of
the nation. In the free government of the United States, every man
is, to a great extent, the artificer of his own fortune and fame.
Common schools are the means by which native genius is to be, in the
first instance, taught to put forth its strength, and by which it is
to be raised from its obscurity.
The people of the United States are, to a good degree, awake to the
importance of affording legislative aid to the common and higher
schools of the country; and in every state in the Union, public funds
are, to a greater or less extent, devoted to this object. The new
states seem likely, in this respect, to equal, if not to surpass, the
old. The funds which they have appropriated to this purpose, have
been chiefly new lands, which are constantly rising in value, and
which, in many instances, promise, in a future day, to swell to a
very respectable amount.
But while the means of education are brought within the reach of all,
it is important that they be not made too cheap. Men are prone to set
a small value on that which costs them nothing; and a provision too
abundant, instead of stimulating to exertion, may but minister to
negligence. The state of Connecticut has, it is believed, at present
a greater productive school-fund, in proportion to its population,
than any other state in the Union. It amounts to about the sum of two
millions of dollars. This fund was not produced by the contributions
of its inhabitants, but originated principally from the sale of the
Western Reserve, an important part of the state of Ohio, to which
it laid claim on the ground of its original charter, and which, by
way of compromise, was ceded to it by the United States. In no state
could the experiment of an abundant public provision for the support
of schools have been tried with greater prospect of success, than
in this. Previously to this endowment, the cause of education there
was in a prosperous condition, and its population had been taught,
from their childhood, to hold it in high estimation. Although
no enlightened and patriotic inhabitant of that state would wish
that this fund should be reduced in its amount, it is questionable
whether the cause of education there has advanced in proportion to
the abundance of its resources, and whether the largeness of this
provision has not, in some instances, if not generally, contributed
to keep the public mind less awake to the subject, than if its
inhabitants had been compelled to rely more extensively on their own
resources and exertions.
Without some legislative aid, there is reason to apprehend that
the advantages of education will not be universally enjoyed; and
therefore, every enlightened state will be inclined to make a
competent provision for this object. If the common schools of the
country need this aid, the higher schools and academies need it
still more, as their expenses must necessarily be greater. They are
required to carry on the work which is begun in common schools, to
prepare members for the higher seminaries of learning, and especially
to raise up a generation of teachers for the inferior schools. A
number of academies, scattered over every state, should be placed
on a respectable and permanent foundation, by a competent pecuniary
endowment. This subject has not been overlooked by the legislatures
of the respective states. A portion of the public revenue, which has
been distributed among the several states of the Union, has been
wisely set apart for the advancement of the cause of education. What
species of internal improvement can be compared to this? Canals and
rail-roads, and other similar works, are indeed of great importance.
But these things have a principal reference to the physical wants of
men. But physical wants are of minor importance, compared with the
intellectual and moral elevation of the human mind. Republics, in
a particular manner, must depend upon this intellectual and moral
elevation for their highest prosperity. Legislative aid should be
so afforded that, instead of producing apathy and indifference on
the subject of schools, it may but stimulate to greater exertion. In
proportion to the munificence of a public provision, the standard of
education should be raised; competent teachers should be employed,
and all the preparations for instruction should be on an extended
scale. Much on this subject remains to be done; and availing
themselves of the legislative aid, there is pressing need that the
most gifted minds in the country should combine their strength to
bring the schools of the nation, of every grade, and particularly the
common schools, to answer the high purposes of their institution.
While it is important that adequate funds should be provided for
the support of schools, it is still more important, that due care
should be taken that these funds be employed in a prudent, wise,
and efficient manner. Thousands and tens of thousands of dollars
may easily be wasted, from year to year, and rendered of no avail,
for the want of a proper management. That schools should answer the
object for which they are designed, nothing is more essential, than
that they should be under the instruction of competent teachers; and
that suitable provision be made for the preparation and support of
such teachers.
The government of a school is a matter of no small difficulty and
importance; and to conduct it successfully, requires great sagacity,
and a knowledge of human nature, the fruit of much observation and
experience. The government of a school is unlike that of any other
community. It should be neither despotic nor republican; it should be
patriarchal. It bears a greater resemblance to the government of a
family than to any other, and yet it differs, in many respects, from
this. Children have grown up under the authority of their parents;
and where parental government has been in any measure what it should
be, obedience to it has become a matter of habit. Children are,
moreover, dependent on their parents for their comfort and support,
and therefore the authority of a parent is supported by a powerful
consideration, which teachers of schools have not at command. If the
proper government of a family is a difficult work, as every parent
will be ready to acknowledge, the suitable government of a school is
a work of still greater difficulty.
Without the maintenance of silence, diligence, and order, it is
impossible that the business of education should be successfully
prosecuted in schools. But to bring the volatility, and
thoughtlessness, and love of ease and of play, so natural to children
and youth, to a thorough subjection to these principles, is no easy
task. The nature and dispositions of children must be carefully and
philosophically studied; different modes of management must be tried,
and those which are found by experience to be most successful, must
be adopted. Every teacher of a school needs much of the patience of
Job, and the meekness of Moses, suitably blended with dignity and
authority. He should have an entire control over his own passions;
and if he has a natural attachment to children, it will greatly aid
him in his work. It should be his aim, by an amiable, dignified, and
discreet deportment, to secure both the affection and respect of
those committed to his charge.
But a talent for government, however important, will not alone fit
a teacher of a school for his station. He needs not only a gifted,
but a well-furnished mind. He should not only possess a thorough
acquaintance with the text-books which he uses, and be able to
explain all their intricacies, and to unravel all their difficulties,
but he needs, in addition, a great variety of collateral information,
which he may bring to bear on all the subjects of instruction. He
should be himself a living, walking, speaking text-book. Every
system of teaching which is what it should be, will be a course of
familiar lecturing. The teacher should possess a fund of information
on a great variety of subjects, and should be perpetually bringing
forth, from the treasury of a well-furnished mind, the varied riches
of literature and science. The qualifications which have been
mentioned are important, not only in the higher seminaries, but also
in common schools. The amount of instruction which will be given by
a thoroughly qualified teacher, will greatly exceed that which is
given by a person of inferior qualifications, even where very young
children are concerned, and the time of the pupil, and the money of
the parent, will be saved by the employment of such teachers.
In this view of the proper qualifications of teachers, we need only
inquire what is the character of those who are usually employed,
to discover the great deficiency which exists on this subject.
The common schools of the country are extensively taught, in the
winter season, by a set of intelligent and enterprising young men,
who, in the summer season, are engaged in agricultural or other
employments, not connected with literature; or in the neighborhood of
colleges, in some instances, by young men who are in them receiving
an education, and who resort to this means to help them to sustain
the expenses which they necessarily incur. Far be it from the writer
to speak lightly of those farmers' sons who have more taste for
literature than the generality of their fellows, and have better
improved the advantages which they have enjoyed, and who aspire to
the office of teachers; or of those young men in colleges, who are
conflicting with the disadvantages of poverty, and by diligence and
perseverance, are raising themselves to usefulness, and perhaps to
fame. Many a man, who has been an honor to his country, and sustained
with reputation the higher offices of the state, has been, in early
life, a teacher of a common school. The academies of the country
have hitherto been chiefly taught by young men, who have completed
a collegiate course, and having exhausted their patrimony, have
resorted to this means to provide themselves with the funds necessary
for the study of a profession. Before they have had time to become
thoroughly acquainted with their business, they have relinquished
it for another employment. In a large proportion of instances, the
teachers of schools have labored under the disadvantages of youth and
inexperience, and to a great extent, of a contracted education.
In the summer season, the common schools of the country have
been chiefly taught by a fine collection of amiable, virtuous,
and intelligent females, in many respects well adapted to the
instruction of those younger children who, at that busy period, are
alone extensively found in common schools. But these teachers have
generally labored under the disadvantage of a very limited education.
In the cities, teaching has been more extensively a profession, and
has received a more liberal patronage; and from these circumstances,
it might be expected that the schools of the cities would have
risen to a highly respectable standing. This has been, in some
instances, true, but is by no means a general fact. Mere pretension
and display, on the part of a teacher, often command more patronage
than solid and unostentatious merit. The advertisements of teachers,
of almost every description, in the cities, will be found to contain
a catalogue of studies nearly sufficient for a collegiate course;
studies, many of which some of these teachers do not thoroughly, if
at all, understand. And in order that illiterate parents may have
a high idea of the proficiency of their children, they are hurried
through this course with a most unprofitable rapidity. The hurry
and bustle and thousand diversions of a city are not favorable to
mental cultivation. Show extensively occupies the place of substance;
and even an intelligent teacher will often be found sacrificing
his own better judgment to a perverted public taste. Fashionable
accomplishments, particularly in the education of females, have been
suffered to throw into the back-ground those intellectual pursuits,
which can alone raise the mind to its proper dignity, and produce a
full development of its powers. If most of the teachers of the cities
would pretend to less, and attempt less, they would accomplish more,
in the substantial business of education. Like some farmers in the
country, they should cultivate a less extent of ground, and they
would produce greater crops.
The interests of schools imperiously require that something effectual
should be done, to raise up a different generation of teachers from
those who have hitherto held in their hands the destinies of American
youth. In order to do this, teaching must become more extensively
a permanent profession; and such must be the support afforded to
teachers, that it shall constitute a sufficient inducement to them
not only to devote themselves to this employment, but to undertake
the labor and expense of acquiring the requisite qualifications for
this important trust; and the community must learn to distinguish
between the well-furnished teacher and the mere pretender to
literature and science.
Suppose, for a moment, that the mechanic arts were learned and
practised as the profession of teaching has extensively been. Let
us take the trade of a shoe-maker, for example. Let us suppose that
farmers' sons, of a strong mechanical turn, during the leisure of
the winter season, should begin with mending their own shoes, and,
pleased with the efforts of their untaught ingenuity, should take in
hand the shoes of the rest of the family; and having gained a little
skill by practice, should set up as cobblers for their neighbors.
What kind of shoes, can it be thought, would be worn by the
community, if such were the common shoe-makers of the land? And does
it require less education to become a competent teacher of youth,
than a good shoe-maker? That person must think very highly of his
feet, and very meanly of his head, who can entertain such an idea.
The community have, in some measure, yet to learn, that they will
never practice a true economy in the business of education, until
they are willing, at a reasonable expense, to secure the services of
a thoroughly-furnished instructor. It must come to be considered,
that a little smattering of information is not sufficient to prepare
a person for a teacher of a common school. A collegiate education is
not essential to this purpose, because many of the branches taught in
a college will not be required to be taught in common schools. But in
those branches which _are_ taught, the education should not be less
thorough than that which is acquired within the walls of a college.
The academies of the country are, at present, the seminaries in which
the great body of teachers for common schools must be prepared; and
in order that the academies should become suitable seminaries for
teachers, they must be universally taught by able and experienced
men, and the business of conducting them should no longer be made
by young men a stepping stone to some other employment. These
institutions should be, especially, under the charge of men who
make teaching a permanent profession. But something beyond this is
necessary, that a supply of competent teachers of common schools
should be raised up. Seminaries should be instituted for the express
purpose of preparing teachers. Such institutions, established on a
broad foundation, and sustained by a liberal endowment, would be of
incalculable importance to the interests of common schools. The
instruction given in them, being specially directed to this object,
would be more appropriate and more effectual. Connected with such
institutions, should be model-schools, in which the most approved
methods of instruction may be exemplified, and in conducting which,
those educating for teachers should occasionally bear a part.
The clerical, the legal, and the medical professions have been
most essentially benefitted, and their character has been greatly
elevated, by the establishment of institutions expressly for the
preparation of young men for these professions; and the same result
might be expected from a similar course in regard to the preparation
of teachers.
In a subsequent number, we shall offer some observations upon
text-books; the importance of a systematic arrangement and inspection
in the management of schools; the illustration of the sciences
by appropriate apparatus; and the cheering prospect which the
advancement of education holds out, in regard to the stability and
permanence of the American government.
H.
SADNESS.
'I cannot but remember such things were,
That were most pleasant to me.'
SHAKSPEARE.
I.
I KNOW not why!--but oft a deep gloom shading,
Steals o'er my gayest mood, my happiest hours;
The glory from my ardent soul is fading--
A tempest withers Hope's reviving flowers!
I know not why!
II.
I know not why!--but oft, when laughter thrilling,
Leaves its light echo joyously behind,
Tears from their secret founts mine eyes are filling;
I shudder, as the leaf shakes in the wind--
I know not why!
III.
Do I not know? Can Fate her stern course alter?
Are they not shadows of the brightness gone,
Which make the fond heart faint, the red lip falter,
Leaving me mournful memories alone--
_They_ tell me why!
IV.
They are past and gone!
Those days that were so glad and bright,
Oh, can we call back one?
Ah, never!--would we might!
The memories of our early years,
Shall hallow still this cherish'd spot--
And hopes, though faded, ne'er forgot,
Whose light is quenched in tears!
L. B. SMITH.
YOUNG LOVE.
AN EXTRACT: BY J. G. PERCIVAL.
WHY are we not like Nature, ever new,
Freshening with every season? It is pain
To gaze, when sick and wasted, on the blue
Arching as purely o'er us, and the stain
Of the curled clouds, that gather in the train,
Which the low sun makes glorious with his smile;
To see the light Spring weave her rosy chain,
And sow her pearls, no longer can beguile,
When age, and want, and sin, our sinking hearts defile.
Youth is the season when we most enjoy,
If we would know the sweets of life; the mind
Is then pure feeling, for no base alloy
Of gain hath blended with the ore refined
By the wise hand of Nature, who designed
The beautiful years to be alone the time
When we can fondly love, and loving find
In the adored the same glad passion chime,
As if two spirits met in one most tuneful rhyme.
O! there are eyes that have a language--sweet
Comes their soft music round us, till the air
Is one intensest melody; we beat
Through every pulse, as if a spring were there
To buoy us into upper worlds, and bear
Our fond hearts with link'd arms, on whitest wings,
To a far island, where we two may share
Eternal looks, such as the live eye flings
When it collects all fire, and as it blesses, stings.
O! could we stop at this glad hour the wheels
Of Time, and make this point eternity;
Could check that onward flight, which ever steals
Hues, forms, and soul, as the twined colors flee,
Which are above the seven-fold Harmony,
Whose perfect concord meets in the soft light
That sits upon a wave of clouds--a sea
Of rolling vapor, pearled and purely white,
That as a curtain hangs the pale-lit throne of Night.
O! could we dwell in rapture thus forever,
Hearts burning with a high empyreal flame,
Whose blended cones no reckless storm could sever,
But they should tremble upward, till the same
Fine point of centred heat should ever aim
Higher and higher to the perfect glow;
As Dante saw from that celestial Dame
Once loved, now worshipped, Heaven's own splendors flow,
And gather in her smile, that looked so calm below.
It is not in us; we were fashioned here
For a more tranquil feeling, such as home
Sheds on two hearts, whose true and lasting sphere
Is round the holy hearth; hearts do not roam,
When they are pledged by the young shoots that come,
Like the green root-twigs, sweetly to renew
Our life in their dear lives, which are the sum
Of all our after being, where we view
Heaven, as the soul's fond smile those rose-lips tremble through.
WILSON CONWORTH.
NUMBER SEVEN.
I HAVE already described setting out for the law school at L----.
After a long and tedious ride over rocky hills, we arrived late in
the evening at the town. It is situated on a river, on each side of
which are meadows of the most fertile soil, one mile in breadth. On
the east side of this river, a short range of mountains rise, grand
and imposing, from the generally level face of the country about
them. Here is perhaps the finest scenery in New-England. You have
a great variety within one half hour's walk. Gardens of exotics,
well-tilled farms, more resembling gardens than farms, mountains, a
river, woods, cottages, princely edifices; here a street like a city,
and the next turn brings you into something simply rural.
Here too might be found, at a later day, the finest school in the
country, perhaps in the world, if we may judge from the talent
employed in its management, and the splendor of the scale upon
which it was got up. The founders of this school are probably in
our country the only instance on record of men who had gained high
places in the literary world, leaving all their hard-bought honors,
and the ease of professorships in the first literary institution
in the country, to embark in the thankless task of keeping school.
This school has not succeeded according to its merits--as what
school does? It enjoyed a temporary reputation and success, as long
as it was the fashion and a novelty; and after the curiosity of
the public was satisfied, it diminished, and no longer numbers its
three hundred pupils. It is the same with our clergymen. People in
our country are for ever changing their ministers. It is so with
servants, ploughs, and all machinery, moral and physical. Variety,
curiosity, experiment, are the words that govern. We are forever
tearing things to pieces, to see what they are made of, and how they
are constructed. There is not and never has been a permanent private
school in America; and our endowed academies sink and rise, and only
continue to exist, because from their legal nature they cannot die.
In the town of L---- you might have found, at the time I write of,
a race peculiar to the soil of New-England; the descendants of old
families, who have inherited wealth from their fathers, and with
it a set of feelings that attaches them to old customs and habits.
The furniture of their houses is antique, and they themselves are
a little tinctured with puritanical manners. There are few places
so aristocratic as this. They do not show their pride in equipage
and dress, like new-born gentility, but in the distance of their
manners, and the seclusion of their lives. A race has grown up and
flocked in around these moss-covered families, which is thriving and
industrious, but the line is strictly marked between them and the old
settlers, who yet consider the land as their own, and themselves as
the pillars of the place.
Some of the old men wear gold-headed canes and white-topped boots and
cues, though the cocked-hat is obsolete; and the old ladies appear
upon gala-days in brocade gowns, worn by their great-grand-mothers,
for aught I know, with heads carried as none but old prim, stiff
ladies know how to carry their heads: a little in the style, we may
suppose, Jupiter carries his head, when he walks among the clouds,
where there is no vulgar earth to look upon.
The morning after my arrival, I called upon Judge H----, the
principal of the law school, and found him, Cincinnatus like, digging
in his garden. He rested upon his spade, as I approached him; took my
letter and read it; gave me his hand, when he had finished, and as I
looked in his face, and saw his clear eye and benevolent countenance,
I loved him. He was a spare man, with the air of a student about
him; his face was pale, and worn with much thinking; his manners
kind and winning, with the least affectation any one can imagine. He
introduced me to his lovely family, and they made me feel at home in
a moment, by the sincerity and unostentatiousness of their reception.
Some people, when a stranger is introduced to them, are chiefly
occupied in making an impression upon him of their importance and
dignity, while the best bred only think how _he_ may be made easy and
comfortable.
The judge pointed a boarding-house out to me, and appointed a time to
talk farther with me, and I took my leave, thoroughly impressed with
the idea that I was the happiest man in the world, and the judge and
his family the best and most agreeable people. 'Now for a look at
law-students at a law school,' thinks I.
I found a fine set of fellows here, from all parts of the United
States. Here was a student from the West, with his dark eye and
coal-black hair, and Indian-red cheeks. He was remarkable for his
independence and fearlessness; for his up-and-down dealing, and for
the originality of his figures, and the indifference all western men
feel to weather, domestic comfort, and the elegancies of life. Then
comes the hot-blooded Southerner, contending between his ignorance
and his pride; for the Southerners, (although there are honorable
exceptions,) who come to the North for an education, are too much
gentlemen in their own sense, to be able to handle any thing heavier
than a cigar; though now and then bolstered up to holding a pistol
at some friend they have injured, for the sake of the _éclat_
of the thing. We see enough of this race of spoiled children at
college, where they attempt to lord it over the institution and its
members. They mistake the contempt which permits their folly to pass
unnoticed, for submission.
Here, too, appeared the yankee, with his honest phiz, from the green
mountains of Vermont; with his heart in his hand; telling every
body who will listen to him all his family affairs and domestic
arrangements. Nevertheless he has his points of shrewdness. You are
off your guard by his honest and simple confidence in you: find him
at a nine-pin alley, and he is your man, as he says, ''at can knock
'em down.' Put him down to '_all fours_,' and he will play _game_;
but he does not aspire to whist or billiards; of the latter perhaps
he never heard. But if you would see him in his glory, look at him
at a scrub-race, mounted on one of his father's colts, taken without
leave from the pasture; his hat a little on one side; his neck begirt
with a colored handkerchief, the ends flying; the skirts of his coat
pinned about in front, and he is in his element. A Vermonter is
rarely a drunkard, away from his native state; but to him, and the
smooth-faced, precise inhabitant of Connecticut, we are indebted for
the bad odor in which yankees are held in the middle and southern
states, among the lower order of people, by their sharp bargains, by
biting those who intended to eat them up; for they are not always the
aggressors in a bargain, beyond the latitude of trade law.
The strongest attachments of the Vermonter are for his horses and
cattle, for he was brought up among them, and is taught to regard
them as the sources of profit. Until the age of twenty-one, he is
buckled close to the barn-yard and stables; but at that age, he is
free, and goes from home to seek his fortune in the capacity of
pedlar, clerk, student at medicine or law, or to college, if he has a
bookish turn, but never as a servant.
Vermont is the most republican of any state in the Union. There,
people are more upon an equality than elsewhere; the rate of
intelligence, education, property, are more upon a par. It has no
clownish aristocracy, like New-Hampshire; no mushroom importance,
like New-York; no _golden privileges_, like Massachusetts; but
simple and contented, intelligent and industrious, hospitable and
honest, without pretensions and disdaining show, running into no
wild chimeras of improvement, and only a little mad upon masonry, it
stands firm as its own Green Mountains, full of the purest American
character.
Here was the inhabitant of the coast, the polished New-Englander from
sea-board, with his literature and his sectional pride, his love of
the arts, his belief that Cambridge College is the first institution
in the country, and the Unitarian doctrine the most splendid of
religious speculation. He is small in stature, for the most part,
and has an intellectual face, and a head full of bumps. His dress is
simple and neat; his feet and hands are small, but his fingers are
short and clumpish, showing that he is not anxious to talk of his
grand-father. His manners are retiring and unobtrusive, not as if he
lacked self-respect, but as if he feared others would not estimate
him properly. It is his pride of character that keeps him silent,
and causes him to stand aloof among strangers; for he would not be
thought guilty of the vulgar habit of presumption, for his right
hand. Show him that you respect him, and he is transformed in an
instant; he is all openness and sociability, ready to be obliged,
or to bestow favors. He sympathizes with you, till you almost love
him like a brother--so aptly does he glide into the bent of your
feelings. You will find him more literary than scientific; he writes
better than he talks; judges better than he acts; for he is much
given to impulse and enthusiasm of the subdued kind, which works like
fire around his heart, while the exterior man--the surface of his
demeanor--is calm and passionless; he thinks more than he says, and
reads more than you have any idea of. His taste is refined, and his
sensibility acute.
Science belongs to Yale College, with her grand professor Silliman;
but fine writing, criticism, and moral philosophy, belong to
Cambridge. Cambridge sends forth eloquent divines, poets, sculptors,
and painters; Yale breeds sound lawyers, scientific doctors, and
superstitious theologians.
The tall Virginian, with his rakish air, his big mouth, his large
teeth, his long legs, and profuse hair, was next pointed out to me.
He may be known the world over, by his independent way of chewing
tobacco. He squirts out the juice, black as your hat, by the gill, as
he walks the streets, or stands at the door of the hotel. He seems
as if surrounded by slaves, so towering is his look. He is rarely a
student, except in inventing strange oaths or a new-fashioned hat
and cane. His family descent is his hobby; and this, in his opinion,
makes up for all deficiencies.
Any one may single out the Georgian and the inhabitants of any of
the Gulf-states. They are small, dark, men, who look as if they wore
daggers. Their air is indolent and careless, when unexcited; but if
they receive some slight or opposition, their dark eyes flash, and
their lips close tight, with the intensest passion. They are confused
by northern manners and yankee plainness. You rarely see them laugh,
though they sneer most bitterly at things they dislike, or which
are foreign to their own customs. As they come to the North to be
educated, they herd with the Carolinians at our colleges and schools;
continually quarreling among themselves, and slandering each other,
they only agree to hate the 'd----d yankees.'
CHAPTER XV.
I FOUND among the students many whom I had known at college slightly.
They received me with the greatest kindness and cordiality. They
knew enough of my struggles, and thought well enough of my good
intentions, to do all they could to heal the wounds I had received.
Beside, they knew they had misjudged me at college. I certainly
had some good qualities; I was very sincere; spoke my sentiments,
any thing that came into my head, right out, without regard to
consequences. However imprudent such a course is, we cannot help
liking a person who possesses a quality so rare. It was not a
virtue in me, but I did it from a wild impulse, a recklessness of
consequences; and finding that it gained me friends, and raised
a good-natured laugh, I carried it to excess; criticizing my own
faults, confessing every weakness, and telling people just what I
thought of them.
I do not know when I have passed a more delightful evening than the
first after my arrival in this place. With me were C----, and F----,
and L----, and D----, all old friends, who had always clung to me,
and predicted my reformation. We were all changed, as men always
change after leaving college, and mingling in the world, and getting
rid of the hateful jealousy, the struggle for rank, the boyish pride,
and hot blood, which characterizes students at college, pitted
against each other for the prize of parts. We sat together at a spot
overlooking the finest landscape I know of. It was a calm summer
evening, and the holy rest of nature poured quietness and complacency
into our hearts. We silently regarded each other, and let fall the
easy remark, each word opening to us the fact that we were different
beings from what we were when we parted.
Men educated in the same way, do not talk in round sentences, like
the characters in a novel. They interchange ideas by a word, a look,
a smile, a gesture; even in silence they hold communion, in looking
at a picture or a prospect. Observe how the Indians talk; this is a
perfect instance of the near sympathy they have for one another. A
shrug of the shoulder, a grunt, or a gesture, a movement of the head
or hand, is sufficient to convey their meaning.
My friends saw that I had a good room; they let me into the habits
of the place, and drew a fascinating picture of the life they led.
I never was so happy. All the dark spots in my life vanished, and I
looked only upon bright and joyous anticipations. I was away from
scenes of hateful remembrance, and seemed to have began anew. I felt
grateful for the chance that brought me there.
I do not intend to dwell long upon this law school; and I have
introduced it more for the sake of showing the effect of character
upon character, than any thing else, and to illustrate how our very
best sympathies, unless properly guarded, may lead us into error.
Law was pursued in this institution with all the plan and regularity
with which any school is conducted. Recitations were held every day,
and the lessons marked out. I admire this way of getting into the dry
details of an uninteresting profession by the beginner. By getting
lessons, short lessons, every day, at the end of a few months the
student finds himself the master of much information and technical
knowledge which he never would have attained by himself, without the
severest self-control and discipline.
It is every thing to the student at law to get a right start; to
lay the foundation well for future reading and practice. Very many
lawyers, particularly in the state of New-York, get a knowledge of
their profession after they are admitted. The time of their clerkship
is spent in copying legal instruments, and attending to the matter of
practice, while principles, and the origin and reason of these forms
and technicalities, are regarded with indifference. Surely, no man
can be a good lawyer--useful, protecting the poor, and guarding the
rights of the widow and the orphan, exposing crime and supporting
straight-forwardness and virtue--who is not also a good scholar, a
general reader, a nice observer, and sound reasoner. Certainly, a
mere machine to hold a pen, and bully in pettifogging suits, cannot
be this.
My friend C---- kept a friend's eye upon me, for he soon saw
my failing; and so he dragged me to my duty by the gentle and
strong persuasion of a friend; the kind and well-meant hint, more
influential upon a generous mind than rivets of iron, or the
severest authority. I _was_ a good student here for three months.
My self-satisfaction and confidence, my reasonings in my own favor,
(most dangerous to our peace are such) put me off my guard, and----
But I will tell you.
I had frequently observed a tall, thin, pale, and very genteel
young man passing the street. I had seen him once or twice at a law
lecture. He evidently belonged to the school. I was surprised, too,
that he seemed to know no one, and none of the students bowed to him,
as they passed each other in the way. The first time I saw him, his
back was toward me. He was elegantly, fastidiously dressed. His walk
was very fine, and was the gait of a gentleman. I felt a strong
interest to see his face; and when I came to look upon his pale,
melancholy countenance, haggard with care and disappointment, I felt
my heart lean toward him; I pitied him from the bottom of my soul.
I discovered that our study-rooms were contiguous, and determined to
work myself, by some means, into an acquaintance with him. One night,
as I was sitting late at my window, looking at the moon, and thinking
of by-gone times, when I had one beside me to enjoy such scenes with,
the sweetest and most melancholy voice met my ear I had ever heard.
The song it sung was plaintive, and the sounds seemed like breathings
out of the heart. This feast continued for hours. Now I could only
hear a low chant, and then a wild burst of melody, that seemed to
pierce the sky; varied again and again, with the most astonishing
skill.
I found out, by some means, that the voice was that of Collins, the
name of the young man whom I was so anxious to know.
I could not be satisfied, until I had his acquaintance. I wished to
become his friend. I knew what it was to be wretched and lonely, and
I felt criminal in neglecting him. I talked with particular friends
about him, but they answered equivocally. 'They did not know why
Collins did not associate more with them. His distance was his own
work; he was a singular young man, and they believed he lived upon
opium; that he was strange and eccentric, and chose to be alone.'
C---- said: 'You had better let him alone; he can do you no good; his
case is a hopeless one, and as for his melancholy, it is all fudge.'
All I heard, only determined me to seek him out, and find what could
occasion such habitual sadness.
Collins received my advances in a very gentlemanly way, though he
showed no disposition to palm himself off upon me. He had been
absent, until a short time before I saw him, from the school, and
treated me as a new-comer; spoke very handsomely of the students,
and seemed to know the character and course of every man in the
institution. I was charmed with the elegance of his manners, the
acuteness of his mind, and his general acquaintance with literature.
He soon returned my civility, and we gradually became acquainted.
He pursued his usual habits without any secrecy, and apparently as if
there was no harm in such courses. His mornings were usually spent
in a deep sleep, more resembling a lethargy than refreshing rest,
from which nothing could rouse him. He rose about mid-day and read
until night, hardly taking any nourishment. At night he seemed to
revel in a world of his own creation; he would sit for hours in one
position, chanting low airs, his spirits kept alive by opium and
worse stimulus. I never could discover the least mark of intoxication
in Mr. Collins, as every body called him. His person was scrupulously
neat, his dress always adjusted with the nicest regard to fashion and
elegance. His language was at all times proper, and his sentiments
refined. His mien was dignified and graceful. Had it not been for
his haggard cheek, and the unnatural brightness of his eye, sensual
indulgence would be the last vice one could have attributed to him.
The mind of this young man was radically wrong. He had no fixed
principle, and if he did right, it was to be in good taste, not to be
in opposition to error. Blackstone says, that 'to do right is only
to pursue one's own substantial happiness;' and it may be said, that
to do right, is to pursue good taste, elegance, refinement, true
pleasure, and pure happiness.
Collins was unhappy; he hardly knew why. Possessed of a poetic
temperament--nurtured in the lap of ease and wealth--every thing
provided for him, he had never learned _to think_, to reason, but
gave free scope to any impulse that came across him. Misfortune
he could not bear, for he had never calculated for its inevitable
coming; disappointment unmanned him, for he esteemed that wealth
exempted him from the common lot of mortality. He had had an
unfortunate attachment--as what young man has not?--and he thought he
must be melancholy and wretched, to be Byronic and sentimental.
He was, as I found out upon a longer acquaintance, for my own
foolish fancies made me singularly acute in tracing the rhapsodies
of feeling in others, in a false and unnatural state of mind; a
maniac, a madman, unsound. We are apt only to attach the name of
madness to extravagant actions and incoherent words, but there is a
madness which escapes the common eye--a madness of the soul, which
as effectually destroys the balance and contracts the usefulness of
man's life, as the wildest inconsistencies of conduct.