PRAIRIE ISLAND.
The beautiful country between Lake Michigan, or old Fort Dearborn, and
the Mississippi, or Rock Island, was once a broad prairie, a sea of
flowers, birds, and bright insects. The buffaloes roamed over it in
great herds, and the buffalo-birds followed them. The sun rose over it
as over a sea, and the arched aurora rose red above it like some far
gate of a land of fire. Here the Sacs and Foxes roamed free; the Iowas
and the tribes of the North. It was one vast sunland, a breeze-swept
brightness, almost without a dot or shadow.
Almost, but not quite. Here and there, like islands in a summer sea,
rose dark groves of oak and vines. These spots of refreshment were
called prairie islands, and in one of these islands, now gone, a pioneer
colony made their homes, and built a meeting-house, which was also to be
used as a school-house. Six or more of these families were from
Germantown, Pennsylvania, and were Tunkers. The other families were from
the New England States.
To this nameless village, long ago swept away by the prairie fires, went
Jasper the Parable, with his cobbling-tools, his stories, and his gospel
of universal love and good-will. The Tunkers welcomed him with delight,
and the emigrants from New England looked upon him kindly as a good and
well-meaning man. There were some fifteen or twenty children in the
settlement, and here the peaceful disciple of Pestalozzi, and friend of
Froebel, applied for a place to teach, and the school was by unanimous
consent assigned to him.
So began the school at Prairie Island--a school where the first
principles of education were perceived and taught, and that might
furnish a model for many an ambitious institution of to-day.
"It is life that teaches," the Parable used to say, quoting Pestalozzi.
"The first thing to do is to form the habits that lead to character; the
next thing is to stamp the young mind with right views of life; then
comes book-learning--words, figures, and maps--but stories that educate
morally are the primer of life. Christ taught spiritual truths by
parables. I teach formative ideas by parables. The teacher should be a
story-teller. In my own country all children go through fairy-land. Here
they teach the young figures first, as though all of life was a
money-market. It is all unnatural and wrong. I must teach and preach by
stories."
The school-house was a simple building of logs and prairie grass, with
oiled paper for windows, and a door that opened out and afforded a view
of the vast prairie-sea to the west. Jasper taught here five days in a
week, and sang, prayed, and exhorted on Sunday afternoons, and led
social meetings on Sunday evenings. The little community were united,
peaceful, and happy. They were industrious, self-respecting people, who
were governed by their moral sense, and their governing principle
seemed to be the faith that, if a person desired and sought to follow
the divine will, he would have a revelation of spiritual light, which
would be like the opening of the gates of heaven to him. Nearly every
man and woman had some special experience of the soul to tell; and if
ever there was a community of simple faith and brotherhood, it was here.
Jasper's school began in the summer, when the sun was high, the cool
shadows of the oaks grateful, and the bluebells filled the tall, wavy
grasses, and the prairie plover swam in the air.
Jasper's first teaching was by the telling of stories that leave in the
young mind right ideas and impressions.
"My children, listen," said the gracious old man, as he sat down to his
rude desk, "and let me tell you some stories like those Pestalozzi used
to tell. Still, now!"
He lifted his finger and his eyebrows, and sat a little while in
silence.
"Hark!" he said. "Hear the birds sing in the trees! Nature is teaching
us. When Nature is teaching I listen. Nature is a greater teacher than
I, or any man."
The little school sat in silence and listened. They had never heard the
birds sing in that way before. Presently there was a hush in the trees.
"Now I will begin," said he.
_PESTALOZZI'S STORIES._
"Did you ever see a mushroom? Yes, there are mushrooms under the cool
trees. Once, in the days when the plants and flowers and trees all
talked--they talk now, but we have ceased to hear them, a little
mushroom bowed in the winds, and said to the grass:
"'See how I grow! I came up in a single night. I am smart.'
"'Yes,' said the grass, waving gently.
"'But you,' said the smart little mushroom, 'it takes you a whole year
to grow.'
"The grass was sorry that it took so long for it to grow, and hung its
head, and thought, and thought.
"'But,' said the grass, 'you spring up in the night, and in a day or two
you are gone. It takes me a year to grow, but I outlive a hundred crops
of mushrooms. I will have patience and be content. Worth is of slow
growth.'
"In a week the boastful little mushroom was gone, but the grass bloomed
and bore seed, and left a lovely memory behind it. Hark! hear the breeze
in the trees! Nature is teaching now. Listen!
"Now I will tell you another little story, such as I used to hear
Pestalozzi relate. I am going to tell this story to myself, but you may
listen. I have told a story to you, but now I will talk to myself.
"There once was a king, who had been riding in the sun, and he saw afar
a lime-tree, full of cool, green leaves. Oh, how refreshing it looked to
him! So he rode up to the lime-tree, and rested in the shadow.
"The leaves all clung to the branches, and the winds whispered among
them, but did not blow them away.
"Then the king loved the tree, and he said:
"'O tree, would that my people clung to me as thy leaves do to thy
branches!'
"The tree was pleased, and spoke:
"'Would you learn from me wisdom to govern thy people?'
"'Yes, O lime-tree! Speak on.'
"'Would you know, then, what makes my leaves so cling to my branches?'
"'Yes, O Lime Tree! Speak on.'
"'I carry to them the sap that nourishes them. 'Tis he that gives
himself to others that lives in others, and is safe and happy himself.
Do that, and thy kingdom shall be a lime-tree.'"
A child brought into the room a bunch of harebells and laid them upon
the teacher's desk.
"Look!" said Jasper, "Nature is teaching. Let us be quiet a little and
hear what she has to say. The harebells bring us good-will from the sun
and skies. There is goodness everywhere, and for all. Let us be
grateful.
"Now I will give you another little Pestalozzian story, told in my own
way, and you may tell it to your fathers and mothers and neighbors when
you go home.
"There was once a man who had two little ponies. They were pretty
creatures, and just alike. He sold one of them to a hard-hearted man,
who kicked him and beat him; and the pony said:
"'The man is my enemy. I will be his, and become a cunning and vicious
horse.'
"So the pony became cunning and vicious, and threw his rider and
crippled him, and grew spavined and old, and every one was glad when he
was dead.
"The man sold the other pony to a noble-hearted man, who treated him
kindly and well. Then the pony said:
"'I am proud of my master. I will become a good horse, and my master's
will shall be my own.'
"Like the master became the horse. He became strong and beautiful. They
chose him for the battle, and he went through the wars, and the master
slept by his side. He bore his master at last in a triumphal procession,
and all the people were sorry when he came to die. Our minds here are
one of the little colts.
"So we will all work together. The lesson is ended. You have all the
impressions that you can bear for one day. Now we will go out and play."
But the play-ground was made a field of teaching.
"There are plays that form right ideas," said Jasper, "and plays that
lead to an evil character. I teach no plays that lead to cruelty or
deception. I would no sooner withhold amusements from my little ones
than water, but my amusements, like the water, must be healthy and
good."
There was one odd play that greatly delighted all the children of the
Prairie Island school. The idea of it was evolved in the form of a
popular song many years afterward. In it the children are supposed to
ask an old German musician how many instruments of music he could play,
and he acts out in pantomime all of the instruments he could blow or
handle. We think it was this merriment that became known in America as
the song of Johnnie Schmoker in the minstrel days.
Not the children only, but the parents also all delighted to see Jasper
pretend to play all the instruments of the German band. Often at
sunset, when the settlers came in from the corn-fields and rested under
the great trees, Jasper would delight the islanders, as they called
themselves, with this odd play.
"The purpose of education," Jasper used to repeat over and over to his
friends in this sunny island of the prairie sea, "is not to teach the
young how to make money or get wealth by a cunning brain, but how to
live for the soul. The soul's best interests are in life's highest
interest, and there is no poverty in the world that is like spiritual
poverty. In the periods of poetry a nation is great; and when poetry
fails, the birds cease to sing and the flowers to bloom, and divinities
go away, and the heart turns to stone."
There was one story that he often repeated to his little school. The
pupils liked it because there was action in it, as in the play-story of
the German musician. He called it "CHINK, CHINK, CHINK"--though we
believe a somewhat similar story is told in Germany under the name of
"The Stone-cold Heart."
He would clasp his hands together and strike them upon his knee, making
a sound like the jingling of silver coin. Any one can produce this
curious sound by the same action.
"Chink, chink, chink," he would say. "Do you hear it? Chink, chink,
chink. Listen, as I strike my hands on my knees. Money? Now I will open
my hands. There is no money in them; it was fool's gold, all.
"There lived in a great German forest a poor woodman. He was a giant,
but he had a great heart and a willing arm, and he worked contentedly
for many years.
"One day he chanced to go with some foresters into the city. It was a
festival day. He heard the jingle of money, just like that" (striking
his clasped hands on his knee). "He saw what money would buy. He thought
it would buy happiness. He did not know that it was fool's gold, all.
"He went back to his little hut in the forest feeling very unhappy. His
wife kissed him on his return, and his children gathered around him to
hear him tell the adventures of the day, but his downcast spirit made
them all sad.
"'What has happened?' asked his wife. 'You always seemed happy until
to-night.'
"'And I was always happy until to-day. But I have seen the world to-day,
and now I want that which will buy everything.'
"'And what is that?' asked his wife.
"'Listen! It sounds like that,' and he struck his clasped hands on his
knee--chink, chink, chink. 'If I had that, I would bring to you and the
little ones the fine things I saw in the city, and you would be happy.
You are contented now because you do not know.'
"'But I would rather that you would bring to me a happy face and loving
heart,' said his wife. 'You know that the Book says that "a man's life
consisteth not in the abundance of the things which he possesseth." Love
makes happiness, and gold is in the heart.'
"The forester continued to be sad. He would sit outside of his door at
early evening and pound his hands upon his knees so--chink, chink,
chink--and think of the gay city. Then he would strike his hands on his
knees again. He did not know that it was fool's gold, all.
"He grew more and more discontented with his simple lot. One day he went
out into the forest alone to cut wood. When he had become tired he sat
down by a running stream to hear the birds sing and to strike his hands
on his knees.
"A shadow came gliding across the mosses of the stream. It was like the
form of a dark man. Slowly it came on, and as it did so the flowers on
the banks of the stream withered. The woodman looked up, and a black
giant stood before him.
"'You look unhappy to-day,' said the black giant. 'You did not use to
look that way. What is wanting?'
"The woodman looked down, clasped his hands, and struck them on his
knees--chink, chink, chink.
"'Ah, I see--money! The world all wants money. Selfishness could not
thrive without money. I will give you all the money that you want, on
one condition.'
"'Name it.'
"'That you will exchange your heart.'
"'What will you give me for my heart?'
"'Your heart is a human heart, a very simple human heart. I will put in
its place a heart of stone, and then all your wishes shall turn to gold.
Whatever you wish you shall have.'
"'Shall I be happy?'
"'Happy! Ha, ha, ha! are not people happy who have their wishes?'
"'Some are, and some are happy who give up their wishes and wills and
desires."
"The woodman leaned his face upon his hands for a while, seemed in
great doubt and distress. He thought of his wife, who used to say that
contentment was happiness, and that one could be rich by having a few
wants. Then he thought of the city. The vision rose before him like a
Vanity Fair. He clasped his hands again, and struck them on his
knees--chink, chink, chink--and said, 'I will do it.'
"Suddenly he felt a heart within him as cold as stone. He looked up to
the giant, and saw that he held his own good, true heart in his hands.
"'I will put it away in a glass jar in my house,' he said, 'where I keep
the hearts of the rich. Now, listen. You have only to strike your locked
hands on your knees three times--chink, chink, chink--whenever you want
for gold, and wish, and you will find your pockets full of money.'
"The woodman struck his palms on his knees and wished, then felt in his
pockets. Sure enough, his pockets were full of gold.
"He thought of his wife, but his thought was a cold one; he did not love
her any more. He thought of his little ones, but his thoughts were
frozen; he did not care to meet them any more. He thought of his
parents, but he only wished to meet them to excite their envy. The
stream no longer charmed him, nor the flowers, nor the birds, nor
anything.
"'I will dissemble,' he said. He hurried home. His wife met him at the
door. He kissed her. She started back, and said:
"'Your lips are cold as death! What has happened?'
"His children kissed him, but they said:
"'Father, your cheeks are cold.'
"He tried to pray at the meal, but his sense of God was gone; he did not
love God, or his wife, or his children, or anything any more--he had a
stone-cold heart.
"After the evening meal he told his wife the events of the day. She
listened with horror.
"'In parting with your heart you have parted with everything that makes
life worth having,' said she. But he answered:
"'I do not care. I do not care for anything but gold now. I have a
stone-cold heart.'
"'But will gold make you happy?' she asked.
"He started. He went forth to work the next day, but he was not happy.
So day by day passed. His gold did not make his family happy, or his
friends, or any one, but he would not have cared for all these, for he
had a stone-cold heart. Had it made him happy? He saw the world all
happy around him, and heavier and heavier grew his heart, and at last he
could endure it no longer.
"One day he was sitting in the same place in the woods as before, when
he saw the shadowy figure stealing along the mosses of the stream again.
He looked up and beheld the giant, and exclaimed:
"'Give me back my heart!'"
"Have you learned the lesson?"