The summer of 1843 was bright with the anticipations of college life to
the eager boy. Manhood seemed dawning upon him, in all its glory. Since
his examinations, the great Dr. McConaughy had grasped his hand so
kindly and drawn him to his side; then putting his arm around him had
said, as he brushed the long, light hair from his forehead,--
“You are a brave boy; I am glad to see you and know you. We shall have
a good place ready for you September third, and I shall be glad to see
you in my home.”
The president of Washington and Jefferson College could appreciate to
the full the fact before him, that this boy, without the aid of high
school or academy, was more than ready for the studies and honors of
college.
[Illustration: WASHINGTON AND JEFFERSON COLLEGE]
The three months of summer were not lost. A general review was had,
and particular attention paid to toning him up physically. He would
plunge into the river and swim to his heart’s content; dash away on
horse-back for a good ride; go over to Brownsville, where they all did
their trading, on errands, and regularly for the papers and magazines;
go on excursions up and down the river, and, withal, help in the field,
especially at harvest-time, and fill up regular hours with his best
endeavors at study. So that he was not rusty and broken in habit,
when September came; and it came very soon. His going to college was
quite an event for the community. The neighbors took pride in it, for
James was greatly beloved. His exploits with books were known to all.
Teachers had reported his progress and rejoiced in it.
It took a long while to say all the good-byes, but early Monday morning
he was off, and soon nicely settled in a good boarding-place, and when
the great bell rang out the beginning of new school-year, James G.
Blaine was in his place taking in the situation in all its magnitude
and interest.
There were one hundred and seventy-five scholars present, all boys and
young men. There was a young ladies’ school, or seminary, in another
part of the town, but they were entirely separated, and boys and girls
were not mingled together, as now in some of our colleges.
James devoted himself strictly to study, and retired promptly at ten
o’clock each night. He found himself in a large class of bright,
energetic students, full of pranks, jokes, and fun, but still boys of
nerve, and pluck, and ample brain; boys who had been well fitted for
the task before them, many of them in the preparatory department of the
institution itself, so that they were familiar with the place, and had
known each other for several years. They were not long in finding that
the new boy, who came from down near the big bridge, knew about Greek
and Latin grammars, and could read without difficulty when his turn
came.
He did not have the town-boy sort of look that many of the others
had, but his good manners, and kind, easy ways made them feel and
acknowledge that he was a little gentleman, anyhow. His mother had
never neglected her boy, and his father, being a professional man,
knew the joy and worth of being a gentleman; and, if they had done but
little, his grandfather had planted seeds of kindness in him enough to
produce a bountiful harvest. He moulded and shaped his ways and manners
to the clear, strong model that was never wanting in the old Scottish
clans and seems to remain in the very blood and very atmosphere of life
and character.
There was nothing brusque or acrid about him. He took on and wore the
air and atmosphere of the enlightened, quiet, and cultured home-life
in which he was brought up. He was modest and retiring, there for
a purpose, and devoted to its accomplishment. It was not hard,
distasteful work to him, but a loved and longed-for opportunity. He
had no ills or aches to nurse, or trouble him. He felt greatly the
absence from home. But he was not off in Ohio now, only four and twenty
miles from old, familiar Indian Hill farm. But his books absorbed him;
study roused and cheered him; competition electrified and nerved him.
Nothing would sting him like missing a question, or any petty failure.
But these were few and simple. He took first rank at once, and held it
steadily to the end.
His life at college was a comparatively quiet one. He never appeared
upon a public exhibition, although he entered the societies, and took
part in debates, read essays, contributed to the college paper, and
delivered orations.
He was rather retiring in his disposition, and sought rather to be a
worshiper at the shrine of knowledge, than as is so often the case, be
worshiped.
The quiet reticence and reserve referred to may strike some, owing to
their knowledge of his dashing brilliancy of later years. But as a
surprise, the modest, unobtrusive habit was happily conducive to study,
and served as a guard against many of the intrusions of a student’s
life. While kind and affable, he was not of the hail-fellow-well-met
order. But he was not a recluse,--no monk with monkish ways. He was a
student, through and through, and he loved study; it satisfied him and
served his aspirations.
He was a boy no longer; he had come to himself, to self-consciousness;
a consciousness of his powers, to a recognition of his own personal
identity. Manhood was fast coming on him; he was out of childhood. It
was a new world in thought to him, and life at college a new world
in fact. He was respected and honored and trusted now, in a sense
different from being loved and petted and cared for at home. There
was not so much praise, but more power in it. He was on his own
responsibility now, and must rely largely upon his own resources.
Manliness was the needful quality. It was everywhere in demand. At
study it was the prelude to victory; in the recitation-room it was
the well-poised harbinger of success, and in association with others
it always won. This was just the quality that those who loved him had
sought to develop in him, and they had not failed. He would take hold
of the hardest task with a marvelous energy of resolve. His will was
a strong feature of his personality. It was an element of power that
served him now. He had reached a long-sought height and was pushing on.
Good teachers are not long in finding good scholars in a new class.
They look for them as a miner watches for gold, and prize them as
highly. There was such a teacher in the faculty at Washington, and to
Professor Murray Mr. Blaine feels a deep and lasting debt of gratitude.
Like all good teachers, he felt the dignity and power of his
profession. He could help the weakest into strength, and put a window
in the darkest mind by his varied questionings, illustrations,
suggestions, and explanations. He was quiet, but forceful, genial, but
severe if laziness or wanton disregard showed its hydra head. In his
own peculiar way, by virtue of an immense personality, he would light
up and enthuse a whole class-room.
The Professor found in young Blaine a pupil to his mind, and James
found in the teacher just the man of his heart. He learned to love
him. A genuine teacher can incarnate himself in his pupils, just as
Napoleon seemed to reproduce himself in his armies, firing them with
his spirit, arming them with his purpose, so that they would move with
the solid impetuosity of his own daring, scaling the Alps, triumphing
at Austerlitz, until they came to look, and breathe, and act him out
long after; but Professor Murray was training men and citizens of the
great Republic. His was a solemn, sacred work, of grave responsibility.
It was worthy of life and manhood’s strength and prime, as the great
ideals which burned in the heat of his glowing life fully assured him.
To sit in such a light, to dwell in such a presence, was to be lead
over the fields of conquest by the hand of Alexander after he had
conquered the world. No wonder this man is loved and honored, and his
memory cherished sacredly.
Outside of the regular college course, Mr. Blaine read through the New
Testament in Greek with him three times. This was a Sunday Bible-class
exercise, and shows how deeply his mind became imbued with the truths
of the Christian religion, which have since made him a devoted member
of the Congregational Church in Augusta, Maine.
James was no book-worm in college. He was a severe, close student. This
was his chief business there. He was on his honor, and loved his work,
and so did it well.
Prof. E. B. Neely, superintendent of schools in St. Joseph, Mo., an old
class-mate, says of him:--
“James G. Blaine was always looked up to as a leader, by his
class-mates, being universally recognized as such. While a close
student, he was genial in his habits, and decidedly popular with all,
being the very reverse of what is known as a book-worm.”
This is just what those who know him now have reason to expect was
the case, and yet it is very remarkable, from the fact that he was
seventeen and a half years of age when he graduated, and in a large
class of thirty-three, seventeen of whom entered the Christian ministry.
At the end he was one of those to divide the honors of his class, and
here again we are indebted to Professor Neely.
“Third, by reference to my class-book you will see that at the time
he graduated Mr. Blaine was given the second of the three honors of
the occasion. The first, the Latin salutatory, was delivered by Jno.
C. Hervey, of Virginia; the second, English salutatory, by James G.
Blaine, of Pennsylvania; and the third, Greek salutatory, by T. W.
Porter, of Pennsylvania.”
When Mr. Blaine graduated he delivered a masterly oration, most of
which he can speak to-day, after a lapse of thirty-seven years. The
subject was,--“The Rights and Duties of American Citizens.” How fitting
such a theme for such a man, and how admirably it shows his trend of
mind!
During his course at college, in 1844, occurred the great campaign of
Henry Clay. It had been Mr. Blaine’s privilege to meet Mr. Clay, and
he took the liveliest interest conceivable in the contest. He was a
very positive man, decided and aggressive, especially in his political
opinions. Of course the great question of the day was debated in the
college-society, and Mr. Blaine was on hand. He usually was on such
occasions, and had a large part in the discussion. He was so well read
in the history of the country and of parties, had entered so into the
merits of the campaign of General Harrison, four years before, that
with all his growth and acquisitions since, he was well qualified to
take his position and maintain it against all who chose a tilt with
him. His was the force of accumulated strength, the weight of reserved
power. He was so full of his subject, that it seemed to require no
effort to bring out the facts and figures and formulate the arguments
that demolished his antagonist. He joined, as if by instinct, the fresh
young Whig party of progress and of power. Clay was their idol, and
this was the hour of his destiny. No young life was ever given with
more ardent devotion to any cause than did the young collegian give
heart and thought, sympathy and endeavor, to the star so surely rising.
He lead in the fight among the boys, and won the day; and wherever
voice or influence could reach, he energized others with the wholesome
truths of political equity, justice, and common sense that filled
his soul. No wonder his theme on Commencement day was so near the
nation’s life. It was near his heart, and so his first great triumph
was celebrated by considering, back in those times of the slave-power,
_Rights and Duties of American Citizenship_.
Washington and Jefferson College was famous in those days for sending
forth great men. It was a great institution of the times. Indeed,
it was two colleges united. Jefferson College had been located at
Connersburgh, some four miles distant, and was merged into Washington
College at Washington.
This gave increased advantage in picked teachers, fuller endowment,
larger classes, and better appliances. To go to such an institution, a
mere boy and a total stranger, and take the lead and keep it through
his entire course, argues for the mental power and furnishing of the
boy, as well as his other qualities of heart and character. He led his
class in mathematics, as a fellow-student testifies, and thus showed
the unabated influence of his old Quaker teacher, Solomon Phillips.
The college-library was a great resort for him, a sort of second home.
Here he could delve, with no thought of time or weariness. It was his
delight and joy. Books seemed a part of him; he was seldom without
them, and yet he utilized, by good mental digestion and strong powers
of assimilation, the substance of what he read. He ranged over a wide
field, principally of English works then, as works of American authors
were comparatively few. Indeed, it is only within the last quarter of a
century the sneer, “Who reads an American book?” has ceased to sting.
Vacation was his busiest time with books. He was never empty, but
always full.
But all his study and meditation; all his reading, thought, and
observation; all he had gleaned, gathered, and garnered from books,
teachings, and associations; all that had come to him from newspapers,
periodicals, travel, great men, found their fitting and powerful
culmination in the great oration he delivered on Commencement day,
in June, 1847. It was sound and convincing, patriotic and manly, and
would do credit to any graduate to-day, though twice his age. It was
the key-note of a life-long career, which has ever since been urging in
a most potent way the rights, and discharging the duties of American
citizenship.
[Illustration]