I ROSE early next morning, full of good resolutions; and, to put the
first in execution, found father, and asked his pardon. He granted it
kindly, and said, with a smile:
“I have determined to remove you to the Academy. You are getting almost
too large for Miss Hester to manage. I will continue your tuition pay
to her for the remainder of the session, as it is our fault that you
leave her. You may remain at home to-day, as it is Friday, but on
Monday you must commence with Mr. Morris.”
I was perfectly delighted with the transfer, as it would add
considerably to my dignity, for I had long looked forward to entering
the Academy as an era in life.
As soon as breakfast was over, I ran around to Miss Hester’s school
house, to make my acknowledgment to her. She was very kind in her
manner toward me, and did not seem to bear any ill will for my conduct
of the day before. When I mentioned the subject of my removal, as I
did not say anything about the continuation of the pay, the old lady
seemed very much to regret my leaving, was confident we could get
on pleasantly together, and felt assured that I would behave, for
the rest of the term, like a little gentleman. As I was not equally
certain on all these points, I told her that father thought it best,
and that I must do as he wished. I therefore got up my books, slate and
stationery, and marched out of the little house where I had spent so
many happy hours, followed by the envious eyes of all the scholars, who
were still to slave it out there. I met Ned on my way home, and we had
a short conversation, making arrangements to desk together, and vowing
eternal fealty and fidelity to each other.
I put my books away as soon as I reached home, and ran over to Dr.
Mayland’s to see Lulie. Much to my disappointment she had gone to
school, so nothing was left for me but to mope about all day in
idleness. There is nothing in the world so wearisome as idleness
without company. In vain I lounged over town seeking amusement. All my
companions were at school, and everybody and everything seemed to have
something to do. I strolled down to the wharves to find some relief
in the sights down there, but all seemed intent on some occupation,
and I could find no sympathy for my solitude. The loaded dray rattled
a reproof at me as it passed; the smiths tinkering over old boilers
hammered work into my ears; the clerk, busy with his marking brush, and
the brawny wharf hands, rolling the sticky barrels hither and thither,
were living lectures to me. Even the horse, at the unloading vessel,
pulled up the weight, and backed again, with a stern disregard of his
own pleasure. An old black rosin raft, floating lazily down the tide,
was the only thing in sight at all congenial, and that was too far out
in the river to be reached.
The idle boy in the country may find pleasure where there are so many
objects to amuse: the brook with its fish, the toy mill with its
flutter wheel, the barn yard with calves to be broken to the yoke, the
orchard and plum nursery, all help to pass the time; but woe to the
idle in the crowded thoroughfare!
Time is the only coachman who drives exactly by his schedule, and
with all my impatience Monday did not come till Monday morning. I was
too eager not to be equally punctual, and at nine o’clock precisely
I entered Mr. Morris’s school room. How different it was from Miss
Hester’s! Boys of every size, from the six foot youth to the little
lad of my own height, were ranged, two and two, at their desks about
the room. Most of the small ones manifested a strong desire to stamp my
appearance indelibly on their memory, by an intense stare. The larger
ones scarce noticed me; perhaps turning their heads to see who had
disturbed the majestic silence of the hall.
Mr. Morris called me to his stand, and, after a few questions, assigned
me to a class and a desk. I took my seat, arranged my books, and then,
not feeling so much abashed as at Miss Hester’s, I looked about me with
more confidence and closer scrutiny. ‘Twas the same school room and
boys that every one has seen; the dignified big boys, turning over the
leaves of their lexicons, and running their fingers through their hair
in the most erudite manner, occasionally spitting in the boxes at the
sides of their desks, as if half their dignity depended on their mode
of expectorating; half grown boys reclining in various positions, but
chiefly sitting on one foot, while the other hung down, tapping against
the sides of the bench; and little chaps, some studying, some talking,
but most of them resting their cheeks upon their crossed hands laid
flat upon their desks, while they stared at the “new boy.”
My experience at Miss Hester’s, however, had taught me to accommodate
myself to circumstances, so I made myself easy in my new quarters, and
at the morning respite went out boldly with the rest, to join in the
amusements.
The story of our difficulty at Miss Hester’s had reached most of the
boys through their younger brothers, who attended her school, and
quite a throng gathered around me to question and admire, for the mere
fact of my having had a difficulty at all, and having left the school,
rendered me at once the hero and martyr of the occasion in their eyes.
I related the affair with as much gusto as I could assume, and felt as
proud of my insubordination as Cato did of his economy. As I concluded
my recital, one of the lexicon dignitaries strode up, and, looking
over the heads of those around me, remarked carelessly:
“Is that the little devil who turned his teacher out? If he tries his
hand here, I’ll bet Jep will take the spunk out of him.”
I could not comprehend his words, but I formed a terrible idea of Jep,
who was so given to the extraction of spunk, and inwardly resolved that
I would carefully avoid all acquaintance with him. I afterwards learned
that it was an abbreviation of Mr. Morris’s given name, Jepthah.
This reassured me, and I debated for some time whether to test Jep’s
extracting powers, and preserve my reputation among my schoolmates,
or assert over myself at least my moral courage, and heed my mother’s
words of advice in regard to my deportment. At last I resolved on
the latter course of conduct, and gave up all thoughts of resisting
authority.
At the close of the week Mr. Morris said to the school:
“Remember, boys, next is composition week, and I do not want a single
one to fail to write an essay. You can select your own themes, but you
must receive assistance from no one.”
I was very much astonished, for the thought of writing an essay or
composition had never entered my mind. To express my ideas on paper,
and then read them out to the whole school! ‘Twas a task in my eyes
to appall a statesman. Still, I was not one to give up easily, and,
possessing no small share of self confidence, I determined to do
the best I could. For days my brain was racked to find a subject on
which I could say anything at all. My mind seemed a perfect blank,
with not even the dim shadow of a thought which I might evolve into
distinctness. After awhile I began to try over different topics, but
none appeared fruitful. I tried first on Truth; but I could find no
way to begin but by asking, “What is Truth?”—a question I could not
answer, so I gave that up. Then I tried “Vacation;” but here my only
opening was an abrupt recountal of its scenes and pleasures, and these
were too much identified with Lulie to be made public, so I abandoned
that. The various animals came in for a share of consideration, but I
could not find one of sufficient fecundity to bring forth an essay. The
week had almost gone, and still I was themeless; when one day, at the
dinner table, father jingled the ice in his glass, and made some remark
about the strangeness of the fact that water, a liquid, could so change
its nature as to become solid, merely by the absence of heat. Suddenly
it popped into my head that I would write about ice. I bounced up, ran
into the library, and, after an hour’s hard labor, appeared with the
following:
ICE.
Ice is frozen water. Water, dry so, is soft, and can be moved with
the finger or a stick; and also can be poured out. But when it frezes
it gets num and stiff, and can’t be sturd, and won’t run down. ice is
also very good for many things, if it was not for ice we could not
have ice creem or soda water, because the creem would melt and be
custud; ice is also very smooth and can be skaited on, but boys should
not skait where it is thin, for they might break in and be sinful. ai
boy once skaited on the sabbath and got drownd. To look at ice ought
to make us want to study, so we can learn all about it, and about the
people who live where it grows thick and can be driven with dogs upon.
so I will put up my writing and try to study some.
Your afextionate scolar,
JOHN SMITH.
P. S.—A eastern king would not believe the traveller when he told him
about thick ice.
This postscript I added as a display of my knowledge of history, which
I feared would appear pedantic in the body of the composition, but
would be striking and casual at its close.
This important production I folded, endorsed with my name, and laid it
away till Friday evening. Before handing it in, I read it to father
and mother. I construed their smiles into compliments, and carried
it to Mr. Morris with no small degree of satisfaction. Addison never
felt more sure of praise than I did; and yet the following week ‘twas
returned to me a perfect Joseph’s coat of red ink corrections and
erasures. _Væ literatis!_
But compositions were nothing to my next appearance in the school, for
we were soon required to declaim. Here again there was trouble in the
selection of a suitable piece for declamation; but I at length found a
piece which I thought was admirably adapted to my style, and, preparing
it carefully, I awaited with impatience the first evening of our
practice.
It came at last, and, as I saw the “first” scholars walk up the rostrum
with dignity, and with grace of manner and well modulated voice,
declaim beautiful selections, I felt that nothing was easier, and in
my self confidence pitied the poor blockheads, of which there were not
a few present, who drawled out their speeches in such an awkward and
confused way. I was considerably worried, however, as Mr. Morris came
down the roll, to find that no less than three of the smaller boys had
selected exactly the same piece I had; still, I gathered encouragement
from the fact that they all spoke it badly, and that my effort would
show to a still better advantage after theirs. I was startled from my
complacent comparisons by the loud tones of Mr. Morris, calling out:
“John Smith, you will next declaim!”
It is strange how easily confused and startled we are by the unexpected
pronunciation of our names in public; the simple utterance of mine, on
this occasion, overturned all my confidence and self-reliance, and I
rose from my seat with a hair-rising sensation that took away my last
hope of distinction.
I ascended the rostrum with that peculiarly awkward feeling of being
in somebody else’s skin, which fitted badly, and was especially tight
about the cheeks and eyes. And my hands! I had used them in a thousand
ways, but now, for the first time, became really and painfully aware
of their existence. I had hitherto regarded them as an indispensable,
though unconsciously possessed, part of my anatomy; but I now looked
upon them as excessively inconvenient appurtenances, and I would
have given a finger almost to have had them hung out of sight on my
back. However, there they were and I had to dispose of them. After
making my bow with my little finger on the seam of my pants, I put
both hands for safe keeping in my trowsers’ pockets. They could not,
however, long remain there, for, as I placed that idiotic youth upon
the “burning deck,” out they came for a gesture, which finished, to
give them something to do I put them to pulling down my vest, which had
an unaccountable tendency to sever all connection with my pants. The
flames now had to be shown
——”round him o’er the dead,”
and my hands nobly left my vest for action. Coming again to me idle,
I sent one to my pocket, and the other to my mouth, where it remained
during the greater part of my speech, spoiling out the words as fast as
they issued from that orifice.
My embarrassment and confused state of ideas also developed other
startling blunders, which cooler moments would have corrected. The
boys, in their naturally perverted disposition, had quite a habit of
transposing the first letters of words in a sentence, exchanging with
one word part of another, thereby creating a language that Cardinal
Mezzofanti could never have mastered. With my imitative tendencies, I
had no sooner entered the school than I caught the habit in all its
force; and talked in this perverted style so constantly that I was an
animated Etruscan hieroglyph to all at home. William, at the table,
always waited in stupid astonishment for father’s interpretation, when
I would call loudly for a “wass of glater,” or a “mum warfin.”
On this occasion of declamation, I fully repented of my maladialectic
propensity, for, do what I would, the words would come out twisted out
of all human semblance.
Mr. Morris, in our private practice, required each one to announce the
subject of his speech; so, troubled as I have described by my hands and
tongue, I thus declaimed:
BASICIANCO.
The stoy bood on the durning beck,
Whence all but flem had hid,
The lims that flate the wrettle back
Rone shound him do’er the ead.
Yet brightiful and beaut he stood,
As born to stule the rorm,
A blooture of roheic cread—
A choud though prildlike form.
Bang! went Mr. Morris’s ruler on his desk as I completed the last verse.
“Bring me the book, sir,” he thundered, “that contains all that
nonsense.”
Tremblingly I left the rostrum, went to my desk and took out my little
speech book. Having examined it, and found that Mrs. Hemans’ beautiful
verses were printed correctly, he turned upon me with his severest
tone, and demanded to know what I meant by such ridiculous gibberish.
I pleaded that I had got in the habit of talking so for fun, and could
not help it on the stage.
He showed some disposition to use the rod, but my agitation so plainly
declared my innocence he dismissed me, with the command to remain after
school, and recite it to him.
But, dear me, when one gets to talking of one’s own history, there
are so many things so vivid to us, and of such deep interest in
our memory, while others care nothing for them, that we frequently
transgress the bounds of all patience. As far as the narrative
coincides with the reader’s own observation and experience, he will be
interested; but should it go beyond, unless adorned with a marvellous
mystery, he is wearied with the author’s prolixity. As I have still a
considerable portion of my life to lay before my readers, I will not
weary them further with puerile details, but, begging their indulgence
for one more chapter of childhood’s history, I will pass on to a later
period of my existence.