A KIND SCHOOLMASTER AND A HAPPY SCHOOL BOY.
Though happily thou wilt say that wands be to be wrought when they are
green, lest they rather break than bend when they be dry, yet know
also that he that bendeth a twig because he would see if it would bow
by strength may chance to have a crooked tree when he would have a
straight.
EUPHUES.
From this time the two Flossofers were friends. Daniel seldom went to
Ingleton without looking in upon Guy, if it were between school hours.
Guy on his part would walk as far with him on the way back, as the
tether of his own time allowed, and frequently on Saturdays and
Sundays he strolled out and took a seat by Daniel's fire side. Even
the wearying occupation of hearing one generation of urchins after
another repeat _a-b-ab_, hammering the first rules of arithmetic into
leaden heads, and pacing like a horse in a mill the same dull dragging
round day after day, had neither diminished Guy's good-nature, nor
lessened his love for children. He had from the first conceived a
liking for young Daniel, both because of the right principle which was
evinced by the manner in which he proposed the question concerning
stealing the beans, and of the profound gravity (worthy of a
Flossofer's son) with which he behaved in the affair of the moonshine.
All that he saw and heard of him tended to confirm this favourable
prepossession; and the boy, who had been taught to read in the Bible
and in Stowe's Chronicle, was committed to his tuition at seven years
of age.
Five days in the week (for in the North of England Saturday as well as
Sunday is a Sabbath to the Schoolmaster) did young Daniel after
supping his porringer of oat-meal pottage, set off to school, with a
little basket containing his dinner in his hand. This provision
usually consisted of oat-cake and cheese, the latter in goodly
proportion, but of the most frugal quality, whatever cream the milk
afforded having been consigned to the butter tub. Sometimes it was a
piece of cold bacon or of cold pork; and in winter there was the
luxury of a shred pie, which is a coarse north country edition of the
pie abhorred by puritans. The distance was in those days called two
miles; but miles of such long measure that they were for him a good
hour's walk at a cheerful pace. He never loitered on the way, being at
all times brisk in his movements, and going to school with a spirit as
light as when he returned from it, like one whose blessed lot it was
never to have experienced, and therefore never to stand in fear of
severity or unkindness. For he was not more a favorite with Guy for
his docility, and regularity and diligence, than he was with his
schoolfellows for his thorough good nature and a certain original
oddity of humour.
There are some boys who take as much pleasure in exercising their
intellectual faculties, as others do when putting forth the power of
arms and legs in boisterous exertion. Young Daniel was from his
childhood fond of books. William Dove used to say he was a chip of the
old block; and this hereditary disposition was regarded with much
satisfaction by both parents, Dinah having no higher ambition nor
better wish for her son, than that he might prove like his father in
all things. This being the bent of his nature, the boy having a kind
master as well as a happy home, never tasted of what old Lily calls
(and well might call) the wearisome bitterness of the scholar's
learning. He was never subject to the brutal discipline of the Udals
and Busbys and Bowyers, and Parrs and other less notorious tyrants who
have trodden in their steps; nor was any of that inhuman injustice
ever exercised upon him to break his spirit, for which it is to be
hoped Dean Colet has paid in Purgatory;—to be hoped, I say, because if
there be no Purgatory, the Dean may have gone farther and fared worse.
Being the only _Latiner_ in the school his lessons were heard with
more interest and less formality. Guy observed his progress with
almost as much delight and as much hope as Daniel himself. A
schoolmaster who likes his vocation feels toward the boys who deserve
his favour something like a thrifty and thriving father toward the
children for whom he is scraping together wealth; he is contented that
his humble and patient industry should produce fruit not for himself,
but for them, and looks with pride to a result in which it is
impossible for him to partake, and which in all likelihood he may
never live to see. Even some of the old Phlebotomists have had this
feeling to redeem them.
“Sir,” says the Compositor to the Corrector of the Press, “there is no
heading in the Copy for this Chapter. What must I do?”
“Leave a space for it,” the Corrector replies. “It is a strange sort
of book; but I dare say the Author has a reason for every thing that
he says or does, and most likely you will find out his meaning as you
set up.”
Right Mr. Corrector! you are a judicious person, free from the common
vice of finding fault with what you do not understand. My meaning will
be explained presently. And having thus prologized, we will draw a
line if you please, and begin.
* * * * *
Ten measures of garrulity, says the Talmud, were sent down upon the
earth, and the women took nine.
I have known in my time eight terrific talkers; and five of them were
of the masculine gender.
But supposing that the Rabbis were right in allotting to the women a
ninefold proportion of talkativeness, I confess that I have inherited
my mother's share.
I am liberal of my inheritance, and the Public shall have the full
benefit of it.
And here if my gentle Public will consider to what profitable uses
this gift might have been applied, the disinterestedness of my
disposition in having thus benevolently dedicated it to their service,
will doubtless be appreciated as it deserves by their discrimination
and generosity. Had I carried it to the pulpit, think now how I might
have filled the seats, and raised the prices of a private chapel! Had
I taken it to the bar, think how I could have mystified a judge, and
bamboozled a jury! Had I displayed it in the senate, think how I could
have talked against time, for the purpose of delaying a division, till
the expected numbers could be brought together; or how efficient a
part I could have borne in the patriotic design of impeding the
business of a session, prolonging and multiplying the debates, and
worrying a minister out of his senses and his life.
_Diis aliter visum_.—I am what I was to be,—what it is best for myself
that I should be,—and for you, my Public, also. The rough-hewn plans
of my destination have been better shaped for me by Providence than I
could have shaped them for myself.
But to the purpose of this chapter, which is as headless as the
Whigs—Observe my Public, I have not said as brainless...If it were,
the book would be worth no more than a new Tragedy of Lord Byron's; or
an old number of Mr. Jeffrey's Review, when its prophecies have proved
false, its blunders have been exposed, and its slander stinks.
Every thing here shall be in order. The digressions into which this
gift of discourse may lead me must not interrupt the arrangement of
our History. Never shall it be said of the Unknown that “he draweth
out the thread of his verbosity finer than the staple of his
argument.” We have a journey to perform from Dan to Beersheba, and we
must halt occasionally by the way. Matter will arise contingent to the
story, correlative to it, or excrescent from it; not necessary to its
progress, and yet indispensable for your delight, my gentle Public,
and for mine own ease. My Public would not have me stifle the
_afflatus_ when I am labouring with it, and in the condition of Elihu
as described by himself in the 18th and 19th verses of the xxxii.
chapter of the book of Job.
_Quemadmodum cælator oculos diu intentos ac fatigatos remittit atque
avocat, et, ut dici solet, pascit; sic nos animum aliquando debemus
relaxare et quibusdam oblectamentis reficere. Sed ipsa oblectamenta
opera sint; ex his quoque si observaveris, sumes quod possit fieri
salutare._[1]
[Footnote 1: SENECA, Epist. 58.]
But that the beautiful structure of this history may in no wise be
deranged, such matter shall be distributed into distinct chapters in
the way of intercalation; a device of which as it respects the year,
Adam is believed to have been the inventor; but according to the
Author of the book of Jalkut, it was only transmitted by him to his
descendants, being one of the things which he received by revelation.
How then shall these Chapters be annominated? Intercalary they shall
not. That word will send some of my readers to Johnson's Dictionary
for its meaning; and others to Sheridan, or Walker for its
pronunciation. Besides, I have a dislike to all mongrel words, and an
especial dislike for strange compounds into which a preposition
enters. I owe them a grudge. They make one of the main difficulties in
Greek and German.
From our own Calenders we cannot borrow an appellation. In the
Republican one of our neighbours, when the revolutionary fever was at
its height, the supplemental days were called _Sansculottedes_. The
Spaniards would call them _Dias Descamisados_. The holders of liberal
opinions in England would term them Radical Days. A hint might be
taken hence, and we might name them radical chapters, as having the
root of the matter in them;—Or _ramal_, if there were such a word,
upon the analogy of the Branch Bible societies. Or _ramage_ as the
king of Cockayne hath his Foliage. But they would not be truly and
philosophically designated by these names. They are not branches from
the tree of this history, neither are they its leaves; but rather
choice garlands suspended there to adorn it on festival days. They may
be likened to the waste weirs of a canal, or the safety valves of a
steam engine; (my gentle Public would not have me stifle the
_afflatus_!)—interludes;—symphonies between the acts;—voluntaries
during the service;—resting places on the ascent of a church tower;
angular recesses of an old bridge, into which foot passengers may
retire from carriages or horsemen;—houses-of-call upon the road; seats
by the way side, such as those which were provided by the Man of Ross,
or the not less meritorious Woman of Chippenham, Maud Heath of Langley
Burrel,—Hospices on the passages of the Alps,—Capes of Good Hope, or
Isles of St. Helena,—yea Islands of Tinian or Juan Fernandez, upon the
long voyage whereon we are bound.
Leap-chapters they cannot properly be called; and if we were to call
them Ha Has! as being chapters which the Reader may leap if he likes,
the name would appear rather strained than significant, and might be
justly censured as more remarkable for affectation than for aptness.
For the same reason I reject the designation of Intermeans, though it
hath the sanction of great Ben's authority.
Among the requisites for an accomplished writer Steele enumerates the
skill whereby common words are started into new significations. I will
not presume so far upon that talent (—modesty forbids me—) as to call
these intervening chapters either Interpellations or Interpositions,
or Interlocations, or Intervals. Take this Reader for a general rule,
that the readiest and plainest style is the most forcible (if the head
be but properly stored;) and that in all ordinary cases the word which
first presents itself is the best; even as in all matters of right and
wrong, the first feeling is that which the heart owns and the
conscience ratifies.
But for a new occasion, a new word or a new composite must be formed.
Therefore I will strike one in the mint of analogy, in which alone the
king's English must be coined, and call them Interchapters—and thus
endeth
INTERCHAPTER I.
REMARKS IN THE PRINTING OFFICE. THE AUTHOR CONFESSES A DISPOSITION TO
GARRULITY. PROPRIETY OF PROVIDING CERTAIN CHAPTERS FOR THE RECEPTION
OF HIS EXTRANEOUS DISCOURSE. CHOICE OF AN APPELLATION FOR SUCH
CHAPTERS.
_Perque vices aliquid, quod tempora longa videri
Non sinat, in medium vacuas referamus ad aures._
OVID.