THE AIMWELL STORIES.
Early in February, 1853, Rev. Mr. Bullard called at the office of the
“New England Farmer,” and invited Walter Aimwell to write a series of
“Letters to Boys,” to be published in the “Well-Spring,” of which the
former gentleman was editor.
This invitation was accepted; and the letters were so well received that,
after their publication in the juvenile periodical for which they were
originally written, they were collected and revised, and published in
book-form, under the title of “Boy’s Book of Morals and Manners.”
Walter Aimwell always had a genuine love of children and youth, and felt
a hearty interest in their real welfare, especially their moral welfare.
This love and this interest were stimulated, no doubt, by the great and
uniform success that attended all his writings in their behalf.
About the time of the publication of these “Letters to Boys,” he
proposed to himself the pleasure of writing a continuous story “to please
the young,” as he expressed it. The result was a story of considerable
length, which he handed to a friend for perusal, asking an opinion.
The friend gave a favorable criticism; and the author prepared it for
the press, intending to offer it to the firm of Gould & Lincoln for
publication. He called the story “Clinton.”
He took the manuscript with him to Boston, and twice he reached the door
of the publishers, and each time passed on without entering. Finally, his
modesty was so far overcome that he enclosed and sent it to them.
Soon he received from these gentlemen a letter, saying they had perused
the manuscript, and were much pleased with it; but that it would make a
book too small for their purposes. If he would add as much more, they
would undertake its publication upon their usual terms.
He went home and immediately commenced complying with their suggestion. A
plan for the extension of “Clinton” was laid out that very afternoon.
Other engagements interfering, he could not complete the book at once;
but in the latter part of September he carried it to the publishers.
They seemed to be pleased not only with the book, but also with the man
who wrote it; and they proposed plans and made offers which were quite
tempting to him, and would have been accepted if his health had been as
hardy as it once was.
“Clinton” was published on the day before Christmas, 1853. It hardly
seems necessary to tell the readers of the “Aimwell Stories” how very
fortunate “Clinton” was in pleasing the public.
It will be recollected that the scene of this book is laid in the State
of Maine. On one of “Mitchell’s Pocket Maps” he has marked the very spot
where the incidents of this interesting story are supposed to occur. It
is on the eastern side of the central portion of the county of Franklin,
near the head-waters of an unnamed branch of the Kennebec. On the map he
used, there is no town located very near. Brookdale, no doubt, was a name
of his own invention.
All the places and persons described existed in his mind with as much
distinctness, apparently, as if the scenes had been long familiar to him,
and the persons were those with whom he was intimately acquainted. To the
only friend with whom he freely conversed upon the subject, he always
spoke of them as really existing. Yet he never was very near the locality
selected for his story, nor is it known that a single character was
taken from among his acquaintances. He often expressed a determination to
visit, at some favorable opportunity in the future, this part of Maine,
that he might compare plain, unvarnished fact with fancy, which, indeed,
was equally plain and unvarnished.
The welcome that “Clinton” received from the public was the crowning
pleasure and success of the year 1853, which was, throughout, a year
of prosperity to Walter Aimwell. There was no return of the hemorrhage
of the lungs, and his general health appeared good. The condition of
his pecuniary affairs was improving, and to whatever he put his pen, it
prospered.
Of course, the praise which “Clinton” received from youthful readers and
from critics of high standing had not the effect to dampen the ardor
of Walter Aimwell’s interest in the young. In considering the amount
and condition of juvenile literature, he was persuaded that authors had
neglected the young far more than any other class in the community; and
that there was really a deficiency of books calculated to be of use to
them in the development of mind, and, above all, in the formation of
good character. As does every other person sufficiently desirous of the
improvement of society to think much about the means of accomplishing
it, he believed that the best and most effectual method lay in the
right training of the young. He could not conceal from himself the fact
that his pen was capable of achieving much in this useful and somewhat
neglected department of human labor. It was something he could undertake
without fear of failing in his duty in regard to engagements already
formed. For some time he silently revolved these facts in his own mind,
and by and by he consulted his publishers upon the expediency of writing
a series of books for the young, of which “Clinton” should be one. These
gentlemen were pleased with his plans, and agreed to publish the series.
If Walter Aimwell had undertaken to write the actual history of a
State, I do not know that he could have taken more pains to ascertain
the essential truth. He made boyhood a serious study. Whenever in his
reading he met any fact directly or remotely bearing upon the subject,
he carefully noted it. Such facts casually came to his attention in the
many newspapers and other periodicals which, as editor of the New England
Farmer, it was his duty to read. Besides this, he seems to have searched
biographies and histories for accounts of the childhood and youth of all
persons in any way distinguished.
Under the study-window of his pleasant cottage at Winchester, in the long
summer afternoons, little children often came to play. Never dreaming
that their characteristic features were being sketched, or that the music
of their voices was being echoed, in childish freedom they frolicked and
chatted away the sunny hours; and when their remarks appeared peculiarly
striking, their silent and unseen friend copied them word for word.
With such wise, patient, and faithful effort, could one of such sound
philosophy, and such cultivated power of clear and unaffected expression,
fail to write a lifelike, salutary, and successful book?
And here again is suggested another lesson which Walter Aimwell would
love to have his young readers learn from his life, as we know he
endeavored to teach it in his writings. If one wishes to do anything good
or sensible, he must have a definite purpose and work definitely for its
accomplishment. Nobody carelessly blunders into writing a good book, nor
into anything else of lasting value. Some young persons think a great
deal of what is called genius. I have heard a great deal of talk about
genius, as if it were something with which some persons are endowed,
by means of which they were enabled, in some inexplicable manner, to
do great deeds without thought or labor. I have known many different
persons, and some whose performances very far excelled those of others in
truthfulness and beauty of design and finish of workmanship; but I never
had the fortune to see one of those human curiosities who succeed, as one
may say, by accident, and without patience and effort. If a hearty love
of truth, and a willingness patiently to work for it, is genius, no doubt
Walter Aimwell had great genius; but so might have many a one who seems
to be lying about the highways and byways of human society, apparently as
useful as a loose pebble in the gutter.
At first, Walter Aimwell intended to call the proposed series by the name
of the Right-Aim Stories; but he soon changed this title to the equally
significant and more euphonious one of the “The Aimwell Stories.” His
plan embraced twelve volumes, in each of which he intended to portray,
with especial distinctness, some one character or peculiar species of
influence, and in all of which instruction and amusement should be
agreeably and inseparably united.
Although “Clinton” was the first written, the incidents of “Oscar” are
supposed to occur previous to those of the former volume; so that, in the
order of time, “Oscar” is the first of the series.
On Thursday, the second day of March, 1854, he came home at half-past two
o’clock and wrote the first six pages of “Oscar.” The weekly paper of
which he was general editor was published on Thursdays; and being more at
leisure on the two following days than at any other time during the week,
he wrote the principal portion of the “Aimwell Stories” on Fridays and
Saturdays.
He formed distinct ideas not only of the characters of his young
heroes and heroines, but also of their personal appearance. The date
of the birth of each was carefully written in a little note-book which
contained succinct accounts of their looks and moral and mental traits;
and throughout that portion of the series which he lived to complete
he continued to record the exact age of each, as well as the period at
which each volume is supposed to commence and conclude. In this manner
the stories became very real to him, every species of anachronism was
avoided, and the characters and incidents seemed so lifelike to his
readers that judicious critics were induced to believe that these books
were in large part actual histories of what had transpired under the
author’s observation.
Before “Oscar” was completed, that, with all other labors, was suspended
by the appearance of that symptom, full of painful meaning, which had
once before alarmed his friends. On the morning of the Fourth of July,
after having spent a restless night in consequence of the unhappy fashion
in which rude boys, and boys, too, who are not altogether rude, indulge
during the night preceding our national holiday, he discovered the
critical condition of his lungs. In this instance he was calm, as he
always was; and the ordinary remedies finding aid in the steadiness of
the patient, he soon recovered a degree of strength. Gradually he resumed
his usual round of occupations, and “Oscar” was finished in season to be
published on the 13th of December, 1854.
On the evening preceding the publication of “Oscar,” he began the third
of “The Aimwell Series,” called “Ella,” which he succeeded in finishing
before the end of the next May; and it was published in the latter part
of August.
In the October following, he commenced “Whistler.” He wrote but fifty
pages before the close of the year 1855; for in December, after an
interval of a year and a half, his lungs were again found to be in a
bleeding state. Again nature rallied, and he resumed his duties; but
“Whistler” was not completed until about a year after it was begun.
His writings are in the hands of those who read these lines, and it is
not necessary here to do more than remind readers of the faithfulness of
Walter Aimwell’s portraiture of boy-life. He received commendations of
the truth and general excellence of these stories from all hands, both in
the public prints and in private letters from those whose good opinion
he especially valued. Passages from them were quoted and inserted in
valuable school-books, and repeated at the exhibitions of academies and
public schools. But he never suffered himself to be flattered into any
relaxation of endeavor. However well he might have satisfied his friends,
he never thought he had reached his own standard.
Accordingly, about the time that “Whistler” was completed, we find him
saying in his journal,—referring to a boy whom he had just taken into his
family,—“In the management of him, and in the direction of his studies
(for he is to devote a part of his time to study), I anticipate meeting
to some extent a want which I feel as a writer for youth,—the want of an
actual and intimate contact with childhood, and an opportunity to study
its wants, tastes, feelings, etc., from real life.”
The want which the author himself felt, he never permitted his readers to
perceive. Said a boy to one of Walter Aimwell’s correspondents, “I guess
Walter Aimwell hasn’t forgotten when he was a boy himself.” Read Walter
Aimwell’s reply to a letter from a friend of his young critic:—
“WINCHESTER, Mass., Dec. 26, 1857.
“DEAR MADAM,—
“It was a very agreeable surprise that the sight of your
familiar handwriting gave me, as I opened your note of the
22d; for your writing still has a familiar look, though I do
not know that I have seen a scrap of it before for half a
dozen years. I cannot tell you how much pleasure the contents
of your letter gave me, or how grateful I am for this kind
and flattering notice of my little books. In the case of
such books, so far at least as to their power to _interest_,
children are the best critics, and their simple and artless
commendation is worth far more than the most fulsome newspaper
‘puff.’ I love children, and love to write for them, and, as
your little neighbor shrewdly guessed, have not quite forgotten
how I felt when I was a boy myself; and I may add that I
have no higher aspiration, in this world, than to acquire an
influence over the minds of the young, and leave upon them an
impress for good that time shall not efface.
“I hope to extend the ‘Aimwell Stories’ up to ten or twelve
volumes, and shall probably do so if my health holds out. I
fully sympathize with you in sentiment, and shall take your
suggestion into consideration. I have never thought much about
the matter, for the reason that it would not comport with the
design of these books to give special prominence to such a
subject. Still it might be introduced incidentally.
“Please to give my respects to your husband; and tell your
little boy that Mr. Aimwell will think of him when he writes
his next book, and will try to put something into it that he
can understand. And, for yourself, dear madam, accept the
assurance of the sincere esteem of
“Your obliged friend,
“WM. SIMONDS.”
In this connection, I transcribe a letter addressed by Walter Aimwell to
J. O. B., a brother of the lad whom he had admitted to his family. I copy
it not only because it proves the genuine interest he took in Edwin, but
also because, on account of its general nature, each youth reading these
pages may consider it addressed particularly to himself.
“WINCHESTER, Feb. 24, 1857.
“DEAR O.—
“Though I do not know that I ever saw you, my acquaintance
with Edwin and the rest of the family leads me to feel quite
an interest in you; and I improve the opportunity to enclose
a word or two in Edwin’s letter. Knowing the value of a
letter from home and friends to a young man among strangers,
I have often urged him to write to you. Now that he has
broken the ice, I hope you will encourage him to continue the
correspondence by contributing to it your share. It will not
only keep up a brotherly interest and attachment between you,
but it will be a good intellectual exercise for both of you.
“You have reached an interesting, and, in some respects,
critical age; and perhaps you do not sufficiently realize that
the whole future direction of your life may be influenced by
the bent you are now giving it. As I look back to my boyhood,
I can now see that the whole course of my life was decided
by purposes which I formed when about sixteen years old. I
can assure you that the habit now acquired, of improving your
leisure hours in study, and the reading of instructive books,
and the frequent use of the pen, will prove of inestimable
value to you hereafter; while it will keep you from many
present temptations, and at the same time afford you more real
present enjoyment than can be found in any of the frivolous
amusements to which many young men resort for recreation.
Such tastes and habits, united with purity of heart and life,
fidelity to daily duties, an unbending loyalty to right, and
reverence to God and his Word, constitute a better capital for
a young man than gold, and a safer reliance than troops of rich
friends.
“Your brother Edwin is getting along well, and has given entire
satisfaction since he has lived with us. I trust that he and
you and all your family will live to be useful and valued
members of society.
“Yours truly,
“WM. SIMONDS.”
On the third of January, 1857, Walter Aimwell made a beginning of
“Marcus,” and finished it upon the fifteenth of September of the same
year.
Carefully laid away among the materials he was gathering for the “Aimwell
Stories,” is the following letter, received soon after he commenced
writing “Marcus.” It was written to him as editor of the “New England
Farmer.” It is a pity that the printer has not any types that will fitly
represent the penmanship of “one of them kind of boys.” Notwithstanding
his ignorance, the simple fact that he wrote the letter at all indicates
that the lad possessed considerable mental force and independence of
character. He addresses Mr. Simonds as Mr. N., thinking, I suppose, that
the principal proprietor of the paper was the editor:—
“SALEM, Feb. 9, ’57,
“MR. N
“I now take my pen in hand to write to you before I begin I
wish to tell you that I do not know you nor do you know me
but I wish to tell you that I write to you for Advice. I want
you to give me your advice to a boy like me. I am a boy 14
years old and I am one of them kind that dont like to go to
school (but I am in school now) I always thought I should like
_farming_. I have several times started to run away. I shall
look for advice in your paper next Saturday night. (Be sure)
“I”
Walter Aimwell’s reply has so much practical excellence that I will not
forbear copying it in this place, although so doing leads me a little
aside from my purpose in writing this chapter:—
“A young correspondent writes to us for advice. He describes himself as a
boy of fourteen, and ‘one of them kind that don’t like to go to school.’
He says he is now attending school, but always thought he should like
farming, and has several times ‘started to run away.’ Our young friend
has not told us enough of his circumstances, character, or tastes, to
enable us to give him anything more than very general advice, and what we
shall say to him will be applicable to many other boys who have become
tired of going to school.
“‘I don’t like going to school’ is a very common complaint with boys. We
remember to have been once afflicted with it ourself; but deliverance
came to us before we were as old as our correspondent, and we have
rued the day ever since. We have learned a good many things since that
time. One of them is, that going to school is far from being the most
disagreeable thing a boy or a man ever has to do. Another is, that
neither boy nor man need hope to have everything just to his mind, but
must put up with many things that he does not like. Another is, that
nothing truly valuable is attained in this world without labor, pains,
and self-denial.
“Our young friend’s uneasiness, we judge, arises from a too ardent desire
for _present_ indulgence and happiness, without sufficient thought of his
future interests. He is unwilling to sow anything to-day which will not
yield its harvest before night. He should endeavor to correct this habit
of his mind. If he is in circumstances that will admit of his attending
school for two or three years longer, he ought to be thankful for it,
and try to make the best of his privileges. _This is most certainly the
course which he will hereafter wish he had taken._ But if he leaves
school half-educated because it isn’t pleasant, he will have an equally
good reason for leaving any trade or profession he may afterwards adopt;
and whatever he may become outwardly, he will never be a _man_, so long
as he is guided by such sordid and short-sighted motives. Education is
too precious a boon to be purchased without a struggle, but it is worth
a thousand times all that it costs. The child that should prefer to go
through the world toothless, rather than endure for a little while the
pain of teething, would be less foolish than those children who would
rather grow up in ignorance than subject themselves for a time to the
labors and discipline of the schoolroom.
“We say, then, to our young correspondent, think less of making yourself
happy, and more of doing your duty; or rather, try to find your happiness
in doing your duty. Apply yourself diligently to your studies, and if
you cannot find any present pleasure in the work, console and encourage
yourself with the thought that you will hereafter be well paid for your
pains. After two or three years, when your muscles have become sinewy
and firm enough for hard labor, and your mind matured by discipline and
study, choose your profession, and you will be able to pursue it in such
a way that you will not always have to remain at the foot of the ladder.
Your taste for farming is certainly a most hopeful feature in your case,
and may be gratified and cultivated, even while you are at school, by
reading, and in other ways. But do not ‘run away,’ unless you are abused
beyond the limit of endurance. There are very few cases in which a boy is
justified in taking this step; and even when justifiable, it may be far
from wise.
“If our young correspondent desires further advice, and will send us
a more particular account of his circumstances, giving us his real
name, we will endeavor to meet his wishes, either through our columns
or by private letter. Perhaps we ought to explain that the names of
correspondents are considered confidential, and are not made public in
connection with their articles or letters, unless they desire it.”
On the third day of October, 1857, the story of “Jessie” was begun; and
on the eighteenth of September of the following year it was concluded.
This was the last original book that he lived to complete.
During a part of the time that he was engaged upon this juvenile series,
he compiled a volume intended particularly for the perusal of those
parents who had been called to part with little children. It was entitled
“Our Little Ones in Heaven.” It is a superior collection of prose and
verse, and after being issued by his usual publishers in this country, it
was republished in England.
Of the twelve volumes of which he intended to have the “Aimwell Stories”
consist, only six had been published at the time of his death, namely:—
Oscar; or, the Boy who had his own Way.
Clinton; or, Boy-life in the Country.
Ella; or, Turning over a New Leaf.
Whistler; or, the Manly Boy.
Marcus; or, the Boy-Tamer.
Jessie; or, Trying to be Somebody.
The remainder of the series he had entitled
Jerry; or, Young Jack ashore.
Emily; or, the Young Housekeeper.
Ralph, the Tip-Top Boy.
Ettie; —— ——.
Ronald; or, the Adopted Son.
Annie —— ——.
Although, among his manuscripts, he has left some vague hints of his
intentions in regard to the unwritten volumes, they are such as none
but himself could fully understand, and no other hand could venture to
finish what he had commenced; therefore, the fragment of “Jerry,” which
is published in this volume, must forever remain the last of the “Aimwell
Stories.”
“Jerry” was commenced on the twenty-eighth day of November, 1858, and its
last lines were written on the twenty-second of January, 1859. In view of
his increasing infirmity, he resolved that if he were not otherwise able
to finish “Jerry” in season for publication in 1859, he would resign his
place in the “New England Farmer” office on the first of July. At the
close of the first week in July, he had resigned everything that earth
could give.