others, transplanted beyond the Alleghenies. Emigration, and the
enticements and casualties of a seafaring life--drawing the men into
their appropriate channels of enterprise and adventure, had there
reduced their number below that of the women--thus remitting many of the
latter, to other than the usual and natural occupations of "the sex."
Matrimony became a remote possibility to large numbers--attention to
household matters gave place to various kinds of light labor--and, since
they were not likely to have progeny of their own to rear, many resorted
to the teaching of children belonging to others. Idleness was a rare
vice; and New England girls--to their honor be it spoken--have seldom
resembled "the lilies of the field," in aught, save the fairness of
their complexions! They have never displayed much squeamishness--about
work: and if they could not benefit the rising generation in a maternal,
were willing to make themselves useful in a tutorial capacity. The
people of that enlightened section, have always possessed the learning
necessary to appreciate, and the philanthropy implied in the wish to
dispel, the benighted ignorance of all other quarters of the world; and
thus a competent number of them have ever been found willing to give up
the comforts of home, for the benefit of the "barbarous west."
The schoolmistress, then, generally came from the "cradle" of
intelligence, as well as "of liberty," beyond the Hudson; and, in the
true spirit of benevolence, she carried her blessings (herself the
greatest) across the mountain barrier, to bestow them, _gratis_, upon
the spiritually and materially needy, in the valley of the Mississippi.
Her vocation, or, as it would now be called, her "mission" was to teach
an impulse not only given by her education, but belonging to her nature.
She had a constitutional tendency toward it--indeed, a genius for it;
like that which impels one to painting, another to sculpture--this to a
learned profession, that to a mechanical trade. And so perfectly was she
adapted to it, that "the ignorant people of the west" not recognising
her "divine appointment," were often at a loss to conjecture, who, or
whether anybody, could have taught _her_!
For that same "ignorant," and too often, ungrateful people, she was full
of tender pity--the yearning of the single-hearted missionary, for the
welfare of his flock. _They_ were steeped in darkness, but _she_ carried
the light--nay, she _was_ the light! and with a benignity, often evinced
by self-sacrifice--she poured it graciously over the land--
"Heaven doth with us, as we with torches do:
Not light them for themselves; for if our virtues
Did not go forth of us, 't were all alike
As if we had them not."
For the good of the race, or of any (male) individual, she would
immolate herself, even upon the altar of Hymen; and, since the number,
who were to be benefited by such self-devotement, was small in New
England, but large in the west, she did well to seek a field for her
benign dedication, beyond the Alleghenies! Honor to the all-daring
self-denial, which brought to the forlorn bachelor of the west, a
companion in his labors, a solace in his afflictions, and a mother to
his children!
Her name was invariably Grace, Charity, or Prudence; and, if names had
been always descriptive of the personal qualities of those who bore
them, she would have been entitled to all three.
In the early ages of the world, names were, or, at least, were supposed
to be, fair exponents of the personal characters of those, upon whom
they were bestowed. But, _then_, the qualities must be manifested,
before the name could be earned, so that all who had never distinguished
themselves, in some way, were said to be "nameless." In more modern
times, however, an improvement upon this system was introduced: the
character was anticipated, and parents called their children what they
_wished_ them to be, in the hope that they would grow to the standard
thus imposed. And it is no doubt, true, that names thus bestowed had
much influence in the development of character--on the same principle,
upon which the boards, to which Indian women lash their infants soon
after birth, have much to do with the erect carriage of the mature
savage. Such an appellation is a perpetual memento of parental
counsels--a substitute for barren precept--an endless exhortation to
Grace, Charity, or Prudence.
I do not mean, that calling a boy Cicero will certainly make him an
orator, or that all Jeremiahs are necessarily prophets; nor is it
improbable, that the same peculiarities in the parents, which dictate
these expressive names, may direct the characters of the children, by
controlling their education; but it is unquestionable, that the
characteristics, and even the fortunes of the man, are frequently
daguerreotyped by a name given in infancy. There is not a little wisdom
in the advice of Sterne to godfathers--not "to Nicodemus a man into
nothing."--"Harsh names," says D'Israeli, the elder, "will have, in
spite of all our philosophy, a painful and ludicrous effect on our ears
and our associations; it is vexatious, that the softness of delicious
vowels, or the ruggedness of inexorable consonants, should at all be
connected with a man's happiness, or even have an influence on his
fortune."
"That which we call a rose,
By any other name would smell as sweet;"
but this does not touch the question, whether, if it had not smelt as
sweet we would not have given it some other name. The celebrated
demagogue, Wilkes, is reported to have said, that, "without knowing the
comparative merits of the two poets, we would have no hesitation in
preferring John Dryden to Elkanah Settle, _from the names only_." And
the reason of this truth is to be found in the fact, that our
impressions of both men and things depend upon associations, often
beyond our penetration to detect--associations with which _sound_,
depending on hidden laws, has quite as much to do, as _sense_.
Among those who have carried the custom of picturesque or expressive
naming, to an extent bordering on the ridiculous, were the hard-headed
champions of the true church-militant, the English puritans--as Hume,
the bigoted old Tory, rather ill-naturedly testifies! And the puritans
of _New_ England--whatever advancing intelligence may have made them in
the present--were, for a long time, faithful representatives of the
oddities, as well as of the virtues, of their fathers.
And, accordingly, we find the schoolmistress--being a descendant of the
Jason's-crew, who landed from the Argo-Mayflower, usually bearing a name
thus significant, and manifesting, even at her age, traits of character
justifying the compellation. What that age precisely _was_, could not
always be known; indeed, a lady's age is generally among indeterminate
things; and it has, very properly, come to be considered ungallant, if
not impertinent, to be curious upon so delicate a subject. A man has no
more right to know how many years a woman has, than how many skirts she
wears; and, if he have any anxiety about the matter, in either case, his
eyes must be the only questioners. The principle upon which the women
themselves proceed, in growing old, seems to be parallel to the law of
gravitation: when a stone, for example, is thrown into the air the
higher it goes the slower it travels; and the momentum toward Heaven,
given to a woman at her birth, appears to decrease in about the same
ratio.
We will not be so ungallant, then, as to inquire too curiously into the
age of the schoolmistress; but, without disparagement to her
youthfulness, we may be allowed to conjecture that, in order to fit her
so well for the duties of her responsible station (and incline her to
undertake such labors), a goodly number of years must needs have been
required. Yet she bore time well; for, unless married in the meanwhile,
at thirty, she was as youthful in manners, as at eighteen.
But this is not surprising: for, even as early as her twelfth year, she
had much the appearance of a mature woman--something like that noticed
in young quakers, by Clarkson[79]--and her figure belonged to that
rugged type, which is adapted to bear, unscathed, more than the ravages
of time. She was never above the medium height, for the rigid rule of
economy seemed to apply to flesh and blood, as to all other things
pertaining to her race; at all events, material had not been wasted in
giving her extra longitude--at the ends. Between the extremities, it
might be different--for she was generally very long-waisted. But this
might be accounted for in the process of _flattening out_: for like her
compeer, the schoolmaster, she had much more breadth than thickness. She
was somewhat angular, of course, and rather bony; but this was only the
natural correspondence, between the external development, and the mental
and moral organization. Her eyes were usually blue, and, to speak with
accuracy, a little cold and grayish, in their expression--like the sky
on a bleak morning in Autumn. Her forehead was very high and prominent,
having, indeed, an _exposed_ look, like a shelterless knoll in an open
prairie: but, not content with this, though the hair above it was often
thin, she usually dragged the latter forcibly back, as if to increase
the altitude of the former, by extending the skin. Her mouth was of that
class called "primped," but was filled with teeth of respectable
dimensions.
Her arms were long, and, indeed, a little skinny, and she swung them
very freely when she walked; while hands, of no insignificant size,
dangled at the extremities, as if the joints of her wrists were
insecure. She had large feet, too, and in walking her toes were
assiduously turned out. She had, however, almost always one very great
attraction--a fine, clear, healthy complexion--and the only blemishes
upon this, that I have ever observed, were a little _red_ on the tip of
her nose and on the points of her cheek-bones, and a good deal of _down_
on her upper lip.
In manners and bearing, she was brisk, prim, and sometimes a little
"fidgety," as if she was conscious of sitting on a dusty chair; and she
had a way of searching nervously for her pocket, as if to find a
handkerchief with which to brush it off. She was a very fast walker, and
an equally rapid talker--taking usually very short steps, as if afraid
of splitting economical skirts, but using very long words, as if
entertaining no such apprehension about her throat. Her gait was too
rapid to be graceful, and her voice too sharp to be musical; but she was
quite unconscious of these imperfections, especially of the latter: for
at church--I beg pardon of her enlightened ancestors! I should say at
"_meeting_"--her notes of praise were heard high over all the tumult of
primitive singing; and, with her chin thrown out, and her shoulders
drawn back, she looked, as well as sounded, the impersonation of
_melody_, as contra-distinguished from _harmony_!
But postponing, for the present, our consideration of her qualifications
as a teacher, we find that her characteristics were still more
respectable and valuable as a private member of society. And in this
relation, her most prominent trait, like that of her brother teacher,
was her stainless piety. In this respect, if in no other, women are
always more sincere and single-hearted than men--perhaps because the
distribution of social duties gives her less temptation to
hypocrisy--and even the worldly, strong-minded, and self-reliant
daughter of the church-hating Puritan-Zion, displayed a tendency toward
genuine religious feeling.[80]
But in our subject, this was not a mere bias, but a constant, unflagging
sentiment, an everyday manifestation. She was as warm in the cause of
religion on one day as upon another, in small things as in great--as
zealous in the repression of all unbecoming and ungodly levity, as in
the eradication of positive vice. Life was too solemn a thing with her
to admit of thoughtless amusements--it was entirely a state of
probation, not to be enjoyed in itself, or for itself, but purgatorial,
remedial, and preparatory. She hated all devices of pleasure as her
ancestors did the abominations of popery. A fiddle she could tolerate
only in the shape of a bass-viol; and dancing, if practised at all, must
be called "calisthenics." The drama was to her an invention of the Enemy
of Souls--and if she ever saw a play, it must be at a _museum_, and not
within the walls of that temple of Baal, the theatre. None but "serious"
conversation was allowable, and a hearty laugh was the expression of a
spirit ripe for the destination of unforgiven sinners.
Errors in religion were too tremendous to be tolerated for a moment, and
the form (or rather anti-form) of worship handed down by her fathers,
had cost too much blood and crime to be oppugned. She thought
Barebones's the only godly parliament that ever sat, and did not hate
Hume half so much for his infidelity, as for his ridicule of the
roundheads. Her list of martyrs was made up of the intruders ousted by
Charles's "Act of Conformity," and her catalogue of saints was headed by
the witch-boilers of Massachusetts Bay. She abhorred the memory of all
_popish_ persecutions, and knew no difference between catholic and
cannibal. Her running calendar of living saints were born "to inherit
the earth," and heaven, too: they possessed a monopoly of all truth, an
unlimited "indulgence" to enforce conformity, and, in their zeal, an
infallible safeguard against the commission of error. She had no
patience with those who could not "see the truth;" and he who reviled
the puritan mode of worship, was "worse than the infidel." The only
argument she ever used with such, was the _argumentum ad hominem_, which
saves the trouble of conviction by "giving over to hardness of heart."
New England was, to her, the land of Goshen--whither God's people had
been led by God's hand--"the land of the patriarchs, where it rains
righteousness"[81]--and all the adjacent country was a land of Egyptian
darkness.
She was commendably prudent in her personal deportment: being thoroughly
pure and circumspect herself, she could forgive no thoughtless
imprudence in her sister-woman: but she well-understood metaphysical
distinctions, and was tolerant, if not liberal, to marriageable men.
These she could hope to reform at some future time: and she had,
moreover, a just idea of the weakness of man's nature. But being a
woman, and a staid and sober-minded woman, she could never understand
the power of temptation upon her own sex, or the commonest impulses of
high spirits. Perhaps she was a little deficient in charity: but, as we
have seen, it was chiefly toward her female friends, and since none can
bear severe judgment more safely than woman, her austerity did little
harm.
But she sincerely regretted what she could never palliate; she hated not
the guilty, though she could not forgive the sin; and no one was more
easily melted to tears by the faults, and particularly by the _follies_,
of the world. Wickedness is a very melancholy thing, but it is to be
punished as well as lamented: and like the unfortunate governor who was
forced to condemn his own son, she wept while she pronounced judgment.
But earthly sorrow, by her, was given only to earthly faults: violations
of simple good morals, crimes against heavenly creeds and forms (or
rather _the_ form) of worship, claimed no tear. Her blood rose to
fever-heat at the mention of an unbeliever, and she would as soon have
wept for the errors of the fallen angels, as for those of
anti-Robinsonians.
But though thus rigid and austere, I never heard that she was at all
disinclined to being courted: especially if it gave her any prospect of
being able to make herself useful as a wife, either to herself, her
husband, or her country. She understood the art of rearing and managing
children, in her capacity as a teacher: she was thus peculiarly
well-fitted for matrimonial duties, and was unwilling that the world
should lose the benefit of her talents. But the man who courted her must
do so in the most sober, staid, and regulated spirit, for it was seldom
any unmixed romance about "love and nonsense," which moved _her_ to the
sacrifice: if she entertained notions of that sort, they were such only
as could find a place in her well-balanced mind, and, above all, were
the subject of no raptures or transports of delight. If she indulged any
enthusiasm, in view of the approaching change, it was in the prospect of
endless shirt-making, and in calculations about how cheaply (not how
happily) she could enable her husband to live. She had no squeamish
delicacy about allowing the world to know the scope and meaning of her
arrangements, and all her friends participated in her visions of comfort
and economy. False modesty was no part of her nature--and her sentiment
could be reduced to an algebraic formula--excluding the "unknown
quantities" usually represented by the letters _b_, _c_, and _d_:
meaning "bliss," "cottages," and "devotion."
Yet, though she cared little for poetry, and seldom understood the
images of fancy, she was not averse to a modicum of scandal in moments
of relaxation: for the faults of others were the illustrations of her
prudent maxims, and the thoughtlessness of a sister was the best
possible text for a moral homily. The tense rigidity of her character,
too, sometimes required a little unbending, and she had, therefore, no
special aversion to an occasional surreptitious novel. But this she
would indulge only in private; for in her mind, the worst quality of
transgression was its bad example; and she never failed, in public, to
condemn all such things with becoming and virtuous severity. Nor must
this apparent inconsistency be construed to her disadvantage; for her
strong mind and well-fortified morals, could withstand safely what would
have corrupted a large majority of those around her; and it was meet,
that one whose "mission" it was to reform, should thoroughly understand
the enemy against which she battled. And these things never unfavorably
affected her life and manners, for she was as prudent in her deportment
(ill-natured people say _prudish_) as if some ancestress of hers had
been deceived, and left in the family a tradition of man's perfidy and
woman's frailty.
She was careful, then, of three things--her clothes, her money, and her
reputation: and, to do her justice, the last was as spotless as the
first, and as much prized as the second, and that is saying a good deal,
both for its purity and estimation. Neat, economical, and prudent, were,
indeed, the three capital adjectives of her vocabulary, and to deserve
them was her eleventh commandment.
With one exception, these were the texts of all her homilies, and the
exception was, unluckily, one which admitted of much more argument.
It was the history of the puritans. But upon this subject, she was as
dexterous a special pleader as Neale, and as skilful in giving a false
coloring to facts, as D'Aubigne. But she had the advantage of these
worthies in that her declamation was quite honest: she had been taught
sincerely and heartily to believe all she asserted. She was of the
opinion that but two respectable ships had been set afloat since the
world began: one of which was Noah's ark, and the other the Mayflower.
She believed that no people had ever endured such persecutions as the
puritans, and was especially eloquent upon the subject of "New England's
Blarney-stone," the Rock of Plymouth.
Indeed, according to the creed of her people, historical and religious,
this is the only piece of granite in the whole world "worth speaking
of;" and geologists have sadly wasted their time in travelling over the
world in search of the records of creation, when a full epitome of
everything deserving to be known, existed in so small a space! All the
other rocks of the earth sink into insignificance, and "hide their
diminished heads," when compared to this mighty stone! The Rock of
Leucas, from which the amorous Lesbian maid cast herself disconsolate
into the sea, is a mere pile of dirt: the Tarpeian, whence the Law went
forth to the whole world for so many centuries, is not fit to be
mentioned in the same day: the Rock of Cashel, itself, is but the
subject of profane Milesian oaths; and the Ledge of Plymouth is the real
"Rock of Ages!" It is well that every people should have something to
adore, especially if that "something" belongs exclusively to themselves.
It elevates their self-respect: and, for this object, even historical
fictions may be forgiven.
But, as we have intimated, in the course of time the schoolmistress
became a married woman; and as she gathered experience, she gradually
learned that New England is not the whole "moral vineyard," and that
one might be more profitably employed than in disputing about
questionable points of history. New duties devolved upon her, and new
responsibilities rained fast. Instead of teaching the children of other
people, she now raised children for other people to teach. New sources
of pride were found in these, and in her husband and his prosperity. She
discovered that she could be religious without bigotry, modest without
prudery, and economical without meanness: and, profiting by the lessons
thus learned, she subsided into a true, faithful, and respectable
matron, thus, at last, fulfilling her genuine "mission."
FOOTNOTES:
[79] Author of the Life of William Penn, whose accuracy has lately been
questioned.
[80] By this form of expression, which may seem awkward, I mean to
convey this idea: That consistency of character would seem to preclude
any heartfelt reverence in the descendant of those whose piety was
manifested more in the _hatred of earthly_, than in _the love of
heavenly_, things.
[81] The language of a precious pamphlet, even now in circulation in the
west.
X.
THE POLITICIAN.
"All would be deemed, e'en from the cradle, fit
To rule in politics as well as wit:
The grave, the gay, the fopling, and the dunce,
Start up (God bless us!) statesmen all at once!"
CHURCHILL.
In a country where the popular breath sways men to its purposes or
caprices, as the wind bends the weeds in a meadow, statesmanship may
become a _system_, but can never rise to the dignity of a _science_; and
politics, instead of being an _art_, is a series of _arts_.
A system is order without principle: a science is order, based upon
principle. Statesmanship has to do with generalities--with the relations
of states, the exposition and preservation of constitutional provisions,
and with fundamental organizations. Politics relates to measures, and
the details of legislation. The _art_ of governing is the accomplishment
of the true politician: the _arts_ of governing are the trickeries of
the demagogue. _Right_ is the key-note of one: _popularity_ of the
other.
The large majority of men are sufficiently candid to acknowledge--at
least to themselves--that they are unfit for the station of law-giver;
but the vanity and jealousy begotten by participation in political
power, lead many of them, if not actually to believe, at all events to
_act_ upon the faith, that men, no more able than themselves, are the
best material for rulers. It is a kind of compromise between their
modesty and self-love: not burthening them with the trials and
responsibilities of positions for which they feel incompetent, but
soothing their vanity by the contemplation of office-holders not at all
their superiors. Below a certain (or uncertain) grade, therefore,
political stations are usually filled by men of very moderate abilities:
and their elevation is favored--indeed, often effected--by the very
causes which should prevent it. Such men are prone to thrust themselves
upon public notice, and thus secure, by persistence and impudence, what
might not be awarded them on the score of merit.