Of the primary schools it is unnecessary to speak. They were of the same
kind that were established in Boston at that period. Indeed I can
recollect but two, one, a child's school of boys and girls, kept by a
Miss Scott, at the corner of Mt. Vernon Street and Hancock; the other a
boys' school kept by a Mr. Capen, a poor hump-backed cripple who could
not get out of his chair, but wheeled himself about the room, and kept
on his table a cowhide, which was pretty generously exercised. The
school was on Bedford Street behind the "Church of Church Green." A
little alley-way ran along in the rear of the church through which I
used to go to the school-house.
The Latin School was an old institution brought hither by Rev. John
Cotton, who remembered the Free Grammar School founded in Lincolnshire,
England, by Queen Mary, in which Latin and Greek were taught. It was
established here, in 1635, five years after the landing of Winthrop, two
or three years before Harvard College. When I was there, it stood on
School Street, opposite the Franklin statue. It had a granite front and
a cupola. The head-master was Charles K. Dillaway, an excellent scholar,
a faithful teacher, an agreeable man. He had to resign in consequence of
ill-health. The tutors were Henry W. Torrey and Francis Gardner, who
afterwards became head-master. Both were pupils of the school. Mr.
Frederick P. Leverett, author of the Latin Lexicon, was chosen to
succeed Mr. Dillaway, but died before assuming the office. The next
head-master, during my course, was Epes Sargent Dixwell, a most
accomplished man, an elegant scholar, a gentleman of the world, very
much interested, as I remember, in the plastic art of Greece. He is
still living, and amuses himself by writing Greek. Mr. Dixwell held
office till 1851, when he established a private school. The discipline
of the Latin School was strict but mild. Corporal punishment was the
unquestioned rule, but it was never harshly administered, though the
knowledge that it might be undoubtedly did a good deal toward
stimulating the ambition of the scholars. Here and there no doubt a boy
exasperated the teacher by idleness or disorder; possibly at moments the
teacher was nervous and irritable. I recollect a single instance in
which he was over-sensitive, too prone to take offence, which fastened
suspiciously upon some individual scholar; but injustice was a very rare
occurrence. We learned Greek and Latin, the rudiments of algebra,
writing and declamation; but the best part of the education I received
in those days was an atmosphere of elegant literature, derived from
friends of my father. I used to see William H. Prescott taking his walk
on Beacon Street, in the sun, and have often sat in his study in his
tranquil hours, and heard him talk. The beautiful library of George
Ticknor, at the head of Park Street, was open to me, and I can see his
form now as he walked on the Common. George S. Hillard, the elegant man
of letters, was a familiar figure on the street. Charles Sumner, then a
young law student, strode vigorously along, his manner even then
suggesting the advent of a new era.
In 1846, I listened to his oration before the Phi Beta Kappa Society of
Harvard University on the Scholar [Pickering]; the Jurist [Story]; the
Artist [Allston]; the Philanthropist [Channing]; and his bold
declamation was strangely in contrast with the academical gown that he
wore. Daniel Webster used to stalk by our house, the embodiment of the
Constitution, the incarnation of law, the black locomotive of the train
of civilization. Ralph Waldo Emerson often sat at my father's table
diffusing the radiance of serene ideas, and heralding the diviner age
that was to come.
From the Latin School to Harvard College was an easy transition. There
existed an impression that Latin-School boys might take their ease for
the first year at Cambridge, because they were so well prepared, but I
found enough to do; there was the great library, there were the advanced
studies, there was the more perfect training. The President was Josiah
Quincy, the elder. Henry W. Longfellow was professor of modern
languages; Cornelius C. Felton, the ardent philhellene, taught Greek;
Charles Beck, a German, taught Latin; Benjamin Peirce was professor of
mathematics; James Walker was an instructor in intellectual and moral
philosophy; Joseph Lovering, teacher in chemistry. Among the tutors were
Bernard Roelker, in German; Pietro Bachi, in Italian; Francisco Sales,
in Spanish.
The new buildings now in the college yard were not erected; Holworthy
(1812), Stoughton (1804-1805), Hollis (1763), Harvard (1766), Holden
(1734), Massachusetts Hall (1720), University Hall (1812-1813) were in
existence. There were no athletics; there was no gymnasium; there was no
boating; there was little base-ball. There were few literary societies;
so that we were driven back mainly upon intellectual labor. The
professors' houses were always open, and there was choice society in the
town. I recollect particularly well going to the house of John White
Webster, who was executed later for the murder of Dr. Parkman. He was
very fond of music and had a daughter who sang finely, besides being
handsome. She afterwards married Mr. Dabney, of Fayal. The Doctor was a
nervous man, high strung, but good-natured and polite. His fatal
encounter with Dr. Parkman I always attributed to a sudden outbreak of
passion.
Within the grounds of the college we were quite studious, companionable
among ourselves. There was no rioting, no excess of any kind. Walking
and swimming in the river Charles were our chief recreations. Connection
with Boston was infrequent and difficult, as there was no railroad. The
Sundays could be passed in the city if the student brought a certificate
that he went regularly to church; otherwise it was expected that the
First Church, or one of the others, should be frequented. The
instruction was of a cordial, friendly, courteous, and humane kind; the
professors were enthusiastic students in their departments. I well
recollect Professor Longfellow's kindness; Professor Felton's ardor (I
visited Pompeii with him in 1853). Charles Beck was a burning patriot in
the war. Pietro Bachi's great eyes lighted up and glowed as he talked
about Dante. Bernard Roelker afterwards became a lawyer in New York.
Charles Wheeler and Robert Bartlett, tutors, both rare spirits, died
young. On the whole, life at Harvard College was exceedingly pleasant,
and a real love of learning was implanted in young men's bosoms.
The corner-stone of Gore Hall was laid in 1813. The books were moved
into the library in the summer vacation of 1814. There were forty-one
thousand volumes at that time.
In the early part of my career, I took my meals in Commons, at an
expense of two dollars and a quarter a week, the highest price then
paid. Commons was abolished for a time in 1849, it being found difficult
to satisfy the students, who for some years had boarded in the houses in
the neighborhood.
There were excitements too. Though there was no gymnasium, or boating,
and little foot-ball, base-ball, or cricket (these games were all very
simple and rudimentary), there were the clubs, the "[Greek: Alpha Delta
Phi]," still a secret society, and occupying a back upper room, to which
we mounted by stealth,--the same room serving for initiations and
sociables,--was exceedingly interesting in a literary point of view.
There were papers on Scott, Byron, Wordsworth, delightful conversations,
anecdotes, songs.
The "Institute of 1770" taught us elocution, and readiness in debate;
the "[Greek: Phi Beta Kappa]," no longer a secret society, and no longer
actively literary, hung over us like a star, stimulating ambition and
inciting us to excellence in scholarship.
Altogether it was a delightful life; a life between boyhood and
manhood; of purely literary ambition, of natural friendship. There was
no distinction of persons, no affected pride. We found our own level,
and kept our own place. Money did not distinguish or family, only
brains. There was no care but for intellectual work; there was no excess
save in study. Expenses were small, indulgences were few and simple. The
education was more suited to those times than to these, when culture
must be so much broader, and social expectations demand such varied
accomplishments.