soon as he saw him. Introductions were useless ceremonies to him, for he
cared nothing about names. He called a woman "ma'am" and a man "mister,"
and if he could sell either of them a few goods, he never troubled
himself or them with impertinent inquiries. Sometimes he had a habit of
learning each man's name from his next neighbor, and possessing an
excellent memory, he never lost the information thus acquired.
When he had passed through a settlement once, he had a complete
knowledge of all its circumstances, history, and inhabitants; and, the
next year, if he met a child in the road, he could tell you whom it most
resembled, and to what family it belonged. He recollected all who were
sick on his last visit--what peculiar difficulties each was laboring
under--and was always glad to hear of their convalescence. He gathered
medicinal herbs along the road, and generously presented them to the
housewives where he halted, and he understood perfectly the special
properties of each. He possessed a great store of good advice, suited to
every occasion, and distributed it with the disinterested benevolence of
a philanthropist. He knew precisely what articles of merchandise were
adapted to the taste of each customer; and the comprehensive "rule of
three" would not have enabled him to calculate more nicely the exact
amount of "talk" necessary to convince them of the same.
His address was extremely insinuating, for he always endeavored to say
the most agreeable things, and no man could judge more accurately what
would best please the person addressed. He might be vain enough, but his
egotism was never obtruded upon others. He might secretly felicitate
himself upon a successful trade, but he never boasted of it. He seemed
to be far more interested in the affairs of others than in his own. He
had sympathy for the afflictions of his customers, counsel for their
difficulties, triumph in their success.
Before the introduction of mails, he was the universal news-carrier, and
could tell all about the movements of the whole world. He could gossip
over his wares with his female customers, till he beguiled them into
endless purchases, for he had heard of every death, marriage, and birth
within fifty miles. He recollected the precise piece of calico from
which Mrs. Jones bought her last new dress, and the identical bolt of
riband from which Mrs. Smith trimmed her "Sunday bonnet." He knew whose
children went to "meeting" in "store-shoes," whose daughter was
beginning to wear long dresses, and whose wife wore cotton hose. He
could ring the changes on the "latest fashions" as glibly as the
skilfulest _modiste_. He was a _connoisseur_ in colors, and learned in
their effects upon complexion. He could laugh the husband into
half-a-dozen shirts, flatter the wife into calico and gingham, and
praise the children till both parents joined in dressing them anew from
top to toe.
He always sold his goods "at a ruinous sacrifice," but he seemed to have
a depot of infinite extent and capacity, from which he annually drew new
supplies. He invariably left a neighborhood the loser by his visit, and
the close of each season found him inconsolable for his "losses." But
the next year he was sure to come back, risen, like the Phoenix, from his
own ashes, and ready to be ruined again--in the same way. He could never
resist the pleading look of a pretty woman, and if she "jewed" him
twenty per cent. (though his profits were only two hundred), the
tenderness of his heart compelled him to yield. What wonder is it, then,
if he was a prime favorite with all the women, or that his advent, to
the children, made a day of jubilee?
But the peddler, like every other human "institution," only had "his
day." The time soon came when he was forced to give way before the march
of newfangledness. The country grew densely populated, neighborhoods
became thicker, and the smoke of one man's chimney could be seen from
another's front-door. People's wants began to be permanent--they were no
longer content with transient or periodical supplies--they demanded
something more constant and regular. From this demand arose the little
neighborhood "stores," established for each settlement at a central and
convenient point--usually at "cross-roads," or next door to the
blacksmith's shop--and these it was which superseded the peddler's
trade.
We could wish to pause here, and, after describing the little depot,
"take an account of stock:" for no store, not even a sutler's, ever
presented a more amusing or characteristic assortment. But since these
modest establishments were generally the _nuclei_, around which western
towns were built, we must reserve our fire until we reach that subject.
But the peddler had not acquired his experience of life for nothing, he
was not to be outdone, even by the more aristocratic stationary
shop-keeper. When he found his trade declining, he cast about him for a
good neighborhood, still uninvaded by the Lombards, and his extensive
knowledge of the country soon enabled him to find one. Here he erected
his own cabin, and boldly entered the lists against his new
competitors. If he could find no eligible point for such an
establishment, or if he augured unfavorably of his success in the new
walk, he was not cast down. If he could not "keep store," he could at
least "keep tavern," an occupation for which his knowledge of the world
and cosmopolitan habits, admirably fitted him. In this capacity, we
shall have occasion to refer to him again; and have now only to record,
that in the progress of time, he grew rich, if not fat, and eventually
died, "universally regretted."
VIII.
THE SCHOOLMASTER.
"There, in his quiet mansion, skilled to rule,
The village _master_ taught his little school.
* * * * *
"I knew him well, and every truant knew:
* * * * *
"Yet he was kind; or, if severe in aught,
The love he bore to learning was in fault.
The village all declared how much he knew:
'Twas certain he could write, and cipher too."--
GOLDSMITH'S "DESERTED VILLAGE."
[Illustration: THE SCHOOLMASTER.]
In the progress of society, the physical wants are felt before the
intellectual. Men appreciate the necessity for covering their backs and
lining their stomachs before storing their minds, and they naturally
provide a shelter from the storms of heaven, before they seek (with
other learning) a knowledge of the heavenly bodies. Thus the rudest
social system comprises something of the mechanic arts--government
begins to advance toward the dignity of a science--commerce follows the
establishment of legal supremacy--and the education of the citizen
comes directly after the recognition of his social and political rights.
So, the justice of the peace (among other legal functionaries) indicates
subjection, more or less complete, to the regulations of law; the
peddler represents the beginning of commercial interests; and the
schoolmaster succeeds him, in the natural order of things.
It may be possible to preserve a high respect for a _calling_, while we
despise the men who exercise it: though I believe this is not one of the
rules which "work both ways," and the converse is, therefore, not
equally true. A man's occupation affects _him_ more nearly than _he_
does his occupation. A thousand contemptible men will not bring a
respectable profession into so much disrepute, as a contemptible
profession will a thousand respectable men. All the military talents,
for example, of the commander-in-chief of our armies, would not preserve
him from contempt, should he set up a barber-shop, or drive a milk-cart;
but the barber, or the milkman, might make a thousand blunders at the
head of an army, should extravagant democracy elevate him to that
position, and yet the rank of a general would be as desirable, because
as honorable, as ever.
It is certainly true, however, that the most exalted station may be
degraded by filling it with a low or despicable incumbent, for the
mental effort necessary to the abstraction of the employment from him
who pursues it, is one which most men do not take the trouble to make:
an effort, indeed, which the majority of men are _incapable_ of making.
A vicious priest degrades the priestly vocation--a hypocrite brings
reproach upon the religious profession--a dishonest lawyer sinks the
legal character--and even the bravest men care but little for promotion
in an army, when cowardice and incompetency are rewarded with rank and
power. But manifest incapacity, culpable neglect of duty, or even a
positively vicious character, will not reduce a calling to contempt, or
bring it into disrepute so soon, as any quality which excites ridicule.
An awkward figure, a badly-shaped garment, or an ungainly manner, will
sometimes outweigh the acquirements of the finest scholar; and the cause
of religion has suffered more, from the absence of the softer graces, in
its clerical representations, than from all the logic of its
adversaries. A laugh is more effectual to subvert an institution, than
an argument--for it is easier to make men ashamed, than to convince
them. Truth and reason are formidable weapons, but ridicule is stronger
than either--or both.
Thus: All thinking men will eagerly admit, that the profession of the
schoolmaster is, not only respectable, but honorable, alike to the
individual, and to the community in which he pursues it: yet, rather
than teach a school for a livelihood, the large majority of the same men
would "split rails" or cut cord-wood! And this is not because teaching
is laborious--though it _is_ laborious, and thankless, too, beyond all
other occupations; but because a number and variety of causes, into
which we need not inquire, have combined to throw ridicule upon him, who
is derisively called the pedagogue--for most men would rather be shot
at, than laughed at. Cause and effect are always inter-reactive: and the
refusal of the most competent men, to "take up the birch"--which is the
effect of this derision--has filled our school-rooms with men, who are,
not unfairly, its victims. Thus the profession--(for such is its
inherent dignity)--itself, has fallen into discredit--even though the
judgment of men universally is, that it is not only useful, but
indispensable.
Nor is that judgment incorrect. For, though home-education may sometimes
succeed, it is usually too fragmentary to be beneficial--private tutors
are too often the slaves of their pupils, and can not enforce "attention,"
the first condition of advancement, where they have not the paraphernalia
of command--and, as for self-education, logically there can be no such
thing: "one might as well attempt to lift himself over the fence, by the
straps of his boots," as to educate himself "without a master."
The schoolmaster, then, is a useful member of society--not to be spared
at any stage of its progress. But he is particularly necessary to
communities which are in the transition state; for, upon the
enlightenment of the rising generation depend the success and
preservation of growing institutions. Nor does his usefulness consist
altogether--or even in a great measure--in the number of facts,
sciences, or theories, with which he may store the minds of his pupils.
These are not the objects of education, any more than a knowledge of the
compartments in a printer's "letter-case," is the ultimate result of the
art of printing. The types are so arranged, in order to enable the
compositors more conveniently to attain the ends, for which that
arrangement is only a preparation: facts and sciences are taught for
the improvement of the faculties, in order that they may work with more
ease, force, and certainty, upon other and really important things; for
education is only the marshalling of powers, preliminary to the great
"battle of life."
The mind of an uneducated man, however strong in itself, is like an army
of undisciplined men--a crowd of chaotic, shapeless, and often
misdirected elements. To bring these into proper subjection--to enable
him to bind them, with anything like their native force, to a given
purpose--a prescribed "training" is necessary; and it is this which
education supplies. If you can give a mind the _habit of attention_, all
the power it has will be made available: and it is through this faculty,
that even dull minds are so frequently able to mount the car of triumph,
and ride swiftly past so many, who are immeasurably their superiors. The
first element of the discipline which develops this power, is submission
to control; and without such subordination, a school can not exist.
Thus, the first lesson that children learn from the schoolmaster, is the
most valuable acquisition they can make.
But it was no easy task to teach this principle to the sturdy children
of the early Western "settler;" in this, as in all other things, the
difficulty of the labor was in exact proportion to its necessity. The
peculiarities of the people, and the state of the country, were not
favorable to the establishment of the limited monarchy, requisite to
successful teaching. In the first place, the parents very generally
undervalued, what they called "mere book-learning." For themselves, they
had found more use for a rifle than a pen; and they naturally thought it
a much more valuable accomplishment, to be able to scalp a squirrel with
a bullet, at a hundred paces, than to read the natural history of the
animal in the "picture-book." They were enthusiastic, also, upon the
subject of independence; and, though they could control their children
sternly enough at home, they were apt to look, with a jealous eye, upon
any attempt to establish dominion elsewhere. The children partook
largely of the free, wild spirit of their fathers. They were very prompt
to resist anything like encroachment upon their privileges or rights,
and were, of course, pretty certain to consider even salutary control an
attempt to assert a despotism. I believe history contains no record,
whatever the annals of fiction may display, of a boy, with much spirit,
submitting without a murmur to the authority of the schoolmaster: if
such a prodigy of enlightened humility ever existed, he certainly did
not live in the west. But a more important difficulty than either of
these, was the almost entire want of money in the country; and without
this there was but little encouragement for the effort to overcome other
obstacles. Money _may_ be only a _representative_ of value, but its
absence operates marvellously like the want of the value itself, and the
primitive people of those days, and especially that class to which the
schoolmaster belonged, had a habit, however illogical, of considering it
a desirable commodity, _per se_.
All these impediments, however, could, in the course of time, be
conquered: the country was improving in social tone; parents must
eventually take some pride even in the accomplishments they despised;
and patience and gentleness, intermingled, now and then, with a little
wholesome severity, will ultimately subdue the most stubborn spirit. As
for the pecuniary difficulty, it was, as the political economists will
tell us, only the absence of a medium at the worst: and, in its stead,
the master could receive boarding, clothing, and the agricultural
products of the country. So many barrels of corn, or bushels of wheat,
"per quarter," might not be so conveniently handled, but were quite as
easy to be counted, as an equal number of dollars; and this primitive
mode of payment is even yet practised in many rural districts, perhaps,
in both the east and west. To counter-balance its inconvenience of bulk,
this "currency" possessed a double advantage over the more refined
"medium of exchange" now in use: it was not liable to counterfeits, and
the bank from which it issued was certain not to "break."
So the schoolmaster was not to be deterred from pursuing his honorable
calling, even by the difficulties incident to half-organized
communities. Indeed, teaching was the resort, at least temporary, of
four fifths of the educated, and nearly an equal number of the
uneducated young men, who came to the west: for certainly that
proportion of both classes arrived in the country, without money to
support, friends to encourage, or pride to deter them.
They were almost all what western people call "Yankees"--born and bred
east of the Hudson: descendants of the sturdy puritans--and
distinguished by the peculiarities of that strongly-marked people, in
personal appearance, language, manners, and style and tone of thought.
Like the peddlers, they were generally on the sunny side of thirty, full
of the hopeful energy which belongs to that period of life, and only
submitting to the labors and privations of the present, because through
these they looked to the future for better and brighter things.
The causes which led to their emigration, were as many and as various as
the adventurers whom they moved. They were, most of them, mere boys:
young Whittingtons, whom the bells did _not_ ring back, to become
lord-mayors; who, indeed, had not even the limited possessions of that
celebrated worthy; and, thus destitute, they wandered off, many hundreds
of miles, "to see the world and make their fortunes," at an age when the
youth of the present day are just beginning to think of college. They
brought neither money, letters of introduction, nor bills of exchange:
they expected to find neither acquaintance nor relatives. But they
knew--for it was one of the wise maxims of their unromantic
fathers--that industry and honesty must soon gather friends, and that
all other desirable things would speedily follow. They had great and
just confidence in their own abilities to "get along;" and if they did
not actually think that the whole world belonged to them, they were
well-assured, that in an incredibly short space of time, they would be
able to possess a respectable portion of it.
A genuine specimen of the class to which most of the early schoolmasters
belonged, never felt any misgivings about his own success, and never
hesitated to assume any position in life. Neither pride nor modesty was
ever suffered to interfere with his action. He would take charge of a
numerous school, when he could do little more than write his own name,
just as he would have undertaken to run a steamboat, or command an army,
when he had never studied engineering or heard of strategy. Nor would he
have failed in either capacity: a week's application would make him
master of a steam-engine, or a proficient (after the _present manner_ of
proficiency) in tactics; and as for his school, he could himself learn
at night what he was to teach others on the following day! Nor was this
mere "conceit"--though, in some other respects, that word, in its
limited sense, was not inapplicable--neither was it altogether ignorant
presumption; for one of these men was seldom known to fail in anything
he undertook: or, if he did fail, he was never found to be cast down by
defeat, and the resiliency of his nature justified his confidence.
The pursuit of a certain avocation, for a long period, is apt to warp
one's nature to its inequalities; and as the character gradually assumes
the peculiar shape, the personal appearance changes in a corresponding
direction and degree. Thus, the blacksmith becomes brawny, square, and
sturdy, and the characteristic swing of his arm gives tone to his whole
bearing: the silversmith acquires a peering, cunning look, as if he were
always examining delicate machinery: the physician becomes solemn,
stately, pompous, and mysterious, and speaks like "Sir Oracle," as if he
were eternally administering a bread-pill, or enjoining a regimen of
drugs and starvation: the lawyer assumes a keen, alert, suspicious
manner, as if he were constantly in pursuit of a latent perjury, or
feared that his adversary might discover a flaw in his "case:" and so
on, throughout the catalogue of human avocations. But, among all these,
that which marks its votaries most clearly, is school-teaching.
There seems to be a sort of antagonism between this employment and all
manner of neatness, and the circle of the schoolmaster's female
acquaintance never included the Graces. Attention to personal decoration
is usually, though not universally, in an inverse ratio to mental
garniture; and an artistically-tied cravat seems inconsistent with the
supposition of a well-stored head above it. A mind which is directed
toward the evolution of its own powers, has but little time to waste in
adorning the body; and a fashionable costume would appear to cramp the
intellect, as did the iron-vessel the genius of the Arabian tale.
Although, therefore, there are numerous exceptions--persons whose
externals are as elegant as their pursuits are intellectual--men of
assiduously-cultivated minds are apt to be careless of appearances, and
the principle applies, with especial force, to those whose business it
is to develop the minds of others.
Nor was the schoolmaster of early days in the west, an exception to the
rule. He might not be as learned, nor as purely intellectual, as some of
our modern college-professors, but he was as ungraceful, and as
awkwardly clad, as the most slovenly of them all. Indeed, he came of a
stock which has never been noted for any of the lighter accomplishments,
or "carnal graces;" for at no period of its eventful history, has the
puritan type been a remarkable elegant one. The men so named have been
better known for bravery than taste, for zeal than polish; and since
there is always a correspondence between habits of thought and feeling
and the external appearance, the _physique_ of the race is more
remarkable for rigor of muscle and angularity of outline, than for
accuracy of proportion or smoothness of finish. Neither Apollo nor
Adonis was in any way related to the family; and if either had been, the
probability is that his kindred would have disowned him.
Properly to represent his lineage, therefore, the schoolmaster could be
neither dandy nor dancing-master; and, as if to hold him to his
integrity, nature had omitted to give him any temptation, in his own
person, to assume either of these respectable characters. The tailor
that could shape a coat to fit _his_ shoulders, never yet handled
shears; and he would have been as ill at ease, in a pair of fashionable
pantaloons, as if they had been lined with chestnut-burrs. He was
generally above the medium height, with a very decided stoop, as if in
the habit of carrying burthens; and a long, high nose, with light blue
eyes, and coarse, uneven hair, of a faded weather-stain color, gave his
face the expression answering to this lathy outline. Though never very
slender, he was always thin: as if he had been flattened out in a
rolling-mill; and rotundity of corporation was a mode of development not
at all characteristic. His complexion was seldom florid, and not often
decidedly pale; a sort of sallow discoloration was its prevailing hue,
like that which marks the countenance of a consumer of "coarse" whiskey
and strong tobacco. But these failings were not the cause of his
cadaverous look--for a faithful representative of the class held them
both in commendable abhorrence--_they were not the vices of his nature_.