BY BAYNARD RUST HALL
Our Board of Trustees, it will be remembered, had been directed by the
Legislature to procure, as the ordinance called it, "Teachers for the
commencement of the State College at Woodville." That business, by the
Board, was committed to Dr. Sylvan and Robert Carlton--the most learned
gentleman of the body, and of--the New Purchase. Our honorable Board
will be more specially introduced hereafter; at present we shall bring
forward certain rejected candidates, that, like rejected prize essays,
they may be published, and _thus_ have their revenge.
None can tell us how plenty good things are till he looks for them; and
hence, to the great surprise of the Committee, there seemed to be a
sudden growth and a large crop of persons even in and around Woodville,
either already qualified for the "Professorships," as we named them in
our publication, or who _could_ "qualify" by the time of election. As to
the "chair" named also in our publications, one very worthy and
disinterested schoolmaster offered, as a great collateral inducement for
his being elected, "_to find his own chair!_"--a vast saving to the
State, if the same chair I saw in Mr. Whackum's school-room. For his
chair there was one with a hickory bottom; and doubtless he would have
filled it, and even lapped over its edges, with equal dignity in the
recitation room of Big College.
The Committee had, at an early day, given an invitation to the Rev.
Charles Clarence, A.M., of New Jersey, and his answer had been
affirmative; yet for political reasons we had been obliged to invite
competitors, or _make_ them, and we found and created "a right smart
sprinkle."
Hopes of success were built on many things--for instance, on poverty; a
plea being entered that something ought to be done for the poor
fellow--on one's having taught a common school all his born days, who
now deserved to rise a peg--on political, or religious, or fanatical
partizan qualifications--and on pure patriotic principles, such as a
person's having been "born in a canebrake and rocked in a sugar trough."
On the other hand, a fat, dull-headed, and modest Englishman asked for a
place, because he had been born in Liverpool! and had seen the world
beyond the woods and waters, too! And another fussy, talkative,
pragmatical little gentleman rested his pretensions on his ability to
draw and paint maps!--not projecting them in roundabout scientific
processes, but in that speedy and elegant style in which young ladies
_copy_ maps at first chop boarding-schools! Nay, so transcendent seemed
Mr. Merchator's claims, when his _show_ or _sample_ maps were exhibited
to us, that some in our Board, and nearly everybody out of it, were
confident he would do for Professor of Mathematics and even Principal.
But of all our unsuccessful candidates, we shall introduce by name only
two--Mr. James Jimmy, A.S.S., and Mr. Solomon Rapid, A. to Z.
Mr. Jimmy, who aspired to the mathematical chair, was master of a small
school of all sexes, near Woodville. At the first, he was kindly, yet
honestly told, his knowledge was too limited and inaccurate; yet,
notwithstanding this, and some almost rude repulses afterward, he
persisted in his application and his hopes. To give evidence of
competency, he once told me he was arranging a new spelling-book, the
publication of which would make him known as a literary man, and be an
unspeakable advantage to "the rising generation." And this naturally
brought on the following colloquy about the work:
"Ah! indeed! Mr. Jimmy?"
"Yes, indeed, Mr. Carlton."
"On what new principle do you go, sir?"
"Why, sir, on the principles of nature and common sense. I allow
school-books for schools are all too powerful obstruse and hard-like to
be understood without exemplifying illustrations."
"Yes, but Mr. Jimmy, how is a child's spelling-book to be made any
plainer?"
"Why, sir, by clear explifications of the words in one column, by
exemplifying illustrations in the other."
"I do not understand you, Mr. Jimmy, give me a specimen--"
"Sir?"
"An example--"
"To be sure--here's a spes-a-example; you see, for instance, I put in
the spelling-column, C-r-e-a-m, _cream_, and here in the explification
column, I put the exemplifying illustration--_Unctious part of milk!_"
We had asked, at our first interview, if our candidate was an
algebraist, and his reply was _negative_; but, "he allowed he could
'_qualify_' by the time of election, as he was powerful good at figures,
and had cyphered clean through every arithmetic he had ever seen, the
rule of promiscuous questions and all!" Hence, some weeks after, as I
was passing his door, on my way to a squirrel hunt, with a party of
friends, Mr. Jimmy, hurrying out with a slate in his hand, begged me to
stop a moment, and thus addressed me:
"Well, Mr. Carlton, this algebra is a most powerful thing--ain't it?"
"Indeed it is, Mr. Jimmy--have you been looking into it?"
"Looking into it! I have been all through this here fust part; and by
election time, I allow I'll be ready for examination."
"Indeed!"
"Yes, sir! but it is such a pretty thing! Only to think of cyphering by
letters! Why, sir, the sums come out, and bring the answers exactly like
figures. Jist stop a minute--look here: _a_ stands for 6, and _b_ stands
for 8, and _c_ stands for 4, and _d_ stands for figure 10; now if I say
a plus b minus c equals d, it is all the same as if I said, 6 is 6 and 8
makes 14, and 4 subtracted, leaves 10! Why, sir, I done a whole slate
full of letters and signs; and afterward, when I tried by figures, they
every one of them came out right and brung the answer! I mean to cypher
by letters altogether."
"Mr. Jimmy, my company is nearly out of sight--if you can get along this
way through simple and quadratic equations by our meeting, your chance
will not be so bad--good morning, sir."
But our man of "letters" quit cyphering the new way, and returned to
plain figures long before reaching equations; and so he could not become
our professor. Yet anxious to do us all the good in his power, after our
college opened, he waited on me, a leading trustee, with a proposal to
board our students, and authorized me to publish--"as how Mr. James
Jimmy will take strange students--students not belonging to
Woodville--to board, at one dollar a week, and find everything, washing
included, and will black their _shoes_ three times a week to _boot_,
and--_give them their dog-wood and cherry-bitters every morning into the
bargain!_"
The most extraordinary candidate, however, was Mr. Solomon Rapid. He was
now somewhat advanced into the shaving age, and was ready to assume
offices the most opposite in character; although justice compels us to
say Mr. Rapid was as fit for one thing as another. Deeming it waste of
time to prepare for any station till he was certain of obtaining it, he
wisely demanded the place first, and then set to work to become
qualified for its duties, being, I suspect, the very man, or some
relation of his, who is recorded as not knowing whether he could read
Greek, as he had never tried. And, besides, Mr. Solomon Rapid contended
that all offices, from president down to fence-viewer, were open to
every white American citizen; and that every republican had a
blood-bought right to seek any that struck his fancy; and if the profits
were less, or the duties more onerous than had been anticipated, that a
man ought to resign and try another.
Naturally, therefore, Mr. Rapid thought he would like to sit in our
chair of languages, or have some employment in the State college; and
hence he called for that purpose on Dr. Sylvan, who, knowing the
candidate's character, maliciously sent him to me. Accordingly, the
young gentleman presented himself, and without ceremony, instantly made
known his business thus:
"I heerd, sir, you wanted somebody to teach the State school, and I'm
come to let you know I'm willing to take the place."
"Yes, sir, we are going to elect a professor of languages who is to be
the principal and a professor--"
"Well, I don't care which I take, but I'm willing to be the principal.
I can teach sifring, reading, writing, joggerfee, surveying, grammur,
spelling, definition, parsin--"
"Are you a linguist?"
"Sir?"
"You, of course, understand the dead languages?"
"Well, can't say I ever seed much of them, though I have heerd tell of
them; but I can soon larn them--they ain't more than a few of them I
allow?"
"Oh! my dear sir, it is not possible--we--can't--"
"Well, I never seed what I couldn't larn about as smart as anybody--"
"Mr. Rapid, I do not mean to question your abilities; but if you are now
wholly unacquainted with the dead languages, it is impossible for you or
any other talented man to learn them under four or five years."
"Pshoo! foo! I'll bet I larn one in three weeks! Try me, sir,--let's
have the furst one furst--how many are there?"
"Mr. Rapid, it is utterly impossible; but if you insist, I will loan you
a Latin book--"
"That's your sort, let's have it, that's all I want, fair play."
Accordingly, I handed him a copy of Historiæ Sacræ, with which he soon
went away, saying, he "didn't allow it would take long to git through
Latin, if 'twas only sich a thin patch of a book as that."
In a few weeks, to my no small surprise, Mr. Solomon Rapid again
presented himself; and drawing forth the book began with a triumphant
expression of countenance:
"Well, sir, I have done the Latin."
"Done the Latin!"
"Yes, I can read it as fast as English."
"Read it as fast as English!!"
"Yes, as fast as English--and I didn't find it hard at all."
"May I try you on a page?"
"Try away, try away; that's what I've come for."
"Please read here then, Mr. Rapid;" and in order to give him a fair
chance, I pointed to the first lines of the first chapter, viz.: "In
principio Deus creavit coelum et terram intra sex dies; primo die
fecit lucem," etc.
"That, sir?" and then he read thus, "In prinspo duse creevit kalelum et
terrum intra sex dyes--primmo dye fe-fe-sit looseum," etc.
"That will do, Mr. Rapid--"
"Ah! ha! I told you so."
"Yes, yes--but translate."
"Translate!" (eyebrows elevating.)
"Yes, translate, render it."
"Render it!! how's that?" (forehead more wrinkled.)
"Why, yes, render it into English--give me the meaning of it."
"MEANING!!" (staring full in my face, his eyes like saucers, and
forehead wrinkled with the furrows of eighty)--"MEANING!! I didn't know
it _had_ any meaning. I thought it was a DEAD language!!"
* * * * *
Well, reader, I am glad you are _not_ laughing at Mr. Rapid; for how
should anything _dead_ speak out so as to be understood? And indeed,
does not his definition suit the vexed feelings of some young gentlemen
attempting to read Latin without any interlinear translation? and who
inwardly, cursing both book and teacher, blast their souls "if they can
make any sense out of it." The ancients may yet speak in their own
languages to a few; but to most who boast the honor of their
acquaintance, they are certainly dead in the sense of Solomon Rapid.
LITTLE ORPHANT ANNIE
BY JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY
Little Orphant Annie's come to our house to stay,
An' wash the cups and saucers up, an' brush the crumbs away,
An' shoo the chickens off the porch, an' dust the hearth, an' sweep,
An' make the fire, an' bake the bread, an' earn her board-an'-keep;
An' all us other childern, when the supper things is done,
We set around the kitchen fire an' has the mostest fun
A-list'nin' to the witch-tales 'at Annie tells about,
An' the Gobble-uns 'at gits you
Ef you
Don't
Watch
Out!
Onc't there was a little boy wouldn't say his pray'rs--
An' when he went to bed at night, away up stairs,
His mammy heerd him holler, an' his daddy heerd him bawl,
An' when they turn't the kivvers down, he wasn't there at all!
An' they seeked him in the rafter-room, an' cubby-hole, an' press,
An' seeked him up the chimbly-flue, an' ever'wheres, I guess;
But all they ever found was thist his pants an' roundabout!
An' the Gobble-uns'll git you
Ef you
Don't
Watch
Out!
An' one time a little girl 'ud allus laugh an' grin,
An' make fun of ever' one, an' all her blood-an'-kin;
An' onc't when they was "company," an' ole folks was there,
She mocked 'em an' shocked 'em, an' said she didn't care!
An' thist as she kicked her heels, an' turn't to run an' hide,
They was two great big Black Things a-standin' by her side,
An' they snatched her through the ceilin' 'fore she knowed what
she's about!
An' the Gobble-uns'll git you
Ef you
Don't
Watch
Out!
An' little Orphant Annie says, when the blaze is blue,
An' the lampwick sputters, an' the wind goes woo-oo!
An' you hear the crickets quit, an' the moon is gray,
An' the lightnin'-bugs in dew is all squenched away,--
You better mind yer parents, and yer teachers fond and dear,
An' churish them 'at loves you, an' dry the orphant's tear,
An' he'p the pore an' needy ones 'at clusters all about,
Er the Gobble-uns'll git you
Ef you
Don't
Watch
Out!
HANS BREITMANN'S PARTY
BY CHARLES GODFREY LELAND
Hans Breitmann gife a barty,
Dey had biano-blayin;
I felled in lofe mit a Merican frau,
Her name vas Madilda Yane.
She hat haar as prown ash a pretzel,
Her eyes vas himmel-plue,
Und ven dey looket indo mine,
Dey shplit mine heart in two.
Hans Breitmann gife a barty,
I vent dere you'll pe pound.
I valtzet mit Madilda Yane
Und vent shpinnen round und round.
De pootiest Fraeulein in de House,
She vayed 'pout dwo hoondred pound,
Und efery dime she gife a shoomp
She make de vindows sound.
Hans Breitmann gife a barty,
I dells you it cost him dear.
Dey rolled in more ash sefen kecks
Of foost-rate Lager Beer.
Und venefer dey knocks de shpicket in
De Deutschers gifes a cheer.
I dinks dat so vine a barty,
Nefer coom to a het dis year.
Hans Breitmann gife a barty;
Dere all vas Souse und Brouse,
Ven de sooper comed in, de gompany
Did make demselfs to house;
Dey ate das Brot and Gensy broost,
De Bratwurst and Braten fine,
Und vash der Abendessen down
Mit four parrels of Neckarwein.
Hans Breitmann gife a barty;
We all cot troonk ash bigs.
I poot mine mout to a parrel of bier
Und emptied it oop mit a schwigs.
Und denn I gissed Madilda Yane
Und she shlog me on de kop,
Und de gompany fited mit daple-lecks
Dill de coonshtable made oos shtop.
Hans Breitmann gife a barty--
Where ish dat barty now!
Where ish de lofely golden cloud
Dat float on de moundain's prow?
Where ish de himmelstrablende Stern--
De shtar of de shpirit's light?
All goned afay mit de Lager Beer--
Afay in de ewigkeit!
ROLLO LEARNING TO READ
BY ROBERT J. BURDETTE
When Rollo was five years young, his father said to him one evening:
"Rollo, put away your roller skates and bicycle, carry that rowing
machine out into the hall, and come to me. It is time for you to learn
to read."
Then Rollo's father opened the book which he had sent home on a truck
and talked to the little boy about it. It was Bancroft's History of the
United States, half complete in twenty-three volumes. Rollo's father
explained to Rollo and Mary his system of education, with special
reference to Rollo's learning to read. His plan was that Mary should
teach Rollo fifteen hours a day for ten years, and by that time Rollo
would be half through the beginning of the first volume, and would like
it very much indeed.
Rollo was delighted at the prospect. He cried aloud:
"Oh, papa! thank you very much. When I read this book clear through, all
the way to the end of the last volume, may I have another little book to
read?"
"No," replied his father, "that may not be; because you will never get
to the last volume of this one. For as fast as you read one volume, the
author of this history, or his heirs, executors, administrators, or
assigns, will write another as an appendix. So even though you should
live to be a very old man, like the boy preacher, this history will
always be twenty-three volumes ahead of you. Now, Mary and Rollo, this
will be a hard task (pronounced tawsk) for both of you, and Mary must
remember that Rollo is a very little boy, and must be very patient and
gentle."
The next morning after the one preceding it, Mary began the first
lesson. In the beginning she was so gentle and patient that her mother
went away and cried, because she feared her dear little daughter was
becoming too good for this sinful world, and might soon spread her wings
and fly away and be an angel.
But in the space of a short time, the novelty of the expedition wore
off, and Mary resumed running her temper--which was of the
old-fashioned, low-pressure kind, just forward of the fire-box--on its
old schedule. When she pointed to "A" for the seventh time, and Rollo
said "W," she tore the page out by the roots, hit her little brother
such a whack over the head with the big book that it set his birthday
back six weeks, slapped him twice, and was just going to bite him, when
her mother came in. Mary told her that Rollo had fallen down stairs and
torn his book and raised that dreadful lump on his head. This time
Mary's mother restrained her emotion, and Mary cried. But it was not
because she feared her mother was pining away. Oh, no; it was her
mother's rugged health and virile strength that grieved Mary, as long as
the seance lasted, which was during the entire performance.
That evening Rollo's father taught Rollo his lesson and made Mary sit by
and observe his methods, because, he said, that would be normal
instruction for her. He said:
"Mary, you must learn to control your temper and curb your impatience if
you want to wear low-neck dresses, and teach school. You must be sweet
and patient, or you will never succeed as a teacher. Now, Rollo, what is
this letter?"
"I dunno," said Rollo, resolutely.
"That is A," said his father, sweetly.
"Huh," replied Rollo, "I knowed that."
"Then why did you not say so?" replied his father, so sweetly that
Jonas, the hired boy, sitting in the corner, licked his chops.
Rollo's father went on with the lesson:
"What is this, Rollo?"
"I dunno," said Rollo, hesitatingly.
"Sure?" asked his father. "You do not know what it is?"
"Nuck," said Rollo.
"It is A," said his father.
"A what?" asked Rollo.
"A nothing," replied his father, "it is just A. Now, what is it?"
"Just A," said Rollo.
"Do not be flip, my son," said Mr. Holliday, "but attend to your lesson.
What letter is this?"
"I dunno," said Rollo.
"Don't fib to me," said his father, gently, "you said a minute ago that
you knew. That is N."
"Yes, sir," replied Rollo, meekly. Rollo, although he was a little boy,
was no slouch, if he did wear bibs; he knew where he lived without
looking at the door-plate. When it came time to be meek, there was no
boy this side of the planet Mars who could be meeker, on shorter notice.
So he said, "Yes, sir," with that subdued and well pleased alacrity of a
boy who has just been asked to guess the answer to the conundrum, "Will
you have another piece of pie?"
"Well," said his father, rather suddenly, "what is it?"
"M," said Rollo, confidently.
"N!" yelled his father, in three-line Gothic.
"N," echoed Rollo, in lower case nonpareil.
"B-a-n," said his father, "what does that spell?"
"Cat?" suggested Rollo, a trifle uncertainly.
"Cat?" snapped his father, with a sarcastic inflection, "b-a-n, cat!
Where were you raised? Ban! B-a-n--Ban! Say it! Say it, or I'll get at
you with a skate-strap!"
"B-a-m, band," said Rollo, who was beginning to wish that he had a
rain-check and could come back and see the remaining innings some other
day.
"Ba-a-a-an!" shouted his father, "B-a-n, Ban, Ban, Ban! Now say Ban!"
"Ban," said Rollo, with a little gasp.
"That's right," his father said, in an encouraging tone; "you will learn
to read one of these years if you give your mind to it. All he needs,
you see, Mary, is a teacher who doesn't lose patience with him the first
time he makes a mistake. Now, Rollo, how do you spell, B-a-n--Ban?"
Rollo started out timidly on c-a--then changed to d-o,--and finally
compromised on h-e-n.
Mr. Holiday made a pass at him with Volume I, but Rollo saw it coming
and got out of the way.
"B-a-n!" his father shouted, "B-a-n, Ban! Ban! Ban! Ban! Ban! Now go on,
if you think you know how to spell that! What comes next? Oh, you're
enough to tire the patience of Job! I've a good mind to make you learn
by the Pollard system, and begin where you leave off! Go ahead, why
don't you? Whatta you waiting for? Read on! What comes next? Why, croft,
of course; anybody ought to know that--c-r-o-f-t, croft, Bancroft! What
does that apostrophe mean? I mean, what does that punctuation mark
between t and s stand for? You don't know? Take that, then! (whack).
What comes after Bancroft? Spell it! Spell it, I tell you, and don't be
all night about it! Can't, eh? Well, read it then; if you can't spell
it, read it. H-i-s-t-o-r-y-ry, history; Bancroft's History of the United
States! Now what does that spell? I mean, spell that! Spell it! Oh, go
away! Go to bed! Stupid, stupid child," he added as the little boy went
weeping out of the room, "he'll never learn anything so long as he
lives. I declare he has tired me all out, and I used to teach school in
Trivoli township, too. Taught one whole winter in district number three
when Nick Worthington was county superintendent, and had my salary--look
here, Mary, what do you find in that English grammar to giggle about?
You go to bed, too, and listen to me--if Rollo can't read that whole
book clear through without making a mistake to-morrow night, you'll wish
you had been born without a back, that's all."
The following morning, when Rollo's father drove away to business, he
paused a moment as Rollo stood at the gate for a final good-by kiss--for
Rollo's daily good-byes began at the door and lasted as long as his
father was in sight--Mr. Holliday said:
"Some day, Rollo, you will thank me for teaching you to read."
"Yes, sir," replied Rollo, respectfully, and then added, "but not this
day."
Rollo's head, though it had here and there transient bumps consequent
upon foot-ball practice, was not naturally or permanently hilly. On the
contrary, it was quite level.
SPELL AND DEFINE:
Tact
Exasperation
Lamb
Imperturbability
Red-hot
Philosopher
Ebullition
Knout
Terrier
Which end of a rattan hurts the more?--Why does reading make a full
man?--Is an occasional whipping good for a boy?--At precisely what
age does corporal punishment cease to be effective?--And
why?--State, in exact terms, how much better are grown up people
without the rod, than little people with it.--And why?--When would
a series of good sound whippings have been of the greatest benefit
to Solomon, when he was a godly young man, or an idolatrous old
one?--In order to reform this world thoroughly, then, whom should
we thrash, the children or the grown-up people?--And why?--If,
then, the whipping post should be abolished in Delaware, why should
it be retained in the nursery and the school room?--Write on the
board, in large letters, the following sentence:
If a boy ten years old should
be whipped for breaking a window,
what should be done to a man
thirty-five years old for breaking
the third commandment?
ELIZABETH ELIZA WRITES A PAPER
BY LUCRETIA P. HALE
Elizabeth Eliza joined the Circumambient Club with the idea that it
would be a long time before she, a new member, would have to read a
paper. She would have time to hear the other papers read, and to see how
it was done; and she would find it easy when her turn came. By that time
she would have some ideas; and long before she would be called upon, she
would have leisure to sit down and write out something. But a year
passed away, and the time was drawing near. She had, meanwhile, devoted
herself to her studies, and had tried to inform herself on all subjects
by way of preparation. She had consulted one of the old members of the
Club as to the choice of a subject.
"Oh, write about anything," was the answer,--"anything you have been
thinking of."
Elizabeth Eliza was forced to say she had not been thinking lately. She
had not had time. The family had moved, and there was always an
excitement about something, that prevented her sitting down to think.
"Why not write on your family adventures?" asked the old member.
Elizabeth Eliza was sure her mother would think it made them too public;
and most of the Club papers, she observed, had some thought in them. She
preferred to find an idea.