HARRIET BEECHER’S SCHOOLING
Away down West Street in the village of Litchfield was a square pine
building standing at the edge of the highway where no tree gave shade
and no bush or fence took off the cold hard look. In this Dame School,
kept by Ma’am Kilbourne, Harriet Beecher’s school education began.
Before the door in winter was a pile of wood for fuel, and in summer
all the chips of the winter’s wood still lay there outspread upon the
ground. Inside the appearance was even less attractive than without.
The benches were simple slabs with legs. The desks were slabs set up
at an angle; they were cut, hacked, and scratched; each year’s edition
of jack-knife literature overlay its predecessor’s, until in the days
of the Beecher children the desks already possessed carvings two or
three inches deep. But if a child cut a morsel, or stuck in a pin, or
pinched off a splinter, the sharp-eyed little mistress was on hand,
and one look from her eyes was worse than a sliver in the foot, and
one nip from her fingers was equal to the jab of a pin; each boy knew,
for every one of them had tried both. The teacher in this school for
children was a sharp, precise person possessed of many ingenious ways
for fretting little ones. At any rate this was the way one little boy
remembered her, and we may suppose that a little girl would realize
some of her disagreeableness, even so obedient a child as Harriet.
Every morning, then, during both summer and winter little Harriet and
her brother two years younger than herself, reinforced by a hearty
breakfast and a more hearty session of morning prayers at home, and
bearing the precious splint basket that contained their mid-day lunch
of brown bread and apples, trudged down to the place of all-day work
and perhaps of discipline.
Harriet and her brother Henry were inseparable companions. Together
they were hurried off from the house, together they went down the
village street, together they entered the dismal school, subdued for
the moment into quiet. Together they endured the long day and envied
the flies and the birds that could go about so freely. The windows
were so high that they could not see the grassy meadows--only the
tantalizing tops of the trees came above the window ledges, and above
that the far, deep, bounteous, blue sky. There flew the bluebirds;
there went the robins, and there followed the longing thoughts of the
children. Long before they knew what was written in Scripture they
cried out, O that we had the wings of a bird! As for learning, it was
Henry’s opinion in his mature life, that the sum of all they got at
the village school would scarcely cover the first ten letters of the
alphabet. One good, kind, story-telling, Bible-rehearsing aunt at home
with apples and gingerbread premiums was worth all the school ma’ams
that ever stood to see poor little fellows roast in those boy-traps
called district schools! Such an aunt the Beecher children had at home,
and beloved she was!
But that was a boy’s view; and boys’ views of teachers are well known
to be entirely unreliable. Ma’am Kilbourne was highly respected in
the community and her curriculum, though not wide, is known to have
gone very deep. In fact we may say that in her school the character
and influence of the teacher, together with the “New England Primer,”
formed the main body of the instruction.
“Come here and learn your Primer,” the teacher said, and Harriet’s
curly head bent over the little book as she spelled out the words,
“The cat doth play,
And after slay.”
“You see the picture?” Her teacher pointed out the right one in its
little square on the page, a wood-cut of the feline musician with
fiddle in hand. Here Henry crowded forward to see, too, and, finding
some great joke in the matter, he nudged and coughed and could not be
made to stand still. The Dame continued:
“’Tis youth’s delight
To fly their kite--”
a self-evident truth not needing proof. The next item is more learned.
“Whales in the sea
God’s voice obey--”
she pronounced “sea” as “say,” as was the custom in those days;
“The deluge drowned
The world around--”
continued these instructions in history and science. Biblical example
was thus enforced for the benefit of Harriet:
“Young pious Ruth
Left all for truth;”
and, for Henry’s sake, this:
“Young Obadias,
David, Josias,
All were pious.”
That great New England classic, comprised in a mere booklet, three
by four inches in size, contained also the “Alphabet of Lessons for
Youth,” which Ma’am Kilbourne did not fail to enforce. She taught them
to read from the printed page what they already knew in the better
way--by heart, the immortal prayer, “Now I lay me,” and the hymns,
“Hush, my dear,” and “Give ear, my children,” and other hymns and
prayers. There were also “Moral Precepts for Children in Words of One
Syllable.” They were tedious, but think of the glory of really knowing
them by heart!
Speak the truth and lie not.
Live well that you may die well.
Ill words spread strife.
Do not be proud.
Scorn not to be poor.
Give to them that want.
Learn to love your book.
Good children must
Fear God all day Love Christ alway
Parents obey In secret pray
No false thing say Mind little play
By no sin stray Make no delay
In doing good.
These foundation principles, we may be sure, were well rubbed in.
The Dame School was an English inheritance that came with the Puritans
from their home across the Atlantic--such a school as the poets
Cowper and Shenstone have beautifully described in their poetry. In
New England a special exercise for Saturday was added; then the little
ones were required to learn and recite the answers in the Westminster
Assembly’s Shorter Catechism, wherein the profoundest problems of
Calvinism were thoroughly set forth. When Harriet was asked the first
question: “What is the chief end of man?” and was taught to say: “The
chief end of man is to glorify God and to enjoy Him forever,” she
thought the answer difficult. It was long and had words of more than
one syllable in it. She liked far better the Church Catechism that her
grandmother down in Guilford had her study which began simply with
“What is your name?” This was more within her range; it was a good easy
start, and the answer could be shouted out in a voice loud and clear.
Another custom of the New England Dame School was perhaps also an
innovation--that of requiring the children to bring a piece of sewing
from home for the boys and girls to work on at odd moments so that no
precious interval of time might be lost. At recess after the lunch had
been unceremoniously made away with there were long uninteresting towel
seams to be ripped up on one side and sewed down on the other by the
industrious little fingers of Harriet and of her robust and perhaps
rebellious brother, Henry Ward. In these early New England schools,
as in New England life in general, the chief note was industry. Our
heroic ancestors, when they left their comfortable homes in the mother
country and came to this untraveled land, did not include in their
plan a smooth and easy life. Since Harriet belonged to a supremely
self-sacrificing family, she came to share this severe understanding
of life, and her patriotic heart warmly responded to it. Perhaps when
she was a little girl she did not realize that her school provided few
means of healthful enjoyment for the children. But then, on the rare
occasion when one of the children had a treat of nuts and raisins, or a
little cake trimmed with caraway sugar plums to share with the others,
her joy was all the greater because of the rarity of the festival; and
if besides there were added some of those wonderful candies brought
from Boston, heart-shaped and hard as pebbles, but inscribed with
romantic mottoes, why, that was bliss indeed!
From these rather severe foundations Harriet passed on into lessons in
the reading of the Bible and in the “Columbian Orator.” She learned to
write from “set copies,” and to do “sums” from Daboll’s Arithmetic.
Soon the whole company of Beecher boys and girls were together in a
schoolroom which was bare to the point of meanness with a vestibule
where hats and dinner baskets were hung. The heating apparatus was a
big stove whose long black pipe stuck out of the window. But if any
Beecher child complained of want of comfort, his father cut him short
by saying, “Why, when I was a boy the fireplace in the schoolhouse,
though big enough to take in logs of wood cart length and capable of
making heat enough to roast an ox, did not carry the warmth much beyond
the andirons. Only the biggest and smartest boys were able to get near
the fire; the little fellows must do the best they could. I had to take
my ink-bottle to the fire to thaw out the ice in it many times a day.”
In this way he put their complaints to silence.
In New England the boys and girls were educated together in one school.
As Mrs. Stowe said later in life, “If a daughter of Eve wished like
her brother to put forth her hand to the tree of knowledge there was
neither cherubim nor flaming sword to drive her away!” And how they did
study! What industry! What rivalry! In English grammar, for instance,
the school was parceled out into a certain number of divisions,
each under a leader, and at the close of the term there was a great
examination which was like a tournament. It was known that when the
day came, the most difficult specimens of English literature would be
given out for parsing and the most abstruse problems in grammar would
be gathered together for use in the test. For a week the boys and girls
spoke and dreamed of nothing but English grammar, and each division
sat in solemn assembly, afraid lest one of its mighty secrets should
possibly take wing and be plundered by some of the scouts of another
division. In the end the division that could not be puzzled by any
doubtful phrase would be proclaimed victorious and would be crowned
with laurels as glorious as those of the old Olympian games.
In due time Harriet was ready to enter the institution that she was
looking forward to with longing eyes--the Litchfield Female Academy.
This school was one of many seminaries for the higher culture of the
New England daughters, which sprang up throughout the vigorous young
states, and which testify to the enthusiasm for education of our
Puritan fathers. Among them the original Mt. Holyoke Seminary and
the Emma Willard School are perhaps the most noted. Some of these
early schools have developed into strong colleges, and all of them in
their times served a valuable purpose in our educational life. It was
fortunate for the Beecher family that Litchfield contained an academy
of this sort, and here under the training of the cultivated ladies,
Miss Sally and Miss Mary Pierce, Harriet’s education was now conducted.
Miss Sally Pierce was the real head of the school. According to her
picture in Miss Vanderpoel’s delightful book of reminiscences of
the famous school, Miss Pierce was a very handsome woman with eyes
that suggest sensibility, and a mouth that could smile charmingly.
But we suspect also that the little stiff curls might bob warningly
and the lips settle down into a very firm line, while the tall cap
standing up over the brow might strike terror to the heart of any
child doubtful about the correctness of her examples, or nervous lest
a half or a one-tenth of a “miss” should be counted against her. The
truth is, however, that Miss Sally was very much beloved and so greatly
admired that she must have been in danger of vanity. John Pierpont,
a considerable poet in his day and not forgotten now, celebrated her
worth in a passage in his Centennial Poem in 1851. He becomes almost
eloquent.
Pierce, an honored name!
Yea, thrice and four times honored,
he cries. Then he contrasts her glories with those of the warrior.
Bloodless the garland on her temples laid.
To them, reproachful, no poor widow turns;
No sister’s heart bleeds, and no mother mourns
To see them flourish. Ne’er shall they be torn
From off her honored brows. Long be they worn
To show the world how a good Teacher’s name
Out-weighs, in real worth, the proudest warrior’s fame!
The Academy was held in an insignificant house thirty by sixty feet.
There was a small closet at each end, one for the piano and one for
bonnets. There were desks of the plainest pine, long plank benches,
a small table and an elevated chair for the teacher--that was all.
Upon the modest throne sat Miss Sally Pierce, the principal. She
probably resembled Miss Titcomb, in Mrs. Stowe’s novel, “Oldtown
Folks,” a thoroughbred, old-fashioned lady whose views of education
were formed by Miss Hannah More and whose style like Miss Hannah More’s
was profoundly Johnsonian, which means that her ideas were expressed
in very grand and dignified language. The set of rules that she made
for the conduct of her school required of the pupils absolute moral
perfection. It was written there that persons truly polite would
invariably treat their superiors with reverence, their equals with
exact consideration, and their inferiors with condescension. Also,
under the head of manners, they were warned not to consider romping as
indicative of sprightliness or loud laughter as a mark of wit. When
these rules were read to the pupils on a Saturday morning, we can
imagine that there was some suppressed excitement, for these children
with mountain air stirring in their veins were doubtless somewhat given
to romping and loud laughter!
Dr. Beecher, who took a great interest in the school, came nearly every
Saturday and talked with the girls about religious subjects. The young
ladies also attended the church and were expected to report on the
sermons they heard. Besides that, they wrote of their own accord long
outlines of these mild entertainments in their diaries and commonplace
books. Some of these old commonplace books have been preserved and
give testimony to the accurate attention of these girls of old New
England. Said one: “Dr. Beecher visited the school. I was very much
pleased; his doctrine is plain and easy to understand.” Another, after
hearing him both morning and evening and stating the chapter and
verse used on each occasion, went home and went to her room thinking
seriously of what he had said. “He wished,” she said, “to have us all
be good Christians!” The same good child once had an afternoon holiday,
but came to school just the same. She was rewarded by being present
when, at about sunset, Dr. Beecher “came down to see us. He talked very
affecting,” she said. “He said he could not make a very long visit with
us at present, but if we wished he would come in some time and pray
with us. We all joined in the request. I should be very glad to have
him come, for I like to hear religious instruction.”
Another girl wrote: “He said that we must repent and believe and
explained how we should repent and believe, but my memory is so poor
that I cannot remember it.”
An unusually independent young mind conceived the following critical
passage: “Mr. Beecher preached a very good sermon quite as good as he
usually does, though I do not think he is one of the best preachers.”
Here is the record of one Saturday’s exercise: “Dr. Beecher came in and
gave us a lecture on the first question in the catechism. ‘What is the
chief end of man? To glorify God and enjoy Him forever.’ He said that
in order to glorify God we must love Him and become acquainted with Him
and likewise endeavor to acquaint our companions with His goodness, as
we would if we had a friend at home who was very amiable, and tell our
companions how amiable she is. It would be glorifying her.”
Thus the great preacher made his influence felt as the adviser and
helper of Miss Pierce and of her girls. Mrs. Beecher, too, though
the most shy and retiring of women, acted, with other ladies of the
village, on the committee for awarding prizes at the end of the term.
When the middle of June came there were important exercises, and
on this occasion all was dignity and decorum. A long procession of
schoolgirls came marching down North Street, walking under the lofty
elms to the music of the flute and flageolet. The girls were gaily
dressed and in the most joyous spirits. At the church each proud
graduate received her diploma, a document printed elegantly upon white
satin and bound with blue ribbon. Upon the refined surface was a
beautiful picture, representing a lofty hill, on the top of which was
a temple surrounded by rays of light. A clearly marked but steep and
difficult path led up the side of this mountain. At the foot stood a
lady who reached out her arm and pointed with a meaning finger to a
bulky geographical globe that rested upon a pile of books. She seemed
to say that only by means of most severe study would you be able to
climb this hill to the radiant temple of learning. The meaning of the
picture was well understood by the young graduate. Above the design
amid the most wonderful flourishes of penmanship was inscribed the
title “Litchfield Female Academy,” and below were printed the words:
Miss ---- ----
has completed with honor the prescribed course of
study--Grammar, Geography, History, Arithmetic, Rhetoric,
Natural and Moral Philosophy, Chemistry, Logic, and the
Principles of Taste.
Several of these little diplomas, now yellowed with age, are preserved
in the Town Museum at Litchfield. I do not know that Harriet Beecher
came into possession of one of them; she probably went away to be a
teacher herself before she reached that point.
We learn, however, from this little certificate what was the course
of study in the Litchfield Female Academy. But no such list of titles
can give us any real idea of what the days at the Academy meant to
Harriet. Miss Pierce was a woman of great ability. She herself had made
an “Abridgment of Universal History” in four volumes which was used
as a text-book in her school; and after plodding through this ample
work the students followed it by Russell’s “Modern Europe,” Coot’s
“Continuation,” and Ramsey’s “American Revolution,” and accompanied the
study with map-drawing. They made historical charts in which the names
of kings and queens were set in little sequins strung along a “riband”
or skein of sky-blue silk. Within the charmed enclosure of this design
were the royal genealogical patterns from Saxon to Brunswick with
roses of red and of white appropriately interspersed. Nothing could be
clearer. Mrs. Stowe thought so much of Miss Pierce’s method that when
she had her own little family to bring up she wrote to ask Miss Pierce
for a copy of the book she had used in childhood from which to instruct
her children.
In Miss Pierce’s school Harriet Beecher laid the foundations for her
understanding of the history and principles of our national government
which in due time made it possible for her to write the biographies of
a number of our most distinguished statesmen, and to talk with Abraham
Lincoln in 1862 with some comprehension of his problems.
Harriet must have been a brilliant little student. Writing
compositions, which is such a burden to most young scholars, she seems
to have found only a delight. To this work she must have been trained
from her earliest days, for her mother had always maintained a sort
of home school in the family; and when Dr. Beecher was off on some
ministerial quest he did not fail to send home on time the lists of
composition subjects and outlines that he had agreed to arrange for
Mrs. Beecher to use in her work with these pupils. Here are some of
the subjects: The Difference between the Natural and Moral Sublime,
The Comparative Merits of Milton and Shakespeare, The Comparative
Merits of the Athenian and Lacedaemonian Systems of Education, and, Can
the Benevolence of Deity be Proved by the Light of Nature? Profound
subjects! But when the young people were sharpening up their wits on
such whetstones as these, it is not so strange that a little girl of
twelve, who was filled with the spirit of aspiration and fired with
curiosity about everything in the universe, should try her pen at the
most difficult among them.
Her question was phrased in this way: Can the Immortality of the Soul
Be Proved by the Light of Nature? And her essay, when handed in, was
thought to be quite wonderful. And indeed it was wonderful; for even
if the ideas were overheard by her in the classes of older pupils or
in the table talk of her father at home, to set them down in order and
arrange them effectively was a great achievement. This precious essay
has been preserved and is reproduced in full in the “Life of Mrs.
Stowe,” by her son, published in 1889. The learned subject is treated
in the most systematic manner; the introduction, the point of view and
arrangement of thought under separate heads.
The exhibition day came. The hall was crowded with all the literati
of Litchfield. Before this distinguished audience all the compositions
were read aloud. Harriet’s father was present and was sitting on
high by the side of the teacher. When they read Harriet’s piece she
was closely watching her father’s face, and she saw that it visibly
brightened. He looked really interested, and at the close she heard
him say, “Who wrote that composition?” “Your daughter, sir.” was the
answer. It was the proudest moment of Harriet’s life. She could not
mistake the expression of her father’s face when he was listening to
the essay; she knew that he was pleased, and to have him interested was
the greatest triumph that her heart could ask.
The teacher that answered Dr. Beecher was a nephew of Miss Pierce,
Mr. J. P. Brace, who assisted her in the work of the school. He must
have been one of those strong and spicy old New England schoolmasters
that Mrs. Stone speaks of in “Men of Our Times.” A well-informed and
cultivated man, a writer of romances himself, and especially gifted in
conversational power, he must have been a stimulating and inspiring
instructor. An enthusiast in botany, mineralogy, and the natural
sciences generally, he filled the students with an enthusiasm that
made gathering specimens and making herbariums an easy task. He kept
up a constant conversation on a great variety of subjects, better
calculated to develop the mind and to inspire love of literature than
any mere routine could have been. Harriet afterward declared that she
gained more from hearing the recitations and discussions in the classes
of the older pupils than from her own work. There from hour to hour
she listened with eager ears to historical criticisms and discussion
of such works as Paley’s “Moral Philosophy,” Blair’s “Rhetoric,” and
Alison on “Taste.”
In composition Mr. Brace excelled all teachers she ever knew. The
constant interest that he aroused in the minds of his pupils, the wide
and varied regions of thought into which he led them, formed a perfect
preparation for their work in composition. He made them feel that they
had something which they wanted to say, and this is the main requisite
for success in writing.
Those were very busy, happy days for Harriet, probably the days she
had in mind when she wrote in “Oldtown Folks”: “Certainly of all the
days that I look back upon, this Academy life in Cloudland was the
most perfectly happy.... It was happy because we were in the first
flush of belief in ourselves and in life. Oh, that first belief!
those incredible first visions! when all things look possible, and
one believes in the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow and sees
enchanted palaces in the sunset clouds! What faith we had in one
another, and how wonderful we were in one another’s eyes!... We
believed that we had secrets of happiness and progress known only to
ourselves. We had full faith in one another’s destiny; we were all
remarkable people and destined to do great things!”