"Their ends as various as the roads they take
In journeying through life."
There is no class of men to whom the memory turns with more
complacency, or more frequently, than to those who "taught the young
idea how to shoot." There may be a few tyrants of the birch, who never
inspired a feeling save fear or hatred; yet their number is but few,
and I would say that the schoolmaster _is abroad_ in more senses than
that in which it is popularly applied. He is abroad in the memory and
in the affections of his pupils; and his remembrance is cherished
wheresoever they may be. For my own part, I never met with a teacher
whom I did not love when a boy, and reverence when a man; from him
before whom I used to stand and endeavour to read my task in his eyes,
as he held the book before his face, and the page was reflected in his
spectacles--and from his spectacles I spelled my _qu_--to him who, as
an elder friend, bestowed on me my last lesson. When a man has been
absent from the place of his nativity for years, and when he returns
and grasps the hands of his surviving kindred, one of his first
questions to them (after family questions are settled) is--"Is Mr ----,
my old schoolmaster, yet alive?" And if the answer be in the
affirmative, one of the first on whom he calls is the dominie of his
boyhood; and he enters the well-remembered school--and his first
glance is to the seat he last occupied--as an urchin opens the door
and admits him, as he gently taps at it, and cries to the master (who
is engaged with a class), when the stranger enters--
"Sir, here's one wants you."
Then steps forward the man of letters, looking anxiously--gazing as
though he had a right to gaze in the stranger's face; and, throwing
out his head, and particularly his chin, while he utters the
hesitating interrogative--"Sir?" And the stranger replies--"You don't
know me, I suppose? I am such-an-one, who was at your school at such a
time." The instiller of knowledge starts--
"What!" cries he, shifting his spectacles, "you Johnnie (Thomas, or
Peter, as the case may be) So-and-so?--it's not possible! O man, I'm
glad to see ye! Ye'll mak me an auld man, whether I will or no. And
how hae ye been, and where hae ye been?"--And, as he speaks, he flings
his tawse over to the corner where his desk stands. The young stranger
still cordially shakes his hand, a few kindly words pass between them,
and the teacher, turning to his scholars, says--"You may put by your
books and slates, and go for the day;" when an instantaneous movement
takes place through the school; there is a closing of books, a
clanking of slates, a pocketing of pencils, a clutching for hats,
caps, and bonnets, a springing over seats, and a falling off seats, a
rushing to the door, and a shouting when at the door a "_hurra for
play!_"--and the stranger seems to have made a hundred happy, while
the teacher and he retire, to
"Drink a cup o' kindness,
For auld langsyne."
But to proceed with our story of stories. There was a Dr Montgomery, a
native of Annan, who, after he had been for more than twenty years a
physician in India, where he had become rich, visited his early home,
which was also the grave of his fathers. There were but few of his
relatives in life when he returned (for death makes sad havoc in
families in twenty years); but, after he had seen them, he inquired if
his old teacher, Mr Grierson, yet lived; and being answered in the
affirmative, the doctor proceeded to the residence of his first
instructor. He found him occupying the same apartments in which he
resided thirty years before, and which were situated on the south side
of the main street, near the bridge.
When the first congratulations--the shaking of hands and the
expressions of surprise--had been got over, the doctor invited the
dominie to dinner; and, after the cloth was withdrawn, and the better
part of a bottle of port had vanished between them, the man of
medicine thus addressed his ancient preceptor:--
"Can you inform me, sir, what has become of my old class-fellows?--who
of them are yet in the land of the living?--who have caught the face
of fortune as she smiled, or been rendered the 'sport o' her slippery
ba'?' Of the fate of one of them I know something, and to me their
history would be more interesting than a romance."
"Do ye remember the names that ye used to gie ane anither?" inquired
the man of letters, with a look of importance, which showed that the
history of the whole class was forthcoming.
"I remember them well," replied the doctor; "there were seven of us:
Solitary Sandy--Glaikit Willie--Venturesome Jamie--Cautious
Watty--Leein' Peter--Jock the dunce--and myself."
"And hae ye forgot the lounderings that I used to gie ye, for ca'in
ane anither such names?" inquired Mr Grierson, with a smile.
"I remember you were displeased at it," replied the other.
"Weel, doctor," continued the teacher, "I believe I can gratify your
curiosity, and I am not sure but you'll find that the history of your
class-fellows is not without interest. The career of some of them has
been to me as a recompense for a' the pains I bestowed on them, and
that o' others has been a source o' grief. Wi' some I hae been
disappointed, wi' ithers, surprised; but you'll allow that I did my
utmost to fleech and to thrash your besetting sins out o' ye a'. I
will first inform ye what I know respecting the history of Alexander
Rutherford, whom all o' ye used to ca' Solitary Sandy, because he
wasna a hempy like yoursels. Now, sir, harken to the history of