Reminiscences of an old teacher

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9

EEMINISCENCES

OF AN

OLD TEACHER.

By GEORGE B. EMERSON,

LTB^ARY

MAY 24 199t

[

THE ONTARIO INSTITUTE
FOR STUDIES IN EDUCATION

BOSTON :
ALFRED MUDGE & BON, I'RINTEUS, 34 SCHOOL STKKKT.

' 1878.

Copyright, A. D. 187S,
By GEOKUK B. KxUJillciON.

IXTKODUCTIOX.

Aftkr much hesitation I have concluded, notwithstand-
ing the advice of some of my best friends, to reprint from
the Journal of Education some of the papers whicli I fur-
nished, at tlic editor's request, as Reminiscences of an Old
'J'eacher. I should be glad to have every young man in
the counti-y seeking for a truly liberal education live such
a life as I lived till I entered college. Through life, though
spent at a distance from the fields, and in an occupation
as unlike husbandry and gai'dening as possible, I have en-
joyed the familiar knowledge I obtained of the earth, and of
everything that grows out of the earth, and of the animals,
quadrupeds, birds, fishes, and insects with which I became
familiarly acquainted. I have been benefited and blest by
the ha5jits I formed of using all my bodily faculties in daily
vigorous exercise for some hours every summei''s day till I
entered college.

i

COXTENTS

Early Education 1

Major Cozexs 8

Sea FiSHixi; 9

ExTERS College. Classmates 12

First School 1-i

Hard Study 3"

Studies in Vacation 21

School in Vacation 22

Graduation 24

School in Lancaster 24

Tutor in Cambridge 28

Conversation vtith Mr. Norton 30

Everett's Lectures 31

Dr. Bowditch 32

Calculus 33

Visit to "White Mountains 35

English Classical School 51

"VTarren Colburn 56

Medals (U

School for Young Ladies M

Common Schools 70

Society of Natitral History 70

Survey of the State 72

Memorial to the Legislature 77

Harvard iNSTnuiE 86

SoARD OF Education '96

Horace Mann 96

NoRJLAL School. Cyrus Pierce at Lexington ... 96

"West Newton 97

Private School for Females 97

Vacation. Visit to Europe 97

Forest Trees 101

Louis Agassiz 120

Farewell 136

REMINISCENCES

OF AN

OLD TEACIIEE.

CHAPTER I.

I YIELD to 3'our request so far as to give 3-011 some
account of certain 3'ears of 1113' life, because I think
tliere are things to be told which ma3' be of use to
other teachers. I was born on the 12th of September,
1797, in Wells, in the county of York, district of
Maine, then a part of Massachusetts. M3- father, a
native of HoUis, New Hampshire, and a graduate of
Cambridge in 1847, was a ph3sician, a man of cultiva-
tion and taste, an excellent Latin scholar, well read in
histor3' and especiall3' in old English poetr3', a good
story-teller, and a most agreeable companion. These
qualities made him ver3' attractive.

The Supreme Court of Massachusetts had two cir-
cuits ever3' 3'ear into Maine, the judges travelling in
their own carriages, and holding a court at York and at
Portland. The best tavern between these towns was
JefTerds's, a short distance from m3' father's house, and
the judges usuall3' spent a night there. As the3^ became
acquainted with my father, they often passed an evening
at his house, and I thus had the good fortune to be-
come acquainted with such men as Judge Jackson and
1

2 REMINISCENCES OF

the reporter, Dndley Atkins T^ng, — gentlemen distin-
guished for their character and abilit}', and no less for
the simplici^/ and refinement of their manners.

As m}' father was a person of great public spirit, he
was usuall}' chairman of the school committee, and took
care that there should always be a well-educated man
as master of the school. Notwithstanding its excel-
lence, my elder brother and myself were always, after I
reached the age of eight j-ears, kept at home, and set to
work as early in the season as there was anything to be
done in the garden or on our little farm. I thus gradu-
all}' became acquainted with sowing, weeding, and har-
vesting, and with the seeds, the sprouting and growth
of all the various roots and stems and blossoms. I
naturall}' watched the character, shape, and structure of
the roots and of the leaves, the formation of the blos-
soms, their flowering, the cal3'x, the petals, their times
of opening, coming to perfection, persistence or falling,
and the successive changes in the seed-vessels till the
maturity of the seed, of all the plants of the garden and
the field. I became also familiarly acquainted with all
the weeds and their roots, and the modes of preventing
their doing harm. I was getting real knowledge of
things ; I formed the habit of observing. This was
always valuable knowledge, the use of which I felt after-
wards when I began to study botany as a science, and
as long as I pursued it ; for, reading the description of
a plant, I saw not the words of the book, but tlie roots
and stems and leaves and flowers and seeds of the plant
itself. And this habit of careful observation I naturall}'
extended to whatever was the subject of my reading or
sludy.

AA^ OLD TEACHER. 3

This was valuable, but I made another attainment of
still greater value. I learned how to use every tool,
spade and shovel, hoe, fork, rake, knife, sickle, and
scythe, and to like to use them. I learned the use of
all m}' limbs and muscles, and to enjoy using them.
Labor was never, then nor afterwards a hardship. I
was not confined to the garden and field. I had 1o take
care of horses, cows, sheep, and fowls, and early learned
their character and habits, and that to make them all
safe and kind«iand fond of me, it was only necessary' to
be kind to them. My father's garden extended from
the house some little distance down to the river INIousura,
a stream which issued from a lake more than thirty miles
above, and furnished in its course motive-power to many
saw-mills and grist-mills, two of which, and the mill-
ponds which supplied them . were less than a quarter of
a mile below our garden ; and up to the lower one came
the tide from the sea.

My brother and I were never obliged to work hard,
nor for more than four or five hours a day, except in
times of exigency-, such as the threatening of rain when
the made hay was on the ground. We were led, and
opportunity was given, to become acquainted with the
woods and streams and the sea. We were often told
by our father that if we would make certain beds or
squares perfectly clean, by such a da}', we should go
with him to Cape Porpoise, to fish for cunners and rock-
cod, to Little Harbor for sea-trout, or up or down the
Mousum for pickerel or perch. I thus became gradually
acquainted with the fresh-water fishes above the dams,
and those of salt water below, — an attainment of great
value when I became responsible for the accuracy of

4 REMINISCENCES OF

volumes of Natural History submitted to my over-
sight.

We were allowed, at the propt "reasons, on similar
conditions, to join our sisters, in summer, in gathering
huckleberries or blueberries, on Picwacket Plain, where
they grew, as they now grow, in the greatest luxuriance.
In the fall, we went up the Mousum to gather chestnuts,
over to Harrasicket for shagbarks, along the edges of
the fields nearer home for hazer-nuts, and to the nearer
and sometimes the more distant fields for" strawberries,
blackberries, and raspberries.

Early in the morning I drove, or rather accompanied,
the cows to pasture, half a mile off, and led them back
at night. 1 rode the horses to water, and often har-
nessed and unharnessed them. I have, through life,
found it a great advantage to know how to do these
things, and to be able to do them speedil}- and readily
myself.

I had constant opportunities, at all seasons of the
year, of becoming acquainted with the trees and shrubs
of the neighborhood, — the oaks, beech, birclies, maples,
hickories, pines, spruces, fir, and hemlock, and many of
the shrubs and flowers. M3- father told me what sta-
mens and pistils were, and that, according to the num-
ber and position of these, Linuiieus had arranged all
plants into classes and orders. Mr. John Low, a near
neighbor of ours, lent me the first volume of the
"jNIemoirs of the American Academy," containing Dr.
Manassah Cutler's account of the vegetable produc-
tions growing near Ipswich, Mass. From this, with
some other helps, I became acquainted with manj',
indeed most of the flowers and other wild plants in

AM OLD TEACHER. 5

our neighborhood, all, at least, that Dr. Cutler had
described *

With all these pursuits, m}' brother and I had hours,
almost ever}' da}', and the whole of rainy days, for read-
ing and study. I read, with interest, books of travels,
— Carver's and Bartram's, Park's travels in Africa, and
Bruce's. I read much of the old poetry of our lan-
guage, — Chaucer's, Surre3''s, Drayton's, and still more
of Cowper, Thomson, Goldsmith, Milton, Young, Gray,
and others. With what delight did we devour the •' Laj'
of the Last Minstrel," and all of Scott's poems as they
came out !

M}' brother was then reading Virgil, and I perfectly'
remember one day when m}' father came into our room
to hear him recite his lesson, I got leave to remain.
My brother read, —

" lufaudum, regiua, jubes renovare dolorein " {^JEn. II, 3) ;

and translated, "Immense grief, O queen, you com-
mand me to renew." "No, my dear boy. that is not
a translation. Observe that infandnm is from/or, /an,
to speak, with the negative in. ' Immense ' is no trans-
lation of that word. Indeed, it is a Latin word, and
therefore no translation of an}' word. Immensxis means
unmeasured. ' Immense ' is no translation. Then
dolorem does not mean grief, ^neas felt not grief for
what he had suffered : it gave him pain to call it to
mind. Then Queen Dido was treating -Silneas with the
greatest attention and respect. She would not com-

*Dr. Cutler's account of " Indigenous Vegetables " is one of the
most valuable papers ever given to American botanists. It is richly
worth study even now.

6 REMINISCENCES OF

mancl him ; she bade hiiii, as we bid one another, ' Good
morning,' or to come to dinner. The proper transla-
tion is, ' Unutterable pain, O queen, thou bid'st me to
renew.' "

I then knew scarcel}' a word ofLatin, buti always
remembered this lesson as the best lesson I ever learned.
I was immediatelj" possessed by the idea and desire of
studying Latin, and asked my father to let me begin.
This he did, and set me to stud}^ Erasmus, Corderius,
and I thers of the old school-books of sevent}' or eighty
or a hundred ^ears ago. He did not set me to commit
to memory anything in grammar, but onlj' to find out
for myself the cases of nouns and adjectives, and the
moods and tenses of verbs. In this way I went through
some volumes of prose, and Vir^l and parts of Ovid in
poetry, though I read these with care and thoroughly.
He let me go through the Greek Testament in a similar
wa}', but declined to let me go on, as he distrusted his
own knowledge of the Greek lano-uaoe, thous-h I have no
doubt, from his remembering and often quoting so man}'
of the best lines in Sappho and Homer, that he might
have done it with success.

When the last ear of corn was husked and the last
potato in the cellar, I went back to school. The other
bo3's,my cousins and playmates, had been in school all
summer, and were tired of it. I went back with delight,
and gave myself to the work earnestl}- and diligently.
Thus, though I was behind the others in m}' studies, I
resumed and pursued them with so much zeal that I soon
placed myself above manj* older, and brighter naturally
than myself.

So great were the advantages of m}' summer's emplo}''-

AN OLD TEACHER. 7

ments that I have, for many years, had no doabt that it
would be far better for all the boys in the country towns
of Massachusetts not to be allowed to go to school in the
summer, Init to educate their muscles and form habits of
observation and industry' by pursuits similar to those
which it was my privilege and happiness to be engaged
in

I was sent to Dummer Academy, in Byfield, where I
remained twelve or fourteen weeks, and learned to repeat
perfectly' all that was required of Adam's Latin Gram-
mar and the Gloucester Greek. What made it easy was
that I knew so much of the languages as instantly to
understand what man}' of the poor fellows there had early
committed to memory, of much of the meaning of which
the}' had no idea. This experience was valuable to me,
but what was still more so was the acquaintance formed
with boys whom I met afterwards at Cambridge, with
some of whom I opened a correspondence which lasted
as long as they lived.

y REMINISCENCES OE

CHAPTER II.

NP^XT to m}' father's house dwelt Major Cozens,
a quiet man, who had been a major in the old
French war. His mode of life was of the primitive
type. His land lay next my father's garden and
fields, which had been purchased of him. He culti-
vated Indian corn, potatoes, peas, and beans, and
other vegetables, and flax, which he carried through all
the processes of rotting, breaking, combing, and clean-
ing, till it was ready, in its two forms of flax and tow,
for the little wheel of his wife and the large wheels of
his daughters and granddaughter. They spun, and, in
the winter, their father wove their spinning into the
linen and tow-cloth for the pillow-cases and sheets, and
tablecloths and towels, of the family. The Major also
kept a flock of sheej) large enough to furnish food for
the famil}' and for sale, and all the wool wanted for the
warmer garments of the family, which the mother and
daughters spun, and the father wove. For the few
things to be made of cotton, this was bought at the
shops, and carded and spun and woven at home.

They kept several cows, furnishing them abundance
of milk, butter, and cheese ; oxen, for all the summer's
work of cultivation, and the hauling wood and lumber
from the forest to the home, and tlie slup-3'ard or the

A A' OLD TEACHER. 9

savv-mill. They also kept large flocks of bens and
turkey's and ducks, — a supply for the home and the
market. They thus lived an independent, simple,
patriarchal life, CA'ery individual active, industrious, and
busy. Before the building of the mills below my
father's garden, the Major often went, as he told me, at
the proper season, and stationing himself on stones one
on each side of the deepest passage in the river, secured,
with a pitchfork, many a shad, and sometimes a salmon.

Was this not a higher and more respectable life
than many of the country people live now? For the
females, especiall}', it was better and healthier than
most* of the forms of life that have succeeded to it in
country towns. The large wheel obliged them to
throw their arms out and backward, so as to open the
chest fully and naturall}', to walk backward and for-
ward perfectl}' erect, so as to develop their muscles and
give them the best and most graceful shape of which
the female form is capable.

The Major had a son, Abner, living at home with
him, when I came home from Dummer Academ}'. He
had been on many vo3'ages at sea ; and when at home,
was occupied with ship-building and boat-building, or
with fishing along the coast. He invited me to go
down the river with him, and out to sea. often to spend
the night, teaching me the management of a boat, the
throwing of the killick. the use of an oar and the rud-
der, and showing me the best spots to fish for cod and
haddock, bass and pollock, and entertaining me with
stories of his sea life. A few hours commonly' enabled
us to fill our small boat, and then to sail or row back.
I became much interested in this sport, and, when

10 REMINISCENCES OF *

Abner went to sea, took these little voytiges with 3'oung
men whom I knew. Before he went, I accompanied
him, and once, as I was fishing, told Abner I believed
my hook had become fastened to something at the bot-
tom, for I could not move it. He took hold of m}"
line, and immediatel}^ said, " You have hooked a hali-
but ; now, keep your line free from the gunwale, or he
will break it. Keep always firm hold, and pull care-
fully When he refuses to come upward, let him go
down He will soon be tired, and will yield again."
I kept hold, sometimes pulling up a few fathoms, and
then letting him gradually' go down. Changing, as
Abner called it, with him for half an hour, I at last saw
his head, and told Abner. "Stead}'!" said he, and
stationed himself on mj' right with a gaft' in his hands,
and setting another man, also with a gaff, on m^' left
As I pulled the fish to within two feet or less of the
surface, each of them struck in his gafi' just at or below
the gills, and we pulled him on board. I was naturally
elated at my luck, or skill as I counted it. The fish
was what seemed to me enormous ; I have forgotten his
dimensions, but only remember that, when weighed, his
was found something more than twice my own weight.
The late season, October, brought the time for night
fishing in deep water, for hake and cusk. For this we
sailed down the river in the afternoon, furnished our-
selves with 'clams or other suitable bait, and rowed or
sailed to a point nine miles from the shore, the best
known for night fishing. Here we took in sail, threw
down our killick, — a wooden anchor weighted with stone,
— look our supper, and put in our lines, twice as long
as those for shallower waters. Our place was so well

AA^ OLD TEACHER. \\

chosen that we alwa3-s had hick, and often took in, b}'
one or two o'clock in the morning, as many as our
boat would safely hold. I then told my fellows to go
to sleep in the bows, and I would watch in the stern
sheets till morning. This we usually did, and my men
slept till daybreak ; we then drew up ourkillick, hoisted
sail and made for the shore.

Once, when we had been verj' luck}^ and mj' men
had turned in early, I found a fair wind just at day-
break, hoisted sail, took up killick, and steered for Mou-
sum Kiver^ found water deep enough to enter the mouth,
sailed up, and moored in the boat's place, and then waked
my fellows, who were agreeably surprised to find them-
selves in port, at home.

We had a variety of adventures. Once, in a very
dark night, I perceived by the sound that something
was coming towards us. I ordered the men to take
instantly to their oars, pulled vigorousl}' upon the cable
mvself, and had the satisfaction of perceiving a large
vessel pass directly over the place we had just occupied.
There was no light on board, and nobody to hear our
shouts.

We had several other pieces of luck which it pleased
me more to tell of than my mother to listen to ; so that
at last she absolutely refused to give her consent to my
going on a night voyage. Before this, however, I had
enjoyed a sight which I must describe. It was in that
part of autumn when the sea, in our latitude, is phos-
phorescent. I had observed a little of it for several
nights, but this night every ripple gave a flash of
light. Our lines were visible for forty feet in the water,
and the fishes we caught came up as masses of brilliant,

12 REMINISCENCES OF

golden light. We fished with two hooks to each line,
and often ^brought np pairs of fine fishes. Once, each
of us three was drawing up, at the same moment, two
fishes ; with them came the entire school, so that the
whole ocean, to the depth of forty feet, was flashing with
the most vivid light. All these fishes remained near
the surface for ten minutes or more, when the}^ began
to descend, but were still A'isible, like thousands of
flashes of lightning, and to the depth of eighty or one
hundred feet. For the whole night ever}' motion, every
little ripple, every wavelet, was a soft flash of beautiful
light.

AN OLD TEACHER. 13

CHAPTER III.

I ENTERED college in 1813, and with Joseph II.
Jones, whom I had met at Dummer Academy', had
a room assigned us at 11 Massachusetts Hall, under
Edward Everett the tutor in Latin. Mr. Everett was
very kind to me, and continued my friend to the end
of his life.

The first visit I made, after being established in col-
lege, was to the Botanic Garden, to learn from Prof.
Peck the names of the plants I had examined in AYells,
for which I had found no names. He recognized them
instanth' from vl\^ description.

The first term in college was one of delightful study,
varied by the pleasure of becoming acquainted with
my classmates, some of whom became distinguished
men, and two of them, George Bancroft and Caleb
Cushing, represented our countr}^ at foreign courts ;
and several of -whom. Rev. S. J. Ma}', Hon. S. Salis-
bur}', Hon. S. E. Sewall, have been my best and dear-
est friends through life.

At the end of the first term I went home, expecting
to spend the vacation there ; but on Saturday, the next
day after my arrival, a man came from a school district
five miles ofl', to engage my brother — some years older
than myself — to teach the winter school in Maryland

14 REMINISCENCES OF

district. " You have come too late," said my father;
"my son went off 3-esterday to Boston, to attend the
medical lectures." " But who is this tall fellow? Why
can't he come?" "He is a bo}', onl}' sixteen years
old, who has come home from college to spend his vaca-
tion." It was, however, soon agreed that I should go
and teach the school ; and on Mondaj- morning I went,
in my father's sleigh, to Marj-land Heights, where I
taught, or rather ver}' satisfactorily- kept, a school of
about twent}' pupils, of both sexes, and all ages between
four and twenty, for eight or nine weeks, the usual
length of the term. I boarded with an old sea-captain,
retired from service, whose maiden sister of forty 3'ears
or more, unable to walk, had passed her time in care-
fully reading some of the best books in our language.
Her favorites were Addison and Milton, about whose
works she was always delighted to talk ; and I have
often recalled her observations upon striking passages
in " Paradise Lost" as among the best and most deli-
cate criticisms that have ever come to my knowledge.
My boarding constantly with Captain Hatch was an
experiment. Alwaj'S before, the school master had
" boarded round, " a week with each substantial house-
holder in the district. A pleasant relic of this custom
was that the school-master should sup with some one
famih', with each in turn, everj' week during the term.
The supper was very good, — as good as the resources
of the farms and forests and streams could furnish.
It was always early, and was followed by dancing and
games, frolic and fun, continued to a ver^' late hour.
It was sometimes eleven o'clock before I reached home
at Captain Hatch's.

^yV OLD TEACHER. 15

It was the fashion in those da3's for some good scholar
to test the capacity' of the teacher by offering some ver}-
difficult questions in arithmetic ; and in the course of
the first week, a verj' bright fellow, nineteen or twenty
^•ears old, w^as authorized to puzzle me. He brought a
question which was really a ver}' hard one, as mei'ely an
arithmetical question ; but I had learned something of
geometrj', and this question depended upon a proposi-
tion of Euclid. I saw into it at once, and showed him
not only how he might solve that question, but several
others depending upon the same theorem. I was tried
no more. On the contrary, I had a perfectly pleasant
school from beginning to end, — not a harsh word nor
a disrespectful look.

During the winter of the Sophomore year, I was not
well enough to teach ; but in the Junior year I was
persuaded to supply the place of a much older man, in
a school in Saco, ten miles from my father's. It was
made up of the sons and daughters of saw-millers on
Saco Falls, who kept the mills going, night and da}".
The girls were alwaj's well disposed, and gave me no
trouble ; but their brothers, taking alter fathers who
were almost alwaj's profane and unprincipled drunk-
ards, were as impudent and stubborn as boys could be.
I had, for the onlj' time in mj- life, to depend upon the
ferule and other implements of brute force. It w^as
only when they found that I was fearless, and resolved,
at any cost, to be master, that they submitted. It was
with as great pleasure, for a moment, as I ever felt,
that, sitting at breakfast one Monday' morning, on ni}'
return from my father's, where I alwaj's spent Sunda}',
I was surprised by a sudden light, and looking back,

16 REMINISCENCES OF

saw from tlie window the ruinous old scliool-bouse in
flames.

In the Senior ^eav I kept, as many other fellow-col-
leofians did, a school in the country for ten or twelve
weeks. My school was at Bolton, and was snperin-
tended b}' the minister of the town, the excellent Fathei'
Allen. The parents of uearl}' all the pupils were farm-
ers, well-ljehaved and respectable people, whose chil-
dren never gave me the least trouble, but made ver}'
surprising progress in all the branches then commonl}'
taught in the country schools, — reading, spelling, arith-
metic, and geography.

Several of my college friends taught in the same town,
all of whom took respectable positions in after life ;
and we had some verj- pleasant evening meetings at
Mr. Allen's and in the houses of other hospitable gen-
tlemen. By their frequent conversation with me, some
of the 3'oung ladies acquired a taste for reading valuable
books.

To this residence in Bolton I often look back with
great ple!j,sure. M}' boarding-house was ver}- near the
school, and at noon I always had half an hour to my-
self every day. Man}' of these half-hours I devoted to
commit' ing to memory lines in Greek, and alwa^'s found
I could learn, ever}- day, thirty lines of the Iliad. I
thus found that I had a good memory ; I suppose that,
if I had continued thus to exercise it daily, I might have
retained it till now. But, for three years from that
winter, the state of my eyes was such that I could not
use them at all ; and when those years were passed, I
found my memor}' poor.

AN OLD TEACHER. 17

CHAPTER IV.

AFTER the spring vacation in 1814, I went back
to college. Ever3-tliing began as usual. One
evening I returned from a pleasant visit to some newly
made acquaintances, and was accosted by my room-
mate, Joseph H. Jones, with whom I had been read-
ing Lord Teignmouth's " Life of Sir William Jones."
" Chum, Sir "William saj's that to sleep more than four
hours in one night is being an ox." " Well," said I,
"I do not wish to be an ox, though I have a great
respect for that animal. Shall we try the four-hour
plan ? " •' Yes, and begin it this verj' evening " '• But
how about waking, after the four hours' sleep? " " To-
morrow's prayer-bell will wake us at six. We may
study till two o'clock every night ; and to save our
eyes somewhat, read alternately, aloud, for the last two
hours, some pleasant book in P^nglish." I trusted in
Jones, but I have no doubt he was mistaken, especially
when I call to mind those genial and inspiring lines of
Sir William : —

" Six hours to law, to soothing shimber seveu,
Four to tlie world allot, and all to heaven."

So it was agreed. I sat down immediatel}' to study

Greek. The class had been reading the Anabasis. I

liked it, and found it very easy, and instantly deter-

2

18 REMINISCENCES OF

mined to read the whole of it. As I went on, it became
easier and easier, and I found that the meaning in the
lexicon, for a new word, was almost always ver}- nearly
what I had suspected on rej^ding it. This happened
so frequently- that, before finishing the first volume, it
occurred to me that I might read without the lexicon,
just as the Greek boys must have done, long before
lexicon or grammar was invented. This I did, having
the lexicon by me, but using it onl}' for such words as
jxyasang (a measure of distance), or some entirel}'
new word. I finished the Anabasis and the Cj'ropaedia,
and then the History of Greece, and some other works
of Xenophon. I now felt confident I was pursuing the
right course. "We all read our English books in this
wa}', and French and Italian when we have made a
little progress. jSTearl}- all the reading in the world
must be without a dictionary.

When I was satisfied with Xenophon, I read Herod-
otus through in the same manner, and all that is to be
found of Hesiod, and all I could find of Anacreon. I
also read some Latin books, — the Letters of Plin}' the
Younger, and some of the charming philosophical werks
of Cicero. AVhile doing this I never neglected m}- reg-
ular lessons, but learned them more thoroughlj' than
ever ; Jones did the same ; so that we rose, in the
opinion of our classmates and tutors, from a low to a
respectably- high place in the class.

We had pursued this course many weeks, agreeing to
take at least half an hour's exercise in the pleasantest
part of the day, and to be careful not to eat too much,
when I was surprised by a pain in the left side. As I
was a country' doctor's son, and had often made blister-

AN OLD TEACHER. IJ)

ing plasters, and knew how to apply them and wb}', I
went to the apothecary's and got one to apply to m^'
own side. The relief was immediate, but not lasting.
A pain came next in mj' right side. Another blister
had onl}' quite a temporary effect ; so I applied another
to the middle of my chest. This had only the effect of
multiplying the pain, which now seized upon almost
every part of m}' bod}-', and I felt myself seriously ill.
I went to the president to ask leaA-e of absence. Dr.
Kirkland seemed always to know what was going" on.
" So, Emerson," he said, in his paternal manner, "■ your
plan has not succeeded. I was afraid it would be so.
I am sorry. You are seriously ill, and had better go
home to your father as soon as possible."

My chum was affected as seriously*, but verj' differ-
ently. His head was drawn down by a severe pain in
his neck, from which he never entirel}' recovered. He
was taken home to the house of a sister of one of our
classmates (Francis Jenks) , and treated as kindlj^ and
anxiously as if she had been his own sister.

I went immediately into Boston, and at the end of
Long Wharf, went on board a coaster commanded by a
friend, who was soon to sail. I immediately' went down
into the cabin, tnrned into a berth, and fell asleep.
Early in the night the sea became rough, and the toss-
ing of the vessel threw me into a most hideous dream.

We landed next morning at Kennebunk Harbor, from
which I soon found a conveyance to my father's house.
The kind old man, as soon as he understood my case,
began by congratulating me upon my escape. " AVhy
did you not tell me what experiment 3'ou were going to
make? I could have told ^'ou how it would end."

20 REMINISCENCES OF

As soon as I was well enough, which was after not
many days, I was mounted on an eas}- horse, one of
mj' former friends, and kept riding almost every day for
three months. I rode over all the good and pleasant
roads and some of the bad ones, in almost ever}' part
of the county. I visited nearl}' all the towns ; rode by
the oldest roads, those nearest the sea, on the marine
border of Wells and York and Kittery, to Portsmouth.
Thence across the Piscataqua to ni}' grandfather's
hospitable house in York. Thence to the top of Aga-
menticus, the highest hill in the count}', commanding
Portsmouth and all the hills and most of the towns in
the county, and a noted landmark for sailors far out
at sea. Thence to Berwick, where I had a delightful
visit at a cousin's, and going thence, the next morning,
saw abundant evidence, in the impassableness of the
roads from the fall of many tall old trees, of the vio-
lence of the great gale of 1814.

Three mouths of such travelling, five or six hours
eveiy day in the week, in pleasant weather, in sunshine
and pure air, through variegated and charming scen-
ery, hills, rivers, the seaside, woods, old forests full of
trees, and open cultivated plains, b}' farms and gardens,
rendered me fit to return safely to my studies at col-
lege. Onl}' one thing made me seriously regret having
been absent from college. This was ray failing to
sympathize with my friend, S. J. Ma}', in his success,
new for a freshman, in getting the first prize for a dis-
sertation. But this I did not learn till I saw him, on
my return to Cambridge.

My father said it was now safe for me to go back,
on condition that I would not aim at being a first-rate

AN OLD TEACHER. 21

scholar, but that I should get m}' lessons faithfull}', and
spend ranch of ni}' time in reading pleasant and amus-
ing books. " Such as what, father?" " Don Quixote,
and after that, anything else 3'ou can find equally good."
So I went back under orders to read Don Quixote ;
which I did, but did not succeed in finding anything
else equally good. An excellent substitute I found in
Scott's novels, which I read with delight as the}' came
out, and which I would recommend to others, even now,
as I letter than almost anything that has come since. I
confess that I have not read all nor one fifth part of the
novels that have succeeded ; I only speak of what I haAC
read, which are those that have been most commended.

I enjoyed myself in college as much as any person
could. The friendships I formed there have had the
happiest effect upon my life, which would have been a
very different and a much poorer thing without them.
There are a thousand things which it would be pleasant
to commemorate, but there is one onl}' which I wish
to dwell upon. Half a dozen good friends, lovers of
study, agreed to spend together, at Cambridge, the va-
cation at the end of the Junior 3'ear, to stud}' certain
things we had had no opportunity to learn in the col-
lege course. We agreed to breakfast together, then
to separate and pursue such occupations as we pleased
till dinner-time ; then to dine, and together go on with
such studies as we pleased, and after tea to stud}' the
constellations, which we had had no opportunity to learn
in college.

Caleb Cushing, now our minister in Spain, and my-
self agreed to spend our afternoons together in looking
up the plants to be found in Cambridge. This we did

22 REMINISCENCES OF

very satisfactoril}', and matured tastes which we have
both since gratified.

We furnished ourselves with celestial globes and
lamps, and studied night after night, until we knew all
the constellations that were visible in the evening at
that season of the year. No study I pursued in col-
lege has given me so much real satisfaction as this. I
never see one of those constellations without experien-
cing a pleasure which no other object in nature gives
me. I rejoice to know that in some of the best schools
in Boston this stud^y has already been introduced.
Ever}' person, tolerably well educated, should know the
constellations.

Our Senior j-ear was a pleasant one. I learned with
ease all the lessons required, and thus had time for vol-
untar}^ studies. I went on with my Greek, and read,
in the course of the year, all of Homer except the last
book of the Odyssey. In the winter vacation, at m}'
boarding-house in Bolton, which Avas near the school,
I repeatedl}' committed to memor}' thirty lines of
lR)mer in thirty- minutes. I mention this to record
the shameful foct that, from neglecting fairlj' to use my
memory for four or five years fi'om that time, I lost it
almost entirelj', and it has ever since been a poor one.
I have never known a person whose memorj' continued
to be good, and even to improve in ripe age, who did
not habitually exercise it, on poetry or something other
than the poor allairs and business of dailj- life.

In the course of that Senior year I gradual!}' forgot
my father's caution, and took again too much to stud}',
often continued till late at night, until I waked one
morning with pain in my eyes, which I soon found

AN OLD TEACHER. 23

would make it impossible to read more than an hour or
two a day. M}' only consolation was that it gave me
time to mature my acquaintance with my college friends :
for the most important of the many advantages of a
college education is the opportunit}' of becoming well
acquainted with persons of one's own age, and of form-
ing intimacies with the best and most congenial. Manj'
of my very best friends have been my classmates, with
several of whom I continued intimate as long as they
lived ; and now two of the very dearest friends I have
are friends of more than sixt}' j-ears.

24 REMINISCENCES Ob

CHAPTER V.

I GRADUATED at Harvard College in 1817, and
went, immediately after my recover^^ from an illness
which almost overpowered me on Commencement da}',
home to m^- father's in Wells. I had lived economi-
cally, but was indebted for about one-fourth part of my
college expenses, so that I felt somewhat anxious. M3'
father had always had extensive practice, but it was
among families most of whom were poor. M3' brother
and I often urged him, when we were posting up his
accounts, to send bills to those who were most and had
been longest in debt to him. But he always made
answer, " The}' are poor ; when they can afford it they
will pay. Meanwhile the}' will bring us wood and hay,
and other products of their farm or their fishing."

I had been at home two days when a letter came
from Dr. Kirkland, offering me the place of master in
an excellent private school in Lancaster, established by
several most respectable men, with a salary of $500 a
year. This was then a large salary, and I thankfully
accepted the offer, which relieved me from all anxiety,

I went immediately to Cambridge to see Dr. Kirk-
land, and from him to Bolton, to Mr. Stephen Higgin-
son, and to Lancaster to Rev. Dr. Thayer, who became,
and always continued, my excellent friends.

AN OLD TEACHER. 25

The school had been limited to twent^'-five pupils,
who paid, each, five dollars a quarter. I had not been
at work more than five or six weeks before the discovery
was made, or was thought to be made, that I had un-
common skill as a teacher and as a manager of boys,
and men came from the neighboring towns begging that
their boys might be admitted, so that, before tlie end
of the second quarter, there were fort^'-two pupils, as
manj^ as the house could hold. The conductors of the
school, m their generosit}-, saw fit to increase the price
of tuition twenty-five per cent, so that my pay was
more than twice as much as they had offered, ana my
indebtedness soon ceased.

My eyes were so poor that I could not look into a
Greek book or a Latin ; but m}' knowledge of both
languages was such that this was not necessar}', and I
had onl}' to make the bo^'s read distincths and loud
enough for me to hear with ease. The discipline in my
school, though such as was common in those days, was
bad in every respect. I kept a switch and a ferule, and
used them both, often feeling, as I did so, like a malig-
nant spirit, and sometimes acting in an evil spirit. I
have many times wished that I could ask the pardon
of one boy whom I had punished unjustly and in pas-
sion. But he never came to see me, and I have no
doubt he retained, perhaps alwaj's, a righteous grudge
against me. I had a head to ever}- class, and urged ray
bo^-s to strive to reach and to retain it, by medals and
commendation, — medals for dail}' ornament, and medals
for permanent holding. So far as I knew, nobody ob-
jected to the punisUmcnts or to the rewards. I had,
occasionally, m}- own scruples and doubts in regard to

26 REMINISCENCES OF

both. It is a melanchol}- fact that, notwithstanding
these objections, my school was considered as, on the
whole, ver}' kindly and well managed. I certainly was
reasonable and kind toward all my good boys, and the
two youngest of them all, whom I now meet every week,
have alwaj's been and are among my best and kindest
friends.

Many of my boys were from Boston, and boarded in
families where no control oy^x them was even at-
tempted. I saw the evil of this state of things, and
wrote to the parents, proposing, if I should be sus-
tained, to hire a large house, and get a respectable
family, and take all the boys with me to it, so that I
might have them all near me, and maintain a con-
stant oversight of them. This plan was approved and
carried into execution, to the manifest benefit of some
of the boys. I rejoiced, and was thus rewarded for the
increased care. But I gradually, without suspecting
why, lost my vigorous health and mj spirits, which I
endeavored to retain by buying a horse and riding every
day before breakfast. The country is very variegated
and pleasant, with hills and forests and little lakes, and
the beautiful Nashua winding among the cultivated
fields and Wachuset rising up behind them in the west,
so that riding was very pleasant. The elms and hick-
ories of Lancaster are finer, I have always been inclined
to think, than those I have seen in any other part of
Massachusetts ; the native willows on the banks of the
Nashua are larger than I have found elsewhere, and
the sugar-maples along some of the roads are not less
promising and beautiful.

1 had, to sustain me, many very kind friends. I can

AJV OLD TEACHER. 27

never forget the wi*e and paternal advice and care of
Dr. Tha3'er, the never-failing kindness of all the family
of Mr. Higginson, and the almost motherl}' affection of
Mrs. R. J. Cleveland, who, with her sisters, lived very
near m}^ school, so that I could and did visit them at
all hours of the day and evening. This generous
friendship lasted to the end of the lives of Mrs. Cleve-
land and her husband, and so far, through the lives of
their children, and has *been a blessing to me always.
I accepted every invitation from the kind people of
Lancaster, and enjo^'ed their little parties, especially
dancing, of which I was very fond ; and once I rode,
for that eiijo3'ment, to Leominster, danced all the even-
ing, and came home at an early hour next morning.

I continued, for two 3'ears, successful and prosperous,
so as to be able to begin the education, in m}' own
scliool, of ni}' two 3'ounger brothers. Mj' dail}' exercise
on horseback sustained me, but could not make me well
so that I was continuallj- growing weaker and sadder.
At the beginning of a vacation, after I had sent all the
boj^s home, I mounted my horse, one Monda}' morning,
with a feeling that I might possibly reach home by
the end of the week, and so spend my last da^-s with
my parents. I trotted slowly along, but turned round
on a hill in Harvard and bade a last, silent farewell to
Lancaster, so much endeared to me, and then slowl}^
pursued m}' journey, hoping to reach Groton and spend
the night. I did reach it before dinner-time, feeling
better than I had for months, with mj^ anxieties all
nearly gone. I stopped at a comfortable inn, had ni}'
horse cared for, took a good dinner and a comfortable
nap, and awoke fresh, hopeful, and surprisingly strong,

28 REMINISCENCES OF

SO that I presently resolved to go on. I grew stronger
ever}' hour, and I was able to reach home in three days,
instead of six, feeling and looking so well that no one
suspected me of having been otherwise.

I continued my pleasant work at Lancaster for two
years, at the end of which I received a letter from Pres-
ident Kirkland, inviting me to become a tutor in the
Mathematical Department in Harvard College. At the
same time a letter came from the president to Dr.
Thayer, informing him that a senior, Solomon P. Miles,
whom he could recommend highly in every respect,
might be persuaded to take my place. The arrange-
ment was easily made. Mr. Miles came to Lancaster,
I bade farewell to my good friends there, and rode on
my own horse to Cambridge. I had become fond of
the animal, and had my pocket full of money, — was
richer, indeed, in feeling, than I have ever been since.

All the time I was at Lancaster, I daily regretted the
sad state of my eyes, and submitted, in vain, to all
kinds of remedies. I was unable to read, Avhich I
should have done every night for three or four hours.
If I had been able to do so, the additional labor would
undoubtedly have quite destroyed my health ; so that
the apparent affliction was really my salvation. Besides
the apparent loss in book-learning was more than com-
pensated by the knowledge gained of human character,
in its highest and best as well as its ordinary forms.

AN OLD TEACHER. 29

CHAPTER VI.

My residence at Cambridge was very pleasant.
President Kirkland was one of the kindest, most
agreeable, and benignant persons in the world. Pro-
fessor Farrar, head of the Mathematical Department,
had all the qualities which command the respect and
affection of students, so that he was a universal favor-
ite. He was always very kind to me, and we took
many pleasant rides together. Professor Frisbie, pro-
fessor of Latin, was a most amiable man, of great sense
and deep thought, and an excellent scholar. His e^^es
were so poor that he could not use them, and he com-
monly sat in the recitation-room with a handkerchief
drawn over them. He seldom interrupted a poor
scholar, except for some egregious blunder ; but while
a good scholar was translating, and failed to give the
best word, he threw it to him instantly. One of the
best Latin scholars, a tutor in Latin when I was there,
and afterwards professor, told nie that these interjected
words did him more good than any other instruction he
ever received.

Dr. Hedge, professor of logic and metaphysics, was
a kindly, pleasant gentleman. The elder Rev Dr.
Henry Ware was a sort of grandfather to all of us
younger teachers, and to all most pleasant and genial.

30 REMINISCENCES OF

Mr. Caleb Cushing came soon to join ns, as tutor in
matlieraatics ; and not long after, P^dward Everett
came, as professor of the Greek language and litera-
ture, and George Ticknor, as lecturer on French litera-
ture. These were all most agreeable gentlemen to be
associated with. Rev. Mr. Norton, who had been
librarian, was professor in the Theological School.
His eyes were like mine, such as not to allow him the
use of books by night, and I called at his room one
evening, hoping not to find m^'self an intruder. He
received me most gracioush', and invited me to come
again, and often. He was one of the best thinkers I
have ever known, and although he spoke ^'ery slowly
in conversation, I often left him with a feeling that I
had learned more than I ever learned in the same space
of time from anj- other person, I still considered m}'-
self a teacher, and, guided by his opinion, 1 read, as far
as my e3'es would permit, everytliing that was desirable
for a person seeking to find out how to teach well, I
read with admiration Milton's tractate on " the reform-
ing of education, one of the greatest and noble designs
that can be thought on, and for want thereof, this
nation perishes," — our own as well as Milton's ; and I
got some real instruction from Roger Ascham, gathered,
like Avheat, from a large mass of chaff.

The serious, religious conversation of Mr. Norton led
me gradually to compare the course I had pursued as a
teacher with the coarse which, as a Christian teacher, I
ought to have pursued On thinking upon the subject,
I more and more confidently came to the conclusion that
exciting the emulation of children was heathenish, re-
spsctable in Cicero, but not to be tolerated in one who

AN OLD TEACHER. 31

accepted the doctrine of Paul, — "in honor preferring
one another" ; 'that inflicting crnel bodil}' pain on a
child was savage and almost brutal ; and that, if I ever
again should have the management of boys confided to
me, I should avoid both.

I enjoj-ed hearing, occasionally, Edward Everett's
most eloquent lectures and his charming conversation.
My own engagements as a teacher prevented m^^ hear-
ing Mr. Ticknor's lectures except very rarel3^ He
sometimes called at mv rOom when he had, driving
from Boston, reached Cambridge early, and he often
called there after his lecture, and met students in law,
and other residents who were attracted by his reputa-
tion and b}- his courteous manners and instructive and
agreeable conversation. I became somewhat intimate
with him, went often to his father's house in Boston,
and thus formed an acquaintance which was one of the
blessings of m}' life, as it continued to the end of his.
Ever}^ one may now learn how valuable such a friend-
ship was by reading his " Life, Letters, and Journals,"
which have just issued from the press, and which give
lifelike pictures of a greater number of distinguished
persons in this country, and in man}' parts of Europe,
than any book which has been published in our time.
With Mr. Edward Everett I became much more inti-
mate. He and Mr. Gushing and mj'self were much
3'ounger than the other members of the college govern-
ment, and often went out to walk and exercise together.
The house he occupied had a large garden, surrounded
by a wall high enough to protect those within from the
students' eyes ; and we often went there at noon to take
exercise which we did not wish to exhibit. Within the

32 REMINISCEiXCES OF

garden was an unoccupied barn, which served as a place
of refuge in rainy weather. I have still several notes
of tliat time from Mr. Everett, which saj' onl}', " On
saute a midi."

During this period I was tutor in mathemntics and
natural philosophy'. I was very fond of both, and as I
had studied them well in college, I found no necessity
of much preparation for hearing lessons in them. As
to teaching, I attempted nothing of the kind, except
that I sometimes drew figures on the wall, to point out
an application. In the department, much most excellent
teaching was given by Professor Farrar, whose lectures
on natural philosoph}' and astronomy I have never
known surpassed or equalled. I have seen, day after
day, a whole class so charmed by one of his lectures
as to forget the approach of the Commons hour, and to
leave, with reluctance, to go to dinner, though the lec-
ture had gone more than half an hour beyond the time
allotted to it. When, some 3'ears later, an attempt
was made to change the course of things, in conse-
quence of the want of teaching in the college, Mr.
Farrar alone said he did not see the necessity of a
change ; and so far as his own department was con-
cerned, there was no necessity'. He gave as much of
actual teaching as is often given, even now, in any de-
partment in any college. If the same had been done in
every department, little change could have been thought
necessary.

One of the greatest advantages of ra}' residence in
Cambridge was the kindness I received from Dr. N.
Bowditch, the great American mathematician. He was
a member of the corporation, and, seeing the interest

AN OLD TEACHER. 33

I took in teaching, or rather hearing lessons, in that
department, he invited me to come and see him at
Salem. I gladl}^ accepted the invitation, and enjo^yed
ver}' greatly more than one visit. He perceived the
difficulties I had with mj' ej'es, and once told me that,
at about my age, he had suffered in the same way, tr3Mng
doctors and their prescriptions in vain; but- it occurred
to him that the eye was made for the light, and light
for the ej'e, and that, when he went out, he ought to
take the sunniest side of the street, and not the shady
side ; and that the irritation in his e3'es might be
allayed b}- the application of cold water. He tried
that, opening his eyes in cold water, first in the morn-
ing and last at night, and whenever they seemed to
need it, and continuing the act till the irritation was
gone. In a few weeks his ej'es were well, and had so
continued all his life. I tried the experiments, in every
particular, and in a few weeks m}' e^'es wyere perfectlj"
well, and have so continued up to this day. They
would not bear, however, the looking into blazes or
red-hot bottles or crucibles, and I was obliged to forego
the advantage I hoped to gain in the study of chem-
istry, by going everj' day into the laboratory of Dr.
Gorhara, who was then giving lectures on that science.
I was very much interested, in mathematics, and
when it became necessary for Professor Farrar to go to
the Azores, on account of the health of his wife, I un-
dertook to go on with the translation of a French work
on the Calculus, and get it read}^ for the press. This I
did, and had it printed, with my introduction and notes,
so that, when Mr. Farrar returned, he found it ready
for use of the college. He was agreeably surprised
3

34 REMINISCENCES OF

and highl}' gratified, and almost immediately urged me
to remain in college, and become professor in mathe-
matics. "The work I have to do in astronomj' and
natural philosoph}'," he said, " is enough for one per-
son, and I delight in them, and shall be glad to con-
tinue to teach them ; but I do not like nor understand
mathematicJs as 3'ou do. This department will necessa-
rily be divided verj^ soon : wh}- not consent to stay
here as professor of mathematics ? I was naturally
much gratified, but was not prepared to embrace his
offer, although very kindl}' seconded by President
Kirkland.

I enjoyed my life at college very heartily. There
was alwa3's a meeting every Sunday' evening, at the
president's, at which Dr. Popkin, Mr. Brazer, tutor,
and afterwards professor of Latin, and some others
were sometimes present ; and always Mr. Everett, Mr.
Gushing, and myself. Mr. Farrar and his wife, who
had been Miss Buckminster, kept the president's house,
and were alwaj's present when she was well ; usually a
niece of the president, and, almost alwa3S, Mrs. Farrar's
three sisters. These were far the most pleasant and
reall}' the most brilliant parties I have ever attended.
Mr. Everett was always full of fun and pleasant stories
and anecdotes ; Mr. Gushing often gave a foretaste
of the brilliant powers which he afterward exhibited in
other scenes ; and the pre-eminent talents of the Buck-
minsters gracefull}' showed themselves in their natural
liglit. AYe young people usually' grouped ourselves in
a corner round Mr. Everett, who alwaj's, when he saw
the door of the stud}' open, stilled us instantly with,
" Hush now ! the president is coming."

AN OLD TEACHER. 35

It was not pleasant to think of quitting these occu-
pations and scenes, but as often as I reflected, after an
evening with Mr. Norton, on what ought to be the gOT-
ernment and teaching of a school, among Christians, I
felt inclined, and at last resolved, that if an opportunit}"
should offer, I would myself trj' what could be done by
one possessed of this idea. Such an opportunitj' soon
presented itself Looking over the Sentinel, I found an
advertisement to this effect : " Whoever wishes to be a
candidate for the place of master of the English Clas-
sical School, about to be establislied, will appl^' to the
committee, " — giving the names of some of the indi-
viduals.

In the autumn vacation of 1820 a party of us pro-
posed to visit the White Mountains, in New Hampshire.
This part}' consisted of Wra. Ware, of the class of 1816,
and J. Coolidge, C. Cushing. S. J. Maj', S. E. Sewall,
and myself, of 1817. We were to meet in Kennebunk,
at m}' father's, and thence proceed, on such horses and
in such convej'ances as could be procured, to the moun-
tains.

We accordingly met there, and on the very next
morning, accompanied by J. E. Moody, set off, and
travelled through Limeric, Watcrboro' , Broomfield, El-
lenwood Bend, Parsonsfield, to Mrs. McMillan's, at
Conwa}'.

Our road still laj- along the river, which was always
to be heard dashing in foam over the rocks that form its
bed. The hills sometimes receded, leaving rich green
intervales, which were here and there cultivated, and
sometimes adorned with a peasant's cottage. At other
places the hills approached the stream, and left onl}'

36 REMINISCENCES OF

space for a narrow road by its side. At one place the
■way had been entirel}' formed along the base of the cliff
thai had projected into the river, and which still hung
beetling over the traveller as he passed.

It was uearl}' dark when we arrived at the house of
Crawford, the guide to the mountains. We found that
our companions had reached this house soon enough to
avoid most of the rain, by which we had found ourselves
completel}' drenched. In the evening, seated round a
large fire, we made our arrangements to ascend, if the
weather should permit, the mountains to-morrow. Mrs.
Crawford was busily employed in cooking provisions,
and we not less busily in hoping for fair weather. The
morning of Thursday proved fair, and as our guide
could not get ready till late in the forenoon, the individ-
uals of our part}- were engaged in amusing themselves
as the taste of each inclined. Some of us climbed
the neighboring hills, some went to shoot pigeons,
others strolled along the river, and nearl}' all, at one
time or other, endeavored to sketch some of the grand
and novel views this place presented.

Towards noon preparations were ended, and we set
off for the Notch Several of us were mounted on
horseback, and the other, with our guide, drove on in a
wagon. "We were hemmed in by mountains whose ridges
extended parallel to the river, here and there divided or
receding, to admit the tributary- streams. They usually
rose precipitously from the banks, and seemed to pre-
sent, as we advanced, continually more 'and more grand
and interesting scenery. Sometimes the mountains
retired to a distance from each other, and the river,
which usuallj' dashed with tumult and impetuosity over

AN- OLD TEACHER. 37

a rocky bed, meandered moi-e gentl}' and silently tbrougli
the intervale, and the tall trees which grew on its banks
bent over the road, excluding everj' distant object, and
presented, by the deep gloom the}' produced, a strong
contrast to the light and elevation of all we had just
been viewing.

It seemed a calm, delightful retirement, as would a
sequestered scene of domestic life to one who had been
long toiling in the rough and cheerless paths of business
or ambition. After wending awhile through this still,
twilight woods, and allowing us to enjo}' its shade and
seclusion, the road brought us again into the midst of
views of rocks and mountains ; and as we emerged from
the thicket the beaut}' of each object seemed to be
increased, and the effects of distance and grandeur
heightened b}'' their having been for a time concealed
from our view. We were particularly struck with the
ruggedness of a long, high hill which towered up on our
right.

Between the road and its base roared the Saco. Its
side was composed of large round stones, piled so loose-
ly on each other that it seemed as if a footstep would
have displaced and precipitated them into the river
and plain below. Above, all was lonely and bare, save
that the summit was ci'owned with a few scathed old
trees, which distance diminished to the size of a schooi-
bo^^'s staff. Toward the upper end of this vallej' a
solitary house looked out upon the bleakest and most
desolate spot that peasant ever chose for his habitation.
This was the last house, and here we were obliged to
leave our horses, and travel the rest of the way on foot.
The road was rough and ascending, but the rocks and

38 REMINISCENCES OF

torrents too much interested our attention to suffer us
to think of or feel its wearisomeness.

Tlie mountains on eacli band approaclied nearer, and
became more precipitous ; and far above us were seen
the torrents glancing in the sun as the}^ dashed impetu-
ousl}' down the ravines or were poured over the rocks
in their way to join the river. The river now dwindled
to a brawling, shallow brook, which still has scarcely
room for its passage, and even this is shared by the
road, built on stones against the verj- side of a high
and threatening precipice. This place is called the
Notch, and seems to have been made by some convul-
sion which rent the mountain and opened the passage
for the waters of what was once a lake. From this
place the road in each direction descends, and the moun-
tains on every side rise.

Here we were to leave the road, and here we rested
and took some refreshment. As we were now to plunge
into the woods, we arranged our baggage so as to be as
little incommoded by it as possible. Each person was
furnished with a blanket, and several of us had cloaks,
against the night encampment on the mountain. These
we made into a bundle and fastened on our shoulders,
so as to have our arms at libert}-. The guide carried
the provisions, fire apparatus, and an axe, and I had
a fowling-piece, to shoot at the game that might present
itself; it was thought best that I should go first with
the gun in my hand, powder and shot slung under my
arm, and a snug pack on my shoulders, so I led the way
two or three rods in advance. We struck off directly into
the thick woods, guided by the course of a brook that
dashed down among the tall trees from one side of

AN OLD TEACHER. 39

the hill. This we crossed, clambered up the rugged
opposing bank, over the trunks of windfall trees, and
soon found ourselves in a rude path, which the guide
had formed some weeks before by removing manj^ of
the fallen trees and cutting away some of the growing
ones. The way was still, however, rugged and difficult
enough, always ascending, sometimes winding about a
ledge of rocks or clump of trees, too perpendicular or
too close to be passed over or penetrated, and some-
times leading us straight up a steep side, now compel-
ling us to make a cautious and uncertain footing among
the rocks, and now to mount over the prostrate trunks
which had been left to serve as a ladder. As we
ascended, the trees gradnall}' diminished in size and
height. The elms, oaks, and maples successively* disap-
peared, and no others were to be seen but evergreens,
with here and there a stunted poplar or birch.

Our spirits were fresh and high, and we were ani-
mated with the aspiring and impatient feeling of 3'oung
men and adventurers, but we were repeatedly obliged
to stop and rest before we reached our proposed place
of encampment. This was a small plain among the
woods, two thirds of the distance through the region of
trees. Here we found a hut made like a hunter's lodge,
previousl}* built by the guide. It was formed by ex-
tending a i?ole, ten or twelve feet long, horizontally
from one tree to another, at the height of about six feet
from the ground, from which inclined several others,
with one end resting on the ground. On these were
spread long pieces of hemlock-bark covered with
branches of fir in the fashion of tiles, forming a very
close covering. As we were in each other's way, and

40 REMINISCENCES OF

there were still some hours before dark, and the first
round top, as the guide told us, was at less than a
mile's distance, three of us, Coolidge, Sewall, and my-
self, set out to visit it. We were now relieved of our
baggage, and of the guide and our tardy companions.
This, our expedition, was undertaken from pure curi-
osity and love of exertion, and each of us valued him-
self on his activity. I enjo3'ed a singular advantage
from my earl}' habits of climbing hills and roaming the
woods, and m}^ companions were not men lightly to
confess themselves outdone.

A distich* from one of Scott's poems, which all the
scenery' about had called up, and which burst at once
from two of us, awakened the burning emulation of the
clansman, which ever}' 3'oung spirit has felt, and we
darted forward through the woods and up the side o£
the mountain. It was still steeper than before, but we
were not in a mood to yield to fatigue, and stopped not
till we found ourselves meeting the perpendicular side
of a rock overgrown with shrubs. Up this we soon
scrambled, and sprang out upon a scene stranger and
more wonderful than we had ever beheld or dreamed of
before. It seemed as if that rock had lifted us into a
new and vaster creation. The ground under our feet
was covered with plants new and unknown, such as are
found only on the tops of mountains or in the inhos-
pitable regions of the north ; and on all sides were the
mountains, piled in rude and grand magnificence we had
formed no conception of. Beyond us, at a distance,
towered a proud, gra}-, naked peak which could not be

* " Stung by such thoughts, o'er bank and brae,
Like fire from steel, he glanced away."

AN OLD TEACHER. 41

mistaken. About its sides rested a tliousand Ivills, with
their bare rocks and immense forests skimbering, it
seemed, in the mighty sohtude and unbroken stilhiess
of the birthday of creation. Nothing moved, but the
thunder-clouds were mustering for a storm in the west,
and the chill air admonished that night was already
settling in the valleys. We returned with headlong
rapidity, and found ourselves almost immediately at
the encampment. As we were to stretch ourselves for
the night on the floor of the lodge, we took care to
strew it with fresh branches of fir, so arranged as to
allow onl}- the tops to be seen, and forming a dry and
elastic bed. After having made a large fire directly
before our hut, we took food, and, wrapped in our
cloaks or blankets, stretched ourselves on the rustic bed
for the night, and slept till the guide roused us to pur-
sue our waj'.

We were enveloped in a thick and chilly fog, but as
the guide assured us it was no uncommon thing at that
hour and that place, we had soon buckled on our bun-
dles and were on the march. It seemed a wearisome
length before we came to the same air}' point to which
some of us had before ascended ;, and now the fog made
it impossible to see a rod's distance, so that our eleva-
tion only gave the cold and searching northwest wind,
loaded as it was with mist, a fairer and more exposed
object. We passed over the top of one round hill, and
then descended into the hollow which separated it from
the next, and which was covered with thick evergreens
three or four feet high, and throwing out long and
tough horizontal limbs, so firm as often to allow one to
walk over their tops, and so thickly interwoven as to

42 REMINISCENCES OF

present an almost insurmountable obstacle to passing
between them. Then another hill-top and another belt
of dwarf firs. If, as the Indians used to think, a de-
mon still possessed this dreary region, jealous of any
inroads on his dominion, and who, besides stretching
about him the deep and dark forests, at the foot, and
above them the almost impenetrable barrier of stunted
evergreens, was ready to arm the elements against the
hardy wretch who should invade his consecrated realm,
he had now almost effected his purpose ; for, weary
of the toilsome march, penetrated to the skin bj- the
fog, and shivering with cold from the raw mountain
air, without an}' hope of seeing the sun or of being
rewarded for the labors we had already' undergone, as
it was impossible to see two rods before us, we were
almost tempted to turn back. Added to this, our guide
discovered that he had lost his way.

After finding our wa}^ back to the right path, we
stopped in one of the hollows between the hills, under
the wretched covert of the dwarf trees, and, with much
difficulty, succeeded in kindling a fire and partiallj' dr}'-
ing ourselves. But there was nothing like comfort to
be found here ; several suffered exceedingly from the
cold. When we had been waiting two hours, and it
was nine o'clock, the sun burst suddenl}' out upon us,
and we immediatelj' were on our wa}' again. We now
went on with the greatest alacrity' ; and it was not long
before, having passed over several lower elevations, we
found ourselves on the top of the high and beautiful
round eminence which is called Mount Pleasant. The
name is well deserved. It is just so high as to lift its
top above the circle of vegetation, while it affords a

AN OLD TEACHER. 43

distant prospect of several cultivated vallej's l3ing about
their own streams. To the south is seen the spot occu-
pied by the guide's house, which, though not less than
nine or ten miles distant, in a line, is distinct ; and be-
yond it are seen the scattered hamlets on the banks of
the Saco. Far to the west can be descried the farms
and houses on Amonoosuck, in Breton Wood ; and far-
ther still, the settlements in Jefferson,

In full view before us stood the object of our toil, the
grand and solitary Mount Washington. At the Ijottom
of the rocky vale between sparkled a little pond in its
basin of rock, surrounded on three sides b}'^ hills, and
on the fourth sending out a little rill, which is one source
of the Amonoosuck. We waited on Mount Pleasant
until our party had all come up and rested themselves ;
and then ran down the steep side, and were soon seated
on the brink of the Punch-Bowl, as this little pond is
called.

A short but toilsome part of our labor remained : it
was to cross the low hill between us and the foot of the
mountain, and climb to its summit over the loose bare
stones. From the brink of the little lake, the ascent
seemed easy and gentle, and as if a few short steps
would bring us without labor to the top ; but long,
thick moss covered and concealed the form of the rocks
of the little hill, and rendered our footing extremely
uncertain ; so that many were the falls and bi'uises
received before we reached the foot of Mount Washing-
ton, and often did we have to stop to rest ourselves
in our perilous path up the steep and sharp rocks, piled,
as they were, loosely on each other ; for the torrents
have carried away all the soil, and left the large stones

44 REMINISCENCES OF

entirely bare. Here and there, indeed, in the deep
crevices, a little earth is left, and in some places on
the south side, protected by high rocks from the cutting
gales, there are nooks where the sun rests, and beautiful
flowers are seen springing up, and butterflies fluttering
round them, and all looks and feels like summer. But
mount the next crag, and the wind comes on 3-ou so
cold, and the barrenness and desolation that meet you
are so entire, that you can hardly persuade 3'ourself that
it is not winter.

From the top, what a grand view ! Yet the greatness
comes on you by such slow degrees that all the eflfect
of surprise is lost, and there remains only that solemn,
silent thoughtfulness and admiration which are entirely
removed from the warmth and fervor of mind which a
sudden and unexpected grandeur produces. All here is
magnificent indeed, but all is savage and wild and deso-
late, as it was left by the hand of its Creator. Nothing
at first strikes the eye but the bald, rock}' peaks of
mountains I'ising at intervals round the summit you
stand on, and bared by the tempest of a thousand win-
ters, and eternalh' preserving a wintr}' barrenness. A
little lower, 3'ou see the tops of other hills, rough with
the trunks of blasted trees ; and about and below all,
the dark woods, deepening into a broad and monoto-
nous ocean, broken only bv the distant and unfreqnent
light reflected upwards from the surface of some solitarj-
lake, or by the mountains that rise like islands amidst
it. Nothing can exceed the sense of utter dreariness
which takes possession of you when, throughout this
boundless scene, you perceive not a vestige of the labor
of man.

AN OLD TEACHER. 45

Thougli it was oue o'clock, and a bright sun, we found
the north side of the rock crusted with ice. It was
bitterl}^ cold, and the sharp northwest wind so chilled
us as almost to deprive us of the use of our hands.
TVe had no desire to remain in this place long, for the
cold rendered it excessively uncomfortable, and the
prospect was such as one need not desire long to dwell
on, Entirel}' unlike anything I had ever seen, and
made up of a few great features, it made such an im-
pression that the picture, in all its bold outlines, is still,
after more than fifty 3'ears, before me. The descent was
almost without fatigue, though not without danger. To
proceed rapidly it is necessary to spring down from rock
to rock, and the impetus gained is such as to make it
almost impossible sometimes to avoid the sharp rocks
and precipices that suddenly present themselves. But
reaching the foot, and passing along the west side of
the little hill, we arrived safely on the borders of the
pond.

Mount Pleasant was directl}' in our way, but the side
towards us was exceedingl}- steep, and though we found
no difficulty in descending, we were unanimous in think-
ing that we had had enough of climbing, for that day
at least. So the guide undertook to lead us round the
east side of the hill b}^ a wa}' which he knew, he said,
but had not often travelled. This way we took, though
it would be bold to sa}' that we kept it, for we had to
make a path for ourselves, leaping across deep clefts
and over sloughs, and breaking through those tangled
thickets, just up to our shoulders, neither to be leaped
over nor crept under, and climb along the side of preci-
pices, holding on by the branches or roots of the strug-

46 REMINISCENCES OF

gling firs and birches, — places where there was not
the least sign that mortal had ever been before ; and
ever and anon we crossed the rich purple beds of
ci'anberries and cornel berries, so temptingly Inxuriant
that some of the weaker brethren could not resist,
but would linger behind till the guide and his com-
panions were out of sight, and so take a wrong path
and get tangled in the thicket or suspended over a
gully. Finall3% however, but not without many diffi-
culties and more complaints, we got round Mount
Pleasant.

We now began to get among the lower and pleasanter
hills. For these have their tops covered with the alpine
plants which I mentioned, — objects of great curiosity
to us, admirers, as we professed to be, of the vegetable
world, and one at least a scientific observer. Many
of these were entirely new to us, and so different from
the usual plants of the temperate climate that we have
seldom had an entertainment of the kind more agree-
able.

Proceeding along a ridge of variable height, we occa-
sionally caught a glimpse of scenes of peculiar beauty
when the hills allowed us to look down on a cultivated
spot b}" the borders of a lake or river, almost envel-
oped, as they alwa^'s were, by the dark woods, and
alwa3's seeming to be in the centre of an amphitheatre
of mountains. Stopping sometimes to gaze on such
scenes, and stepping aside where we listed to indulge
any idle curiosity, and resting ourselves when and
where we chose, it was not long before we reached the
last green top, the same which I had visited the even-
ing before. Here we stopped again for all to come up.

AN OLD TEACHER. 47

From the last round top there is a continual descent
throusfh the woods to the Notch. It was but a short
distance to our last night's encampment, and there
three of our number, not caring to add to their fatigue,
determined to remain for the ensuing night. Leaving
the guide to keep up the fire and take charge of our
wearied companions, four of us. Gushing, Sewall,
Ware, and mj'self, resolved to go on to the Notch.
The sun, even where we were, far up on the mountain,
was scarcely half an hour high, and in the valle^^ had
already been some time set, and the path we had to
travel was steep, crooked, narrow, and often obstructed
by logs and rocks. We had no time to lose ; waiting
but a moment, then, to arrange matters with our com-
panions, we set off at a good travelling pace down the
hill. But we soon saw this would not do ; the dark-
ness at every step was evidently fast increasing. Our
only alternative, then, was to proceed at a much brisker
rate, or run the risk of spending the night on some
bank or under some rock in the woods. Putting my-
self again foremost, to avoid any danger from mj' fowl-
ing-piece, we pressed forward with such rapiditj' as the
road would admit. At first we sprang onward at a great
rate with perfect safety ; but darkness gathered round
us so fast that it soon became difficult to discern the
path ; and often did I leap forward entirely- uncertain
what was before me, and only taking what seemed the
path's most probable direction. I was usually fortu-
nate, but three times I went headlong over logs or
down slippery banks, and gained nothing bj^ ni}' falls
but the pleasure or the power of warning my com-
panions to avoid them ; and indeed the}' almost always

48 REMINISCENCES OF

did avoid them, taking care to venture a leap only
when they saw I came off safel3^ Thus we contrived
to keep the path until we crossed the brook within a
few rods of the road. Here it was too dark to distin-
guish any traces of the wa}', but guiding ourselves by
the noise of the brook, we soon emerged from the
woods, not far from the place where we had entered
them. We were only thirty-five minutes in accomplish-
ing, in the twilight and dark, a descent which, by broad
dajdight, usually takes more than an hoiir. And right
glad were we to see again the broad heavens and a plain
road.

We had still two miles and a half to walk to the
house where we expected supper. We had the whole
evening, and a fine one, too, to walk this distance,
and felt, moreover, no such disposition for active
bodily exertion as would allow us to be ver}^ scrupu-
lous about a few minutes more or less which it might
take up. There was, indeed, when it occurred to us
how sj^arsely we had dined, and the generous allow-
ance of exercise we had since indulged in, a secret
monition that something like a supper might at no dis-
tant time be far from unacceptable. Such thoughts,
however, soon gave place to others more befitting the
scene and the hour. We had reached the Notch. The
towering cliffs on each side, garnished here and there
by their own fir-trees, rested in bold relief on the star-
lit sk}' ; behind us, in the western heavens, still glim-
mered that faint blush of soft light which, whether the
last rays of departing da}' or a gleam from the northern
aurora, served to relieve the deep gloom of the dark
valle}' before us, and into which we were entering; -

AJV OLD TEACHER. 49

while the clash of the Saco from below us on our left,
as it fell over rocks, or chafed angrily against its pre-
cipitous banks, came up and mingled and harmonized
with the whole.

As we walked slowly down this romantic valley we
were frequently struck with a sparkle of light from
among the rocks and woods, high up the mountain on
our left. It appeared to be caused b}' the reflection of
a bright planet from the smooth surface of some rock
polished and moistened by the water which trickled
over it, and looked like a star on the face of the moun-
tain. Some such appearance as this probably gave rise
to a tradition among the Indians, that somewhere on
these mountains was a shining carbuncle, which hung
very high over a lake, and was guarded b}- an immense
and hideous serpent, one of the same race, doubtless,
which from time immemorial has had charge of all
Inestimable treasures.

When we arrived at the lone house we were ail most
completely fatigued. We called for coffee and food of
any kind, and comfortable beds as soon as the}' could
possibly be made read}'. The good woman seemed to
have a feeling of true sympathy for us. Whatever it
was, she set herself about the business with the readiest
alacrit}', and bj' dint of the most admirable manage-
ment, in bestirring herself and moving others, succeeded
beyond our fondest expectations. He who remembers
the day of his life when he was most hungry and at the
same time most fatigued, may have some faint concep-
tion of the deliciousness of our supper, the unutterable
comfort of our repose.

On the morrow, without waiting for the remainder of
4

50 REMINISCENCES OF

our companions, we mounted our horses and returned
to the guide's house, through that wild A'alley which is
so beautiful that it is strange that all in New England
who can afford it, and who admire scenerj', should not go
and visit it, and pass through the Notch at least, and
the 3'oung and vigorous ascend to the summit of the
mountain.

AlSr OLD TEACHER. h\

CHAPTER VIL

ry^HE plan of a school, to be called the English Classical
J[ School, wa.s adopted by the school committee of the
town of Boston, June 20, 1^20, on the report of a subcom-
mittee, of which A. A. Wells, Esq., was chairman. At a town-
meeting, Jan. 15, 1821, the plan was approved, only three in
the negative. At a meeting of the school committee, held
Feb. 19, 1821, G. B. Emerson was unanimously chosen princi-
pal, but final action was deferred till a meeting held March
26, when the appointment was confirmed, and A. A. Wells,
Rev. Charles Lowell, Rev. John Pierpont, Lemuel Shaw, Esq.,
and Benjamin Russell wei*e chosen a committee on the Eng-
lish Classical School. — Br. Gould on the Schools of Boston.

Having determined to be a candidate for the place
of master of tlie F.nglish Classical School in Boston, I
sought to get the expression from respectable persons
of their belief in m}' competency to fulfil the duties of
that place. President Kirkland and all the college pro-
fessors gave me their names. The parents of man}- of
my pupils at Lancaster kindlj' stated their favorable
opinion, which was confirmed by good friends in Boston.

I sent in ni}' application, and verj' soon received from
one of the committee the statement that I had been
unanimousl}' chosen.

Mr. S. P. Miles accepted the invitation of Dr. Kirk-
land to take my place in college, and as soon as I could

52 REMINISCENCES OF

I moved to Boston, and found a temporary home in a
boarding-house.

To m}' great satisfaction I found that an old fnend
of mine, Mr. Lemuel Shaw, afterwards chief justice,
was on the committee, and I went to him to ascertain
whether I should be allowed to teach and manage the
school according to my own ideas. He approved of
them entirel}', and said that, if I would make a short
statement in writing of the course I wished to pursue,
he would la}- it before the committee, and he had little
doubt that it would be appro\'ed. This I did, and on
ni}- next visit, he told me that the committee had passed
a vote that, as I had been chosen unanimousl}' as a per-
son full_y competent to fill the place, I should be allowed
to manage it, in matters of instruction and discipline,
according to my own views.'

Official notice in the newspapers soon brought to-
gether in the Latin School-house, on School Street, all
the bovs who were desirous of admission to the Eng-
lish Classical. An intimation from the committee that
a leading object in the establishment of this school was
to raise the standard in the grammar schools, rendered
it my duty to make the examination prett}- thorough.
Accordinglj' I carefully examined, in small divisions,
for six hours every day for two weeks, the one hundred
and thirty-five boj'S who presented themselves, of whom
I judged seventy -five to be admissible.

The lower stor}' of a school-house on Derne Street,
on the spot now covered b}- the Reservoir, was prepared
for the English Classical School, and on a Monday
morning the seventj'-five boys were present. I spent
half an hour or more, every morning of the first week,

AN OLD TEACHER. 53

ill explaining, full}' and clearly, the principles according
to which I should manage and teach. I told them : —

" I do not believe in the necessity' of corporal pun-
ishment, and I shall never strike a blow unless 3'ou
compel me. I want 3'ou to learn to govern 3'ourselves.
I sliall regard you and treat you all as young gentle-
men, and expect 3'ou to consider me a gentleman, and
treat me accordingly.

^' I shall always believe ever}^ word you say, until I
find j-ou guilty of lying, and then I cannot ; nobody
believes a liar, if he has an}' temptation to lie.

" Never tell me anything to the disadvantage of any
fellow-student. I mean to have strict rules, and to have
them strictly obej'ed ; but I shall never make a rule
which I would not more willingly see broken than I
would have an_y one of j'Oil violate what ought to be
his feeling of honor toward a fellow-student. It is the
meanest thing that an}- boy can do.

" I have examined you very carefully, as you all
know, and have taken every means of finding out your
character and capacities, and your opportunities. Some
of you have enjoyed every advantage. Yon have lived
in pleasant homes, with intelHgent and well-informed
parents and friends, and you have formed habits of
reading good books, and being otherwise pleasantly
and well employed. Others of you have been blessed
with none of these privileges, and have had no oppor-
tunities of forming good habits. Now I am going to
examine you, for some weeks, carefully and severely, in
a considerable variety of studies. I shall do this that
I may arrange you according to your attainments and
capacities, so that no one may be kept back from doing

54 REMINISCENCES OF

what he is capable of, and that the slow and ill-prepared
may be fairl}' tried.

" After I shall have ascertained, in this way, of what
each of you is capable, in all the studies, I shall, when
I find that a dull bo}' has done his best, feel for him the
same respect, and give him the same mark that I shall
to the brightest boy in school who has only done Ms
best.

" I beg of 3'ou, bo3'S, never to try to surpass each
other. Help each other in every wa}- you can. Try
to surpass ^-ourselves. Say, ' I will do better to-day
than I did yesterdav, and I resolve to do better to-mor-
row than I can do to-day.' In this way, 30U who are
highest and most capable will always, through life, be
friends, and the best friends. But if ^-ou tr^'to surpass
each other, some of 3-ou will inevitably be enemies." *

I said this with a vivid remembrance of the bitter
feelings entertained b}^ individuals in several of the
classes I had known in Cambridge, toward some of
their classmates, who might have been, all their lives,
their best friends, if this terriblj' ambitions desire of
acknowledged superiorit}' had not prevented.

These principles of action, which I have here given
in a few sentences, occupied half an hour or more, every
morning, for the first week. I explained and enlarged
till I felt sure that I was full}' understood.

When I told them I should alwa^'s believe them, I
could not help seeing a generous resolution fixing itself

* Of the coi'rectness of this opiuion, I have recently had
most satisfactory evidence. Two men wlio had been the best
scholars in school, J. J. Dixwell and J. W. Edmands, con-
tinued dear friends all their lives.

AN OLD TEACHER. 55

more and more firmly in the expression of everj' coun-
tenance. When I enlarged upon the nobleness of refus-
ing to betray each other, I rejoiced to see a surprised
but delighted feeling of exultation on the faces of most
of them, and something like inquirj^ on other faces.
When I enlarged upon the beauty of generousl}^ helping
each other, and the meanness and poor selfishness of
trying to climb over others, I observed a dubious expres-
sion in some faces, as if they were trying to settle a
question, and of proud satisfaction in others, as if rejoic-
ing to see it rightl}' settled. When I told them that I
intended to be perfectly just toward them, as soon as
I knew them well enough to see what would be justice,
I saw hope beaming in the e3'es of some sad faces where
it seemed as if it had alwa3's, till then, been a stranger.
I have alwaj's felt, as I became acquainted with my
pupils, which I sought to become as soon as I could :
Here is a boy who is able to take care of himself; he
onl}^ wants opportunit3^ But here is a poor fellow who
is discouraged ; he wants aid and encouragement in
everything ; he cannot do without me. I must win his
affection ; if possible make him love me. Then he will
draw near to me, and learn to rely upon me, and I shall
be able to help him. I have constantly been convinced
from the time 1 first felt the divine character of the truths
of the New Testament, that invariably the best thing to
be done for every child is to educate his conscience to
make him feel the enormity and ugliness of falsehood
and evil, and the preciousness and beauty of truth and
good. This is the one great truth which everj' teacher
and every parent, especially' ever^' mother, should learn,
without which, indeed, no noble character can be formed.
Educate the conscience.

56 REMINISCENCES OF

B3' a careful examinatiou of man}" weeks, I found
what each of mj' pupils had done, and prett}' nearl}'
what he was capable of doing, so that I could arrange
them in little classes, according to their capacity and
attainments. In this way I could lead some of them to
do verj' much more than thej' could have done if they
had been arranged together,, those who were diligent
and bright and had made actual progress, with the dull
bo3'S, who were without much real attainment. This
was something ; I could hear lessons, but I could not,
in most cases, give much instruction.

There was a single exception. I had long been ac-
quainted with Wan-en Colburn, had taken man}' long
walks with him, on which we had discussed, somewhat
fully, different modes of teaching ; and I had been very
particularly struck by his original ideas as to the true
way to teach arithmetic. He had then a private school,
which occupied much of his time. I told him that if he
would, beginning with the simplest numbers, write out
questions in the order in which he thought they ought
to be put, I would try them with my pupils, and tell
him how far I agreed with him, and if I found anything
to correct or alter, I would let him know. This he was
glad to do ; and I gave out according to his arrange-
ment all the questions in the manuscript of his first
edition. I found scarcely a word to correct, and was
surprised and much delighted with the successful exper-
iment.

The effect upon my boys was most satisfactory. They
soon found themselves answering instantaneously, and
without dhliculty, questions which, without this drill, it
would have been impossible for them to answer.

AN OLD TEACHER. 57

This, let it be remembered, was the questions of the
first edition, those given b}' Colburn himself. That first
book was the most important step in teaching that had
ever been made. The use of it, just as it was, was a
blessing to ever}^ child who had to be taught. It was
mental, acting directly upon the mind. That blessing
bas been forfeited in almost every subsequent edition.
The book is now cruelly and stupidly put into the hands
of poor children to be studied, and has altogether ceased
to be mental arithmetic.

58 REMINISCENCES OF

CHAPTER VIII.

AFTER the division of the boj's, according to
capacity and real attainment, was made, from
careful examination, I soon found, as I have already
stated, that some of them could do, satisfactorily,
many times more than others ; and I accordingly gave
to the foremost and most capable, in addition to other
studies, lessons in geometry' and French, and some
little of real instruction in history, illustrated by geog.
raphy and chronology ; and recommended, for their
reading at home, the lives of some of the remarkable
men of ancient and modern times. For I thought
then, as I do now, that history, ancient as well as
modern, is to be taught most satisfactorily and pleas-
antl}' to the 3'oung through the lives of individual men.

I required all to commit to memory, and recite everj''
Saturday', lines from the best English poets. This, I
soon found, was pleasant to nearly all of them, and
improved their taste and their memorj'. Several of
them not onlj' became ver}' fond of this exercise, but
read with delight some of the best poetrj^ in the lan-
guage, such as that of Goldsmith, Gra}', Campbell,
Scott, Cowper, Bjron, Bryant, and some portions of
Milton.

I also gave them subjects to write upon which re-

AaY old teacher. 59

quired observation, sucli as the description of a street,
a single building, the harbor, a boat, a ship, the State
House, the Common with its trees and cows, Charles
River; and gradually, subjects that required thought,
such as truthfulness, habits of industry', self-culture,
procrastination, choice of friends, diligence ; and I still
have, carefully preserved, manj- creditable compositions
on these subjects \i\ members of this first class.

The faithful preparation for the performance of all
my duties, in management and instruction, occupied
nearl}' all my time, leaving me little for- society. For
some weeks 1 was well accommodated at boarding-
houses, but nowhere did I find a home. The longing
for one led me to apply to a verj' noble lady whom I
had long known, and to beg her to let me become one
of her famil3^ She granted my request in the kindest
manner possible. She was the widow of Rev. William
Emerson, and among her sons I found William, whom
I had long known and loved, the best reader, and with
the sweetest voice I ever heard, and a pleasant talker ;
Ralph Waldo, whom I had known and admired, and
whom all the world now knows almost as well as I do ;
Edward Bliss, the most modest and genial, the most
beautiful and the most graceful speaker, a universal
favorite ; and Charles Chauncey, bright and ready, full
of sense, ambitious of distinction, and capable of it.

There was never a more delightful famil}' or one
more sure of distinction, the intimate acquaintance
with which has had a most benign influence on my
whole life ; and in that family I found a home.

To enable me to var}' and enlarge mj' instruction, the
school committee obtained leave to import a few philo-

(30 REMINISCENCES OF

sopliical instruments. Dr. Prince, of Salem, whom I
went several times to confer with, gave me aid in select-
ing and ordering them ; and I soon had the pleasure of
seeing them safely arrive from London. Some of these
I used as soon as any of the bo5's were ready to under-
stand and profit b}^ them, which was very soon ; so
that I was able to give some real instruction.

Most of the wooden instruments soon suffered, on
account of the dr3'ness of our climate when compared
with that of London, and had to be repaired or some-
what changed.

I required all my bo3-s to declaim choice selections in
prose and in poetrj*. This was a new thing ; some of
them enjoyed it, and gradually' learned to speak ex-
tremely well.

We never had any difficulty in the management of
offences. Indeed, in school, there were very few to
manage. But some difficulties arose on the playground,
in which I declined to interfere, and the settlement of
which man}" of the boys considered important. So I
recommended that the}' should form a court, before
which such cases might be tried. A judge was accord-
ingly chosen by themselves, a jur}' of ten, and advocates
on each side. To qualif}' themselves for the perform-
ance of these duties, the boys found themselves obliged
to go into the court-rooms, and see how justice was
discovered and administered b}' real judges and advo-
cates and juries. Several cases were very successfully
tried, and the decisions and awards as honestly given,
and, apparently, as justl}', as they are in the courts of
the Commonwealth .

At the end of the first half-year, a public examina-

A.V OLD TEACHER. 61

tion took place. The ball was crowded b}" people who
wanted to see how the English Classical School wa s
managed. I explained, in a few words, ni}' modes of
go\erning and of teaching, and begged them to jndge
for themselves. The declamation was good ; the exam-
inations in geograph}', historj;, and French satisfactory ;
the poetical recitations very gratifying. In mental
arithmetic, an exhibition was made which struck every-
body' as wonderful. Questions were given out which
few persons present would have thought it possible to
answer,, and which were answered full}', clearly, and
instantl}'. The effect was such as had never been
dreamed of. The applause was astounding ; and the
audience separated with a conviction, in the minds of
some persons, that Boston had rarely seen such a
school before.

For arithmetic, my pupils were constantly drilled in
Colburn's Mental, learning not much else ; and the}'
told me that it constantly happened that, in their little
dealings at the shops, they knew instantly the amount
of their purchases, while the sellers had to cipher them
out on their books or slates, and often made mistakes.

The most serious difficult}' I had ever encountered in
the management of the bo}-s was pi'esented by the
necessity of awarding the city medals. Six medals
were sent to me to be given to the six best scholars in
my first class. Who were the six best? I laid the
matter before the school, telling the boys that it was
impossible for me to tell who best deserved the medals.
To do that I ought to know who had been most faithful,
who had overcome the greatest difficulties, who, strug-
gling against nature and inadequate preparation, had

62 REMINISCENCES

made reall}' the greatest progress. I had never had a
head in an}' class. It would not have been difficult to
guess who would have been at the head. But one who,
from excellent preparation and fine natural talents,
would have placed himself at the head, was reall}' not
so deserving of a medal as the bo}- who had overcome
difficulties most successfully .and improved his natural
powers most faithfully.

I must assign the medals. I should do it as well as
I could, but I could not be sure that I did it justh'. I
did, accordingly, give the medals to the six whom I
considered the most deserving, and who were appar-
ently the best scholars. This assignment gave evident
satisfaction in almost ever}' case, but there was one
boy who was bitterly disappointed, and who naturally
charged his disappointment to me. He never looked
kindlj' at me from that hour ; and whenever, for 3'ears
after, I met him on the street, he looked awa}', with a
cloud on his face. If I had had one medal more, I
would have given it to him. But there were onl}' six
to give. I ought to have gone to the committee and
insisted on having another to bestow ; but I did not.
The poor boy, afterward a somewhat distinguished man,
never forgave me, — and I never forgave mj'self ; and I
never look back upon the whole matter, I never think
of him, but with pain.

M}' original purpose in seeking the place of principal
of the Euglish Classical School was to trj' the experi-
ment of making the formation and improvement of
character the leading object of the school. I taught as
well as I could, but alwa\'s considered this teaching of
little consequence compared with that of the formation

AN OLD TEACHER. 63

in my pupils of a single and noble character. I always
began school with reading a few verses from the New
Testament, pointing out the great lessons thej^ gave
and the truths the}^ taught, and asking a blessing from
the Giver of all good. To be able to speak confidently
of the effect of m}^ teaching, I must be able to look
into the hearts of ni}^ pupils. Judging from appear-
ances, the observance of order and good habits, the
mutual kindness I saw, and the atfectionate confidence
and respect entertained toward mj'self, I had reason to
thank God for his blessing upon my work.

64 REMINISCENCES OF

CHAPTER IX.

I HAD been pleasantly and successfully emplo^'ed
in the English Classical School foi' nearh' two
j^ears, when the Hon. William Sullivan, several of
whose sons had been with me in my school in Lancas-
ter, told me that he wanted me to teach his daughters,
and that he would, if I consented, find twentj^-five
young ladies to be my pupils, for the instruction of
whom I should be much better paid than I was then
paid.

I told him I was entirely satisfied with my position,
and more than satisfied with ni}- success in an experi-
ment in some respects new. I felt the greatest interest
in m}" work and in the boys in the school, and should
be happy to go on with them. The ver}- reason, he
said, wh}' he wished me to take charge of his daughters
w-as that I had been so successful in the education of
bo3's, on the highest and most unexceptionable prin-
ciples. He considered the education of girls, on such
principles, more important than that of boys, because
they would have almost the entire education of their
children. Most men have scarcely anything to do with
the highest education of their children, even their boj's.
It is all left to the mothers ; and if the highest educa-
tion, the formation of the purest character, was desirable

^A^ OLD TEACHER. 65

for all childrea, it must be given by the mothers. These
considerations, when I came to d.weJl upon them, nat-
urally produced a strong etfect, and made me ask m}'-
self whether 1 should not be able to do more good as a
teacher of girls than it would be possible for me to do
as a teacher of boys. I consulted some of my best
friends, particularly- Mrs. Samuel Eliot, mother of my
friend 8. A. Eliot, who strongly confirmed me in an
affirmative answer to the question.

Mr. SuUivan soon saw, for we discussed the matter
many times, that an impression had been made on me,
and sought to make his argument irresistible by telling
me that he knew I wanted to marrj', and 1 might easily
see that I could not live, as I should desire to live, on
the $1,500 a year I received from the citj^ of Boston.
Twentj'-five girls would secure a thousand more, with
which addition I might live very pleasantl3^ This argu-
ment convinced me, and I told him that if I could per-
suade Solomon P. Miles, who had succeeded me in
Lancaster and in Harvard College, and had given com-
plete satisfaction, to be a candidate for the place of
master in the English Classical School, I would accept
his offer. So I went out to Cambridge to see my old
friend, and easily persuaded him to offer himself as the
candidate.

At the same time that Mr. Sullivan was urging me,
his friend, Josiah Quinc}^ then Maj-or of the city, said
he would venture to promise me, if 1 would remain, an
addition of $500 to my salary, which would make it
equal to the highest salary then given to any teacher in
New England. The final arrangement was concluded
in April, 1823.

QQ REMINISCEA'CES OF

When it was known that twent^'-five 3'oung ladies,
from some of the best families in Boston, were to form
a new school, several others were desirous of joining
them, so that, on the 9th of June, 1823, thirt^y-two
young ladies met me as pupils in a very large room in
what was then a boarding-house on Beacon Street.

I limited my numl)er to thirty -two, because I thought
that number as large as I could properly teach. I
opened a book for applicants and entered several
names, in the order of application, to be admitted in
that order, as vacancies should occur in m}' school.
This book was never without names but once as long
as I kept m}' school. I was sitting, one Saturday even-
ing, thinking that I should have to begin, on Mond.13^
morning, with thirty-one. This, I thought, was prob-
ably the beginning of the end ; but I tried to comfort
myself by thinking that, if this school failed, I could go
into the countr}- and teach boj's, in a public or private
school or academy. I had just come to this conclusion
when a verj- respectable gentleman came in, full, he
said, of anxiety' lest he had come too late to get his
daughter admitted. From that day I was never with-
out more applicants than I could admit.

My object was, naturally, to give my pupils the best
education possible, to teach them what it was most
important for every one to know, and to form right
habits of thought, and give such instruction as would
lead to the formation of the highest character, to fit
them to be good daughters and sisters, good neighbors,
good wives, and good mothers. I wished to give them,
as far as possible, a complete knowledge of our rich
and beautiful English language. With this in view I

AN OLD TEACHER. 67

set them all to study Latin, since all the hardest words
in our language, as in French and Italian, ai'e thence
derived. Some fathers begged me not to let their
daughters waste their time upon Latin, but rather
devote it to French and Italian. All such girls I set
immediately to study French. But to the rest I gave
four or five lessons every week in the Latin language,
with as little as possible of the grammar. I kept up
this for two years always, and in some cases for three.
At the end of the two or three Latin 3'ears, I set them
to study French and then Italian. These studies were
very easy, as they found that they knew already'' the
roots of nearly all the hard words, and so could give
much of their time to writing the languages.

At the end of three or four years, those who had
studied Latin knew more of French and Italian than
those who had given all their time to them. In Italian,
those who had studied Virgil faithfully, found little
difficulty with Dante, who had followed Virgil so far as
language alone was in question, and whose language is
more like Virgil's Latin than it is like modern Italian.
Those who had studied only French and Italian, found
Dante almost unintelligible, and were, nearly' all of
them, obliged to give him up. Many years afterwards,
I spent half a year in Rome, and became acquainted
with some of the teachers. They told me the}^ never
thought of setting their pupils to read Dante. It was
almost unintelligible to them.

P'or arithmetic, my pupils were constantly drilled in
Colburn's Mental, learning not much else ; and they
told me that it constantly' happened that, in their little
dealings at the shops, they knew instantly the amount

68 REMINISCENCES OF

of their purchases, while the sellers had to cipher them
out on their books or slates, and often made mistakes.

In histor}-, I began and long continued in the old
wa}', giving out six or eight pages in some excellent
writer, such as Robertson, and requiring my pupils to
answer the questions I put to them at the next morn-
ing's recitation. This was more satisfactory to some
of them than to me, so that, after some 3'ears, I under-
took to teach them history in another way. On warm
days in summer, for the school then stretched into sum-
mer, I set them all down with their maps before them,
and for one or two hours, gave them, in ni}' own words,
what I considered the most interesting and important
facts and thoughts in a portion of history, sometimes,
however, reading long passages when they were clear
and well written.

This made them familiar with the autliors I quoted,
and often led to a more intimate acquaintance. In the
two months during which this reading was continued,
not much history could be given, but a love for it was
formed which lead to pleasant reading, by themselves
of man}' favorite volumes, and to the habit of reading
good books, which has, in many instances, lasted alwaj'S.
In natural philosophy, I began with the easiest text-
books I could find, and with a few experiments making
things clear and creating an interest. These early books
were English, and ver}- excellent. When I had to use
American, I soon found that the}- were usuall}- the
poor abridgments of larger treatises, made by ignorant
persons for the printer. The apparent originals I
found little better, made b}' illiterate people, for sale
in the schools and academies. This drove me to tlic

AN OLD TEACHER. 69

real originals, so that I was led to read Newton's Yrin-
cipia., La Place, Galileo, Lavoisier, and other books,
the works of the original thinkers. To do this required
an immense deal of time, so that I was actually driven
into the habit of never going abroad to spend m}' even-
ings, with the single exception of one evening in a week,
to meet at a club a small number of very old friends.

70 REMINISCENCES OF

CHAPTER X.

GRADUALLY other things, of a more public na-
ture, came in to occupy and diversify my thoughts.
I had become acquainted with some of the common
scliools in the State, and met with individuals, teachers
and others, who were acquainted with them, and sj'mpa-
thized with me in regard to their wretched condition.
For several j^ears we met, in Boston, ever}' summer, to
talk about them, and to consider whether something
could not be done for their improvement, and at last
concluded that a society of teachers should be formed,
the one object of which should be the improvement of
the common schools.

BOSTON SOCIETY OF NATURAL HISTORY.

In the winter of 1830 a few gentlemen of scientific
attainments conceived the design of forming a society
in Boston for the promotion of natural histor}'. After
several meetings, usuall}' held in the office of Dr. Walter
Channing, and communicating their design to others
supposed or known to be favorabl}' disposed towards it,
a meeting in the same place was called, on the 28th of
April, 1830. It was organized by the choice of Dr.
Channing as moderator, and Theophilus Parsons, Esq.,
as secretary. The gentlemen present then resolved to

AN OLD TEACHER. 71

form themselves into a society, under the name of the
Boston Society of Natural History. A constitution and
b3--laws were adopted, officers were chosen, an act of
incorporation was obtained, at the next session of the
Legislature, bearing date February 2'4, 1831.

The great object had in view in the formation of the
societj' was to promote a taste, and afford facilities, for
the pursuit of natural history, by mutual cooperation,
and the formation of a cabinet and a library. But it was
alwa3's understood that especial -attention should be
given to the investigation of the objects in our own
immediate vicinit3\

Thomas Nuttall, Esq., the well-known botanist and
ornithologist, was chosen the first president ; but re-
garding himself as onl}^ a transient resident, he declined
*the otfice, to which Benj. D. Greene, a distinguished
botanist, was chosen. Among those most early inter-
ested were Drs. Geo. Haj'ward and John Ware, Hon.
F. C. Gray, Rev. F. W. P. Greenwood, Charles T. Jack-
son, M. D., Dr. D. Humphreys Storer, Dr. Augustus A.
Gould. To Dr. Gould's notice of these events I am
indebted for almost all that I have here recorded.

A few of us, from the beginning, often met and dis-
cussed the character of the natural objects that presented
themselves. We continued, for some 3'ears, to meet
often in the evening, at each others' houses. In 1837 I
was chosen president. We had then made valuable
collections, by gifts and our own researches. These col-
lections of our own we found seldom anywhere described,
and, talking these things over, many times, we at last
concluded that a survey of the whole State ought to be
made, b}" competent persons, to complete the excellent

72 REMINISCENCES OF

Report made by Dr. Hitchcock upon the mineralogy
and geology of the State, and that it was our duty to
la}' this want before the government of the State, and
to endeavor to have a survey' organized.

As I was president, it was agreed that I ought to
write a memorial and lay it before Gov. Everett. This
I accordingly did, as well as I could.

Gov. Everett, who was an old friend of mine, received
my memorial very graciously, and read it. He said that
he was very glad that I had written the memorial, that
he coincided in the statements therein made, and that
he would immediatel}- lay it before the Senate and the
House of Representatives.

In a few da^-s he sent for me, and told me that my
memorial had been very justlj' appreciated by both
houses, who had given him authority to appoint six per-'
sons to make a surve}'^ of the State, and had voted an ap-
propriation for the expenses of the surve}'. '' Now," he
said, " 3'ou are better acquainted with the naturalists in
the State than I am, and will do me a favor by suggesting
the names of persons whom you consider competent to
do this work satisfactorily." I told him I knew some
such persons ; that Dr. Harris, of Cambridge, was a very
learned entomologist, and knew the nature and the habits
of more insects than any other person in the country.
Dr. Harris was agreed upon as the most suitable person
to report upon the insects. I told him Dr. Gould was
a very nice observer, an excellent draughtsman and dis-
sector, and well acquainted with many of the lower
animals. He was accordinglj^ appointed to report on
invertebrates. Dr. Storer was a careful observer, and
had alread}' become acquainted with man}^ of the fishes

AN OLD TEACHER. 73

of the sea and rivers. Dr. Storer was appointed to
make a report upon the fishes. There was another
person, I told him, who knew more about the birds than
an}^ other person in the country. " Stop there ! " said
Gov. Everett. " "Will it do, in providing for a survey of
the State of Massachusetts, to appoint men from Boston
and Cambridge only ? " I told him I was not intimately
acquainted with the naturalists in other parts of the
State ; I only knew them b}^ report. " How would Mr.
Peabod}', of Springfield, do for the birds?" asked he.
I answered that I knew Mr. Peabody, as he knew him,
as a person of verj^ great talent and an admirable writer.
If he knew nothing especially about the birds, he could
soon find out, and then he would write a report so well
that everybod}' would be charmed with it. Mr. Peabod}'
was accordingly appointed to write a report upon the
birds. Then Gov. Everett asked, " Do you not know
men, in the extreme west, in Berkshire, at Stockb ridge,
or Williamstown?" "There is," I said, "a man at
Stockbridge who must be a good botanist ; he has just
given, in Silliman's Journal^ one or two excellent papers
upon the sedges, one of the most difficult genera in bot-
any." " Well, let Dr. Dewey report upon botany." Then
I said, "I do not know who is the Professor of Natural
Histor}' in Williams College, but I do know President
Hopkins, and am pretty sure that he would not appoint
a very ordinary man." Prof. Emmons was accordingly
appointed to report upon the quadrupeds.

"When I met my friends in the society, and told them
what names I had suggested, they immediately asked to
what I was myself to be appointed. I answered, " To
none ; Gov. Everett has made me responsible for all the

74 EEMTMSCENCES OF

reports ; I must read them, and see them through the
press. Besides, I have not the time, for 3-ou all know
that for nine mouths in the year, I am as bus}' as possible
with m}' school." " That will not do," the}' responded ;
" we have all been accustomed to work with you, and
who else would be so pleasant to work with ? " So they
continued to urge. I told them all the places were filled,
just the six we had agreed upon. " Why cannot you,"
one of them insisted. " agree with Dr. Dewev to divide
the botany, he taking all the other plants, and giving
you the trees and shrubs, of which 3-ou know more than
an}' of us? r/^cv will be enough for one person." So
they compelled me to yield. I wrote to Prof. Dewey,
who answered me immediately that he should rejoice to
give the trees to some one else, as he did not know them
very well, and could hardly find time to study them.

I was thus pressed into the work, which, however, I
resolved to do as well as I could make myself able to do.
For ten or twelve weeks of nine successive summers, I
devoted myself to the exploration. I visited and ex-
plored every considerable forest in the State. T wrote
to several hundreds of those known or supposed to be
acquainted with the woods, and received very many
valuable letters. I thus became acquainted Avith nearly
every variety of tree, and studied it attentively. I was
in the habit of sitting down under a tree, to examine it,
root, stem, bark, branches, leaves, and fruits, as thor-
oughly as I could, recording all that I saw. In many
instances I compared my notes, made in one part of the
State, with what I had observed in another, a hundred
miles off.

I thus became acquainted, as thoroughly as I was able.

AN OLD TEACHER. 75

with all the trees and shrubs in the State. This was
very pleasant work, and I made acquaintance, far more
pleasant, with the farmers in every part of the State.
'J'hey were alwa_ys willing and glad to leave their own
work and walk with me, often all day long, through the
woods, showing me the remarkable trees, and hearing
from me their names. I never received an unkind or
discourteous answer from a farmer in an}' part of the
State, except once, within three miles of Boston, and
that was from an P^nglishman.

Most of the reports were sent in within a year. That
b}' Mr. Peabody, upon the birds, was charrainglj' written,
and was read with gratification by all lovers of birds.
It undoubtedly saved the lives of thousands, and turned
the attention of the agricultural population to the val-
uable services Uiey perform.

Dr. Harris's report, upon insects injurious to vegeta-
tion, was admitted at once, hy those acquainted with
the subject, to be the most valuable report ever made.
It has been again and again republished by the Legisla-
ture. In the last edition, illustrated with figures, it
takes its place among the very best reports ever made
upon the subject.

Dr. Gould's report was confined to the shells, and
was the first report upon that subject ever made in this
countr3^ He gives a very accurate, often extremely
beautiful figure of every object described, and an equally
excellent description. With the aid of his book, an}-
careful observer may find out the nature and character
of every shell. This report was published in 1841.

Dr. Gould was engaged in preparing a fuller and
more complete report, which was interrupted by death

76 REMTNISCEACES OF

in 1866, and his work was satisfactoril}' completed by
his friend, W. G. Binney.

Dr. Storer's report upon the fishes and reptiles of
Massachusetts was given to me, with that upon the
birds, and by me laid before Gov. Everett in 1839,
and immediately printed for the benefit of the inhabi-
tants.

AN OLD TEACHER. 11

CHAPTER XI.

FOR several years the condition of the common
schools in New England was verj' often a subject
of conversation at the annual meetings of the American
Institute of Instruction. It was unanimouslj'^ agreed
that these schools were in a desperately^ low condition,
and 3'et growing worse from j'ear to year. At last it
was determined that something ought to be done for
their improvement, and that the directors of the Insti-
tute ought to do it ; and it was resoh'ed that a memo-
rial upon the subject should be made to the Legislature,
and that I, being president, ought to prepare and to
offer it. This was done, and the following memorial
was placed in the hands of the governor, with a request
that he would lay it before the Senate and House of
Representatives : —

MEMORIAL OF THE AMERICAN INSTITUTE OF INSTRUC-
TION TO THE MASSACHUSETTS LEGISLATURE.

To the Honorable the Legislature of the Commonwealth of Mass. :
The memorial of the Directors of the American Insti-
tute of Instruction, praying that provision may be made
for the better preparation of the teachers of the schools
of the Commonwealth, respectfully showeth :

That there is, throughout the Commonwealth, a great
want of well-qualified teachers ;

78 REMINISCENCES OF

That this is felt in all the schools, of all classes, but
especialh' in the most important and numerous class, the
District Schools ;

That wherever, in any town, exertion has been made
to improve these schools, it has been met and baffled by
the want of good teachers ; that they have been sought
for in vain ; the highest salaries have been offered to
no purpose ; that the}' are not to he found in sufficient
numbers to suppl}' the demand ;

That their place is supplied hy persons exceedingly-
incompetent, in mayiy respects ; by young men, in the
course of their studies, teaching from necessity, and
often with a strong dislilce for the pursuit ; by mechan
ics and others wanting present employment ; and by
persons who have failed in other callings and take to
teaching as a last resort, with no qualification for it, and
no desire of continuing in it longer than the}' are obliged
by an absolute necessity ;

That those among this number who have a natural
fitness for the work, now gain the experience — without
which no one, whatever his gifts, can become a good
teacher — b}' the sacrifice, winter after winter, of the
time and advancement of the children of the schools of
the Commonwealth ;

That every school is now liable to have a winter's
session wasted by the unskilful attempts of an instruc-
tor making his first experiments in teaching. By the
close of the season, he may have gained some insight
into the mystery, may have hit upon some tolerable
method of discipline, may have grown somewhat famil-
iar with the books used and with the character of the
children ; and if he could go on in the same school for

AN- OLD TEACHER. 79

successive 3'ears, might become a profitable teacher.
But whatever he may liave gained hivis4f fvom his ex-
periments, he will have failed too entireh' of meeting
the just expectations of the district to leave him any
hope of being engaged for a second term. He accord-
ingly looks elsewhere for the next season, and the dis-
trict receives another master, to have the existing reg-
ulations set aside, and to undergo another series of
experiments. We do not state the fact too strong!}-,
when w^e say that the time, co^paaties, and oppurtum-
iies of thousands of the childrtn are sacrificed, wint> r
after winter, to the preparation of teachers who, after
this enormous sacrifice, are notwithstanding often
ver}' wretchedly' prepared ;

That man}' times no preparation is even aimed at ;
that such is the known demand for teachers of every
kind, with or without qualifications, that candidates
present themselves for the employment, and commit-
tees, in despair of finding better, employ those who
have no degrees of fitness for the work ; that committees
are obliged to emplo}', to take charge of their children,
men to whose incompetenc}' the}' would reluctantly
commit their farms or their workshops ;

That the reaction of this deplorable incompetency
of the teachers upon the minds of the committees is
hardly less to be deplored, hardly less alarming, as it
threatens to continue the evil and render it perpetual.
Finding they cannot get suitable teachers at any price,
they naturally apportion the salary to the value of the
service rendered, and the consequence is that, in many
places, the wages of a teacher are below those given in
the humblest of the mechanic arts ; and instances are

80 REMINISCENCES OF

known of persons of tolerable qualifications as teachers
declining to quit, for a season, some of the least gain-
ful of the trades, on the ground of the lowness of the
teacher's pa3^

We merely state these facts, without enlarging upon
them, as they have too great and melancholj' a notori-
et3\ We hut add our voice to the deep tone of grief
and complaint which sounds from every part of the
Commonwealth. We are not surprised at this condi-
tion of the teachers ; we should be surprised if it were
much otherwise.

Most of the winter schools are taught for about three
months of the 3'ear, the summer not far beyond four.
The}' are therefore of necessity taught, and must con-
tinue to be taught, by persons who, for two thirds or
three fourths of the year, have other pursuits, in quali-
fying themselves for which they have spent the usual
period, and which, of course, they look upon as the
•main business of their lives. They cannot be expected
to make great exertions and expensive preparation for
the work of teaching, in which the standard is so low,
and for which they are so poorly paid.

Whatever desire the}^ might have, it would be almost
in vain. There are now no places suited to give them
the instruction they need. For every other profession,
requiring a knowledge of the principles of science and
the conclusions of experience, there are special schools
and colleges, with learned and able professors and
ample apparatus. For the preparation of the teacher,
there is almost none. In every other art ministering
to the wants and convenience of men, masters ma}^ be
found read}' to impart whatsoever of skill the}' have to

AN OLD TEACHER. 81

the willing apprentice ; and the usage of societ}- jnsth'
requires that 3'ears should be spent, under the eye of
an adept, to gain the requisite abilit}'. An apprentice-
ship to a school-master is known only in tradition.

We respectfully' maintain that it ought not so to be.
So much of the intelligence and character, the welfare
and immediate and future happiness of all the citizens,
now and hereafter, depends on the condition of the
common schools, that it is of necessity a matter of the
dearest interest to all the present generation ; that the
common education is to such a degree the palladium of
our liberties, and the good condition of the common
schools, in which that education is chiefly obtained, so
vitally* important to the stability of our State, to our
ver^' existence as a free State, that it is the most proper
subject for legislation, and calls loudly for legislative
provision and protection. The common schools ought
to be raised to their proper place, and this can onlj' be
done by the better education of the teachers.

We maintain that provision ought to be made, by the
State, for the education of teachers ; becaus', while their
education is so important to the State, their condition
generall}^ is such as to put a suitable education entirely
beyond their reach ; because, by no other means is it
likel3' that a system shall be introduced which shall
prevent the immense annual loss of time to the schools
from a change of teachers ; and because the qualifica-
tions of a first-rate teacher are such as cannot be
gained but by giving a considerable time wholly to the
work of preparation .

In his calling there is a peculiar difficult}' in the fact
that whereas, in other callings a^d professions, duties
6

82 REMINISCENCES OF

and difficulties come on gradually, and one by one, giv-
ing ample time in the intervals for special preparation,
in Ids the}' all come at once. On the first day on
which he enters the school, his difficulties meet him
with a single, unbroken, serried front, as numerously
as they ever will ; and they refuse to be separated. He
cannot divide and overcome them singh', putting off
the more formidable to wrestle with at a future time.
He could only have met them with complete success
by long forecast, bj^ months and years of prepara-
tion.

The qualifications requisite in a good teacher, of
which many have so low and inadequate an idea as to
think them almost the instinctive attributes of every
man and ever}' woman, we maintain to be noble and
excellent qualities, rarely united in a high degree in the
same individual, and to obtain which one imnst give,
and may xvell give, much time and study.

We begin with the loivest. He must have a thorough
knoivleilge of whatever he undertakes to teach. If it
were not so common, how absurd would it seem that
one should undertake to communicate to another flu-
enc}' and grace in the beautiful accomplishment of
reading, without having them himself; or to give skill
in the processes of arithmetic, while he understands
them so diml}' himself as to be obliged to follow the
rules as blindly as the child he is teaching. And yet are
there not many teachers yearly employed b}' commit-
tees, from the impossibility of finding better, who, in
reading and arithmetic, as in everything else, are but
one step before, if they do not fall behind, the fore-
most of their own pupils? Is it not so in geography.

AN OLD TEACHER. 83

in English grammar, in everything, in short, which is
now required to be taught ?

If the teacher understood thorough!}' what is required
in the usual prescribed course, it would be something.
But we maintain that the teachers of the public schools
ought to be able to do much more. In every school
occasions are daily occurring, on which, from a well-
stored mind, could be imparted upon the most interest-
ing and important subjects, much that, at the impressi-
ble period of his pupilage, would be of the greatest
value to the learner. Besides, there are alwaj's at
least a few forward pupils, full of talent, read}' to make
advances far be3'ond the common course. Such, if
their teacher could conduct them, would rejoice, instead
of circling again and again in the same dull round, to
go onioord, in other and higher studies, so manifestly
valuable that the usual studies of a school seem but as
steps intended to lead up to them.

In the second place, a teacher should so understand
the ordering and discipline of a school as to be able at
once to introduce sj-stem, and keep it constantly in
force. Much precious time, as already stated, is lost
in making, changing, abrogating, modelling, and re-
modelling rules and regulations. And not only is the
time utterly lost, but the changes are a source of per-
plexity and vexation to master and puj^il. A judicious
S3' stem of regulations not only takes up no time, but
saves time for everything else. We believe there are
few persons to whom this knowledge of S3'stem comes
without an effort, who are born with such an apti-
tude to order that the}' fall into it naturall}' and of
course.

34 REMINISCENCES OF

In the third place, a teacher should know how to
teach. This, we believe, is the rarest and most impor-
tant of his qualifications. Without it, great knowledge,
however pleasant to the possessor, will be of little use
to his pupils ; and with it, a small fund will be made to
produce great efiects. It cannot with propriet}- be con-
sidered a single facult}*. It is rather a practical knowl-
edge of the best methods of bringing the truths of the
several subjects that are to be taught to the compre-
hension of the learner. Not often does the same
method apply to several studies. It must vary with
the nature of the truths to be communicated, and with
the age, capacity, and advancement of the pupil. To
possess it fully, one must have ready command of ele-
meutarj" principles, a habit of seeing them in A-arious
points of view, and promptly seizing the one best
suited to the learner ; a power of awakening his curi-
osity, and of adapting the lessons to the mind, so as to
bring out its faculties naturally and without violence.
It therefore supposes an acquaintance with the minds
of children, the order in which their faculties expand,
and by what discipline the}- may be nurtured, and their
inequalities I'epaired.

This knowledge of the human mind and character
may be stated as a fourth qualification of a teacher.
Without it he will be alwaj's groping his wa}' darkly.
He will disgust the forward and quick-witted by mak-
ing them linger along with the slow, and dishearten the
slow b}' expecting them to keep pace with the swift.
Whoever considers to how great a degree the success-
ful action of the mind depends on the state of the feel-
ings and affections, will be ready to admit that an

AN OLD TEACHER. 85

instructor should know so much of the connection and
subordination of the parts of the human character as
to be able to enlist them all in the same cause, to gain
the heart to the side of advancement, and to make the
affections the ministers of truth and wisdom.

86 REMINISCENCES OF

CHAPTER XII.

MEMORIAL OF THE AMERICAN INSTITUTE OF INSTRUC-
TION TO THE MASSACHUSETTS LEGISLATURE. (CON-
CLUDED.)

TXT E have spoken very briefly of some of the quali-
V V fications essential to a good teacher. It is
hardl}^ necessary to say that there are still higher quali-
fications which ought to belong to the persons who are
to have such an influence upon the character and well-
being of the future citizens of the Commonwealth, who,
besides parents, can do more than all others toward
training the 3'oung to a clear perception of right and
wrong, to the love of truth, to reverence for the laws
of man and of God, to the performance of all the duties
of good citizens and good men. The teacher ought to
be a person of elevated character, able to win bj'' his
manners and instruct by his example, toithout as well as
loithin the shcool.

Now, it is known to 3'our memorialists that a very
large number of those, of both sexes, who now teach
the summer and the winter schools, are, to a mournful
degree, wanting in all these qualifications. Ear from
being able to avail themselves of opportunities of com-
municating knowledge on various subjects, the}' are
grossly ignorant of what they are called on to teach.

A,V OLD TEACHER. 87

They are often without experience in managing a
school ; they liave no slcill in communicating. Instead
of being a1)le to stimulate and guide to all that is noble
and excellent, they are, not seldom, persons of such
doubtful respectability and refinement of character that
no one would think for a moment of holding them up
as models to their pupils. In short, they know not
xohat to teach, or lioii^ to teach, or in what spirit to
teach, or what is the nature of those the}^ undertake
to lead, or what thej^ are tJiemseloes who stand forward
to lead them.

Your memorialists believe that these are evils of por-
tentous mom'' lit to the future welfare of the people
of this Commonwealth, and that, while they bear
heavilj^ on all, thej^ bear especially and with dispropor-
tioned weight upon the poorer districts in the scattered
population of the country towns. The wealthy are less
directlj' affected by them, as they can send their chil-
dren from home to the better schools in other places.
The large towns are not affected in the same degree, as
their densit}' of population enables them to employ
teachers througli the 3'ear, at salaries which command
somewhat higher qualifications.

We believe that you have it in 3'our power to adopt
such measures as shall forthwith diminish these evils,
and at last remove them ; and that this can only be
done b^^ providing for the better preparation of teach-
ers. We therefore pray you to consider the expediency
of instituting, for the special instruction of teachers,
one or more seminaries, — either standing independ-
ently, or in connection with institutions alreadj" exist-
ing,— as j-ou shall, in 3-our wisdom, think best. Yv'e

88 REMINISCENCES OF

also beg leave to state what we conceive to be essential
to snch a seminar3^

1. There should be a professor or professors, of
piet}', of irreproachable character and good education,
and of tried ability and skill in teaching ;

2. A library-, not necessarily large, but well chosen,
of books on the subjects to be taught and on the art of
teaching ;

3. School-rooms well situated and arranged, heated,
ventilated, and furnished in the manner best approved
b}" experienced teachers ;

4. A select apparatus of globes, maps, and other
instruments most useful for illustration ;

5. A situation such that a school may be connected
with tlie seminar}', accessible b}' a sufficient number of
children to give the variety of an ordinary' district
school.

TVe beg leave, also, further, to state the niiinner in
which we conceive that such a seminary would be
immediatel}- useful to the schools within the sphere of
its influence. We do not believe that the majoritj' of
the district schools in the Commonwealth will soon, if
ever, be taught by permanent teachers ; we believe that
they will continue to be taught, as thej' are now, b}' per-
sons who, for the greater part of the j'ear, will be
engaged in some other pursuit ; that as, in the earl}' his-
tory of Rome, the generous husbandman left his plough
to fight the battles of the state, so in Massachusetts,
the free and intelligent citizen will, for a time, quit his
business, his workshop, or his farm, to fight, for the
sake of his children and the State, a more vital battle
against immorality and ignorance. And we rejoice to

AN OLD TEACHER. 89

believe that it will be so. So stall tlie hearts of the
fathers be in the schools of their children ; so shall the
teachers have that knowledge of the world, that ac-
quaintance with men and things, so often wanting in
the mere school-master, and yet not among the least
essential of his qualifications. But we wish to see
these citizens enjoy the means of obtaining the knowl-
edge and practical skill in the art of teaching which
shall enable them to perform the duties of this addi-
tional office worthil}'.

Establish a seminar}^ wherever you please, and it
will be immediately resorted to. We trust too confi-
dently in that desire of excellence which seems to be an
element in our New England character, to doubt that
any 3'oung man, who, looking forward, sees that he
shall have occaaion to teach a school every winter for
ten j^ears, will avail himself of any means within his
reach of preparation for the work. Give him the
opportunity, and he cannot fail to be essential)}' bene-
fited by his attendance at the seminary, if it be but for
a single montJi. ^

In the first place, he will see there an example of
right ordering and management of a school, the spirit
of which he may immediately imbibe, and can never
after be at a loss as to a model of management, or in
doubt as to its importance.

In the second place, by listening to the teaching of
another, he will be convinced of the necessities of
preparation, as he will see that success depends on
thorough knowledge and a direct action of the teacher's
own mind. This alone would be a great point, as
man}- a school -master hears reading and spelling, and

90 REMINISCENCES OF

looks over writing and arithmetic, without ever attempt-
ing to give any instruction or explanation, or even
thinking them necessary.

In the third place, he will see put in practice methods
of teaching ; and though he may, on reflection, conclude
that none of them are exactl}' suited to his own mind,
he will see the value of method, and will never after
proceed as he would have done if he had never seen
methodical teaching at all.

In the next place, he will have new light thrown
upon the whole work of education, by being made to
perceive that its great end is not mechanicallj' to com-
municate ability in certain operations, but to draw forth
and exercise the whole powers of the physical, intel-
lectual, and moral being.

He will, moreover, hardly fail to observe the impor-
tance of the manriers of an instructor, and how far it
depends on himself to give a tone of cheerfulness and
alacrity to his school.

In the last place, if the right spirit prevails at the
seminary, he will be pr(fpared to enter upon his office
with an exalted sense of its importance and responsi-
bility, not as a poor drudge performing a loathsome
office for a miserable stipend, but as a delegate of the
authorit}' of parents and the state, to form men to the
high duties of citizens and the infinite destinies of
uumortalit}^, answerable to them, their country, and
their God for the righteous discharge of his duties.

Now, we believe that this single month's preparation
would be of immense advantage to a young instructor.
Let him now enter the district school. He has a defi-
nite idea what arrangements he is to make, what course

AN OLD TEACHER. 91

he is to pursue, what he is to take hold of first. He
knows that he is himself to teach ; he knows what to
teach, and, in some measure, how he is to set about it.
He feels how much he has to do to prepare himself, and
how much depends on his self-preparation. He has
some conception of the duties and requirements of his
office. At the end of a single season he will, we ven-
ture to say, be a better teacher than he could have
been after half a dozen, had he not availed himself of
the experience of others. He will hardly fail to seek
future occasions to draw more largely at the same foun-
tain.

Let us not be understood as offering this statement
of probable results as mere conjecture. They have
been confirmed by all the experience, to the point, of a
single institution in this State, and of many in a for-
eign countr}'. What is thus, from experience and the
reason of things, shown to be true in regard to a short
preparation, will be still more strikingly so of a longer
one. To him who shall make teaching the occupation '
of his life, the advantages of a teacher's seminary can-
not easily be estimated. They can be faintly imagined
by him onl}', who, lawyer, mechanic, or physician, can
figure to himself what would have been his feelings,
had he, on the first, day of his apprenticeship, been
called to perform at once all the difficult duties of his
future pi'ofession, and after being left t^ suffer for a
time the agony of despair at the impossibility^, had
been told that two, three, seven years should Ije allowed
him to prepare himself, with all the helps and appli-
ances which are now so bountifully furnished to him,
which are furnished to everxj one except the teacher.

92 REMINISCENCES OF

"We have no doubt that teachers prepared at such a
seminary would be in such request as to command at
once higher pa}- than is now given, since it would un-
questionably be found good economy to employ- them.

It raises no objection in the nainds of 3'our memorial-
ists, to the plan of a seminary at the State's expense,
that many of the instructors there prepared would
teach for only a portion of the year. It is on that very ^
ground that they ought to be aided. For their daily
callings the}' will take care to qualify themselves ; they
cannot, unaided, be expected to do the same in regard
to the office of teacher, because it is a casual and tem-
porary one. It is one which they will exercise, in the
intervals of their stated business, for the good of their
fellow-citizens. They ought, for that especial reason,
to be assisted in preparing for it. The gain will be
theirs, it is true, but it will be still more the gain of the
community. It will be theirs, inasmuch as the}' will be
able to command better salaries ; but it will be onty in
consideration of the more valuable service they will
render.

The gain will be shared b}' other schools than those
the}' teach. Seeing what can be done by good teachers,
districts and committees will no longer rest satisfied
with poor, and the standard will everywhere rise.

If it were only as enabling teachers throughout the
State to teafih, as they should, the branches now
required to be taught, the seminaries would be worth
more than their establishment can cost. But they
would do much more. They would render the instruc-
tion given more worthy, in kind and degree, the en-
lightened citizens of a free State.

AN OLD TEACHER. 93

Without going too minutely into this part of the sub-
ject, we cannot fully show how the course of instruc-
tion might, in our judgment, be enlarged. We may be
allowed to indicate a few particulars.

The study of geometry, that benignant nurse of
inventive genius, is at present pursued partiallj^ in a
few of the town schools. We ma}'' safel}'^ assert that,
under efficient teachers, the time now given to arith-
metic would be ampl}' sufficient, not onlj' for that, but
for geometry and its most important applications in
surveying and other useful arts. To a population so
full of mechanical talent as ours, this would be a pre-
cious gain.

We may also point to the case of drawing in right
lines. It might, with a saving of time, be ingrafted on
writing, if the instructors were qualified to teach it.
This beautiful art, so valuable as a guide to the hand
and e^'e of every one, especially of everj' handicrafts-
man, and deemed almost an essential in every school
of France and other countries of Europe, is, so far as
we can learn from the secretary's excellent Report,
entirel}^ neglected in every public school in Massachu-
setts.

We might make similar observations in regard to
book-keeping, now beginning to be introduced ; to nat-
ural philosoph}', ph^'siology, natural history, and other
studies which might come in, not to the exclusion, but
to the manifest improvement of the studies already'
pursued.

When we consider the many weeks in our long North-
ern winters, during which, all through our borders, the
arts of the husbandman and builder seem, like the pro-

94 REMINISCENCES OF

cesses of the vegetable world, to hold holiday, and the
sound of many a trowel and man}- an axe and hammer
ceases to be heard, and that the hours, without any
interruption of the busy labors of the year, might be
given to learning b}^ the youth of both sexes, almost up
to the age of maturit}', these omissions, the unemployed
intellect, the golden da3's of early manhood lost, the
acquisitions that might be made and are nut, assume a
vastness of importance which may well alarm us.

It may possibly be apprehended, that should superior
teachers be prepared in the seminaries of Massachu-
setts, the}' would be invited to other States by higher
salaries, and the advantage of their education be thus
lost to the State.

We know not that it ought to be considered an unde-
sirable thing that natives of Massachusetts, who will
certainly go from time to time to regions more favored
b}- nature, should go with such characters and endow-
ments as to render their chosen homes more worth}- to
be the residence of intelligent men. But we apprehend
it to be an event much more likely to happen that the
successful example of Massachusetts should be imitated
by her sister republics, emulous, as New York' has
alread}' shown herself, to surpass us in what has hither-
to been the chief glory of New England, — a jealous
care of the public schools.

For the elevation of the public schools to the high
rank which the}' ought to hold in a community whose
most precious patrimony is their liberty, and the intel-
ligence, knowledge, and virtue on which alone it can
rest, we urge our prayer. We speak boldly, for we
seek no private end. We speak in the name and

AN OLD TEACHER.

95

behalf of those who cannot appear before you to urge
their own suit, — the sons and daughters of the present
race, and of all, of ever}^ race and class, of coming
generations in all future times.

For the Directors of the • American Institute of
Instruction.

GrEO. B. Emerson,^

S. K. Hale,

W. J. Adams,

D. Kimball, \ Committee.

E. A. Andrews,
B. Greenleaf,
K. Cleaveland,

9t) REMINISCENCES OF

CHAPTER XIII.

THE effect of this communication was immediate and
very decided. All other business, in both houses?
was given up, and the attention of all was given to the
question, How shall the schools of the Commonwealth
be improved? A Board of Education was formed,
and Horace Mann, president of the Senate and the
ablest man in both Houses, was unanimously chosen
secretary, on a salary of $1,500. This appointment
he accepted, with the understanding that he should
give his whole time and attention to the duties of the
office. He thus relinquished at once his business as
a lawyer, which, in Boston alone, would have been at
least 815,000 for the next j'ear.

The Board of Education speedily resolved that there
should be a Normal School for the preparation of teach-
ers, and Mr. Mann looked everywhere for a capable
person to be the head of this school. He found that
the bo3's who filled the office of apprentice in the places
of business in Xautucket, understood and performed
their duty better and more intelligenth- than those in
any other place, and that all these boys were or had
been taught bj' one individual, the faithfid, well-edu-
cated, and intelligent Cyrus Pierce, who was accord-
ingly made head of the first Normal School. This

A.V OLD TEACHER. 97

was opened in Lexington, the generous inhabitants of
which town had offered to the State a building tor tne
purpose, which was amph' sufficient for the beginning.

The Hon. Edmund Dwiglit, who had generously
added $1,000 to the salary- of Horace Mann, and who
had, in various wa3-s, shown the deep interest he felt
in the education of the State, accompanied me to Lex-
ington, to malvc the first visit to Mr. Pierce. "V\"e
found him in a comfortable little room, with two
pupils, a third being necessarih' absent. He received
us very cordially, and assured us that he was pleasantly
situated and full of hope.

I continued to feel a strong interest in the schools of
the Commonwealth, and visited the Normal Schools, for
many years, more frequently' than an^^ other individual.
I found, in West Newton, a suitable building, into
which the school was transferred when that at Lexing-
ton had ceased to be large enough, and some years after
selected, in the verj' centre of the State at Lexington, a
site for a Nonnal School, and drew the plan of the
building erected there. I continued to visit the schools,
especiall}- those at Bridgewater, Salgm, and West New-
ton, and did everything I could for them, sometimes
aiding in the examination for admission of pupils.

I had been, for more than forty years, most pleasantly
engaged in teaching, always successful, and always
giving satisfaction to ni}' pupils and engaging their
affections, when my best friends came to the conclusion
that I was wearing out, and that it was not safe for me
to continue longer in the uninterrupted work, however
pleasant it might be.

I therefore yielded to their importunities, and con-
7

98 REMIAUSCENCES OF

sented to give up m}^ school, and to go abroad for two
years. There were a thousand things in Europe that
it would be delightful to see and to know, which I was
well prepared to enjoy, especiallj' as I had made mj'-
self thoroughly acquainted with the French and Italian
languages, and had made some progress in the Ger-
man.

After careful preparation, we, that is, my wife and
niA'self, embarked on board an excellent steamer, and
had a ver}' pleasant voyage to Liverpool. I was fond
of the sea, and perfectlj- prepared to enjoy it, but my
■wife suffered verj- much, so that she could not, after the
first two daj'S, be upon deck, but remained always in
her berth. She was, however, entirely relieved in two
da^'s after landing at Liverpool, and we began with the
pleasant old town of Chester, which we found full of
interest. We walked round it On the walls, and saw
everything in its neighborhood, especially' the exquisite
old cemetery-, which was charmingl}' situated in a vast,
irregular cavity which had been made in the sandstone
from which the walls and the buildino-s of the old town
had been taken. We thought it the most beautiful
cemeter}' w^e had ever seen, and we think so still, after
having seen very man}- others in ever}* part of Europe.
Chester is entirely unlike every other town we visited.
On each side of most of the streets, the passage for
ladies is raised eight or nine feet above the ground, and
all the pleasant shops open along it, leaving the en-
trances below for fuel and all other heav}' or disagree-
able supplies.

The views from the walls are extremel}' rich and
varied, and interesting for the very important events

AJV OLD TEACHER. 99

that have occurred in this neighborhood for many years,
an account of which would fill many a volume.

We examined with interest the old cathedral, as we
did afterwards nearl}' all the best old, as well as the com-
paratively' new cathedrals, in ever}' part of the island.

We carefully examined every part of old Iladdon
Hall, which gave a very satisfactorj'^ idea of the build-
ings of former times ; and then drove to Chatsworth,
b}' way of the park, in which there were said to be six-
teen hundred deer, besides many other animals. The
oaks, beeches, ashes, limes, thorns, and chestnuts are
magnificent. The house itself is a stately' palace, to
describe the entrance hall, the staircases, passages, gal-
leries, and state-rooms of which would require a volume.
So the gardens and grounds. Here were all the pines
then known. The glass house, seventy feet high, was
full of exotics, the largest and rarest that have been
collected, a cocoa-palm seventy feet high, sago-trees,
draciTenas, cactuses, black and 3'ellow cane-poles, all as
luxuriant as if growing in their natural habitat. The
collection of ferns was vast and wonderful.

The rock work, all artificial and all seeming natural ;
the cascades and jets cVeau, the French gardens so
exact, the Italian so stately and magnificent, the Eng-
lish so surpassing everj'thing else ! Among the many
gardens we saw afterward, we saw nothing superior to
this, and we saw all that were most famous, and every-
thing most interesting in the island.

In Cambridge I saw the room in which Milton is said
to have dwelt when an undergraduate, " Lycidas," and
other things in his own handwriting, and the ruinous
old mulberry-tree which he is said to have planted.

100 REMINISCENCES OF

At London we saw the Crystal Palace and its won-
ders ; in Paris, a great show that the}" called the Expo-
sition, containing ever3thing most beautiful and most
characteristic of the fine arts, especially those that are
interesting to ladies of the most delicate tastes.

In Paris I heard many admirable lectures by distin-
guished men, on a great variety of subjects. "VVe saw a
large part of France. Nothing was more interesting
than the forest, extending more than a hundred miles
along the southwest coast and from six to eighteen into
the interior, formed b}' the skill and sagacity of an
individual influencing the action of the French govern-
ment ; and nothing more delightful than the journej'' by-
land, along the coast of the Gulf of Genoa. We spent
four months in Eome, long enough to see everything
most interesting in the city and its neighborhood, and
to become acquainted with all the plants. Not less
pleasant was the journe}' to Naples, and all that is worth
seeing in the city and its bay and Vesuvius, and the
infiniteh' beautiful neighborhood. The fear of robbers
did not prevent our seeing Paestum and the remains of
the old Greek temples. The seat of trade and most
extensive commerce for some centuries in old Poestum
.would have rewarded us for travelling any road, and we
reached it bj' the most beautiful road in Europe.

AN OLD TEACHER. 101

CHAPTER XIV.

FOREST TREES : AN ADDRESS TO COUNTRY LADIES.

THE forest is commonly regarded as of value,
because it affords materials for ship-building, for
domestic architecture, for fuel, and for various useful
and ornamental arts. But there are higher uses of the
forest. More precious than the useful arts and more
beautiful than the fine arts is the art of making home
happy, — happ3' for children and wife and friends, happy
for one's self, where all the wants of our nature may be
gratified and satisfied, • — not onl}' those which belong to
the body and the mind, but those which belong to the
affections and the spirit, — not only the want of food and
clothing and shelter and the other material wants, but
those which are brought into existence by our love of
the good and the beautiful. In everj'' Christian home
these tastes should be cherished as sources of deeper
and serener happiness, more real, more permanent, and
more independent of the freaks of fortune than any-
thing which mere money can procure. Of the materials
for building this happy home, next to those charities
and graces which spring from the principles of the gos-
pel and are nourished by the side of the domestic altar,
next to that art of conversation which is the most pre-
cious fruit of a cultivated intellect and the source of

102 REMINISCENCES OF

unbounded delights, and to that love of reading which
opens all the treasures of knowledge and wisdom to
him who has it, — next to these, and their proper com-
panion and complement, is the love of the beautiful in
nature.

Nothing furnishes a larger, a more var3'ing, or a more
unfailing gratification to this love of beauty than the
forest, and the New England forest is far richer than
that of an}' part of Europe north of Italy. At all times
the forest is full of exquisite beaut}' ; and the forest and
the garden are the schools in which the first lessons in
the perception and enjo3-ment of beaut}' are to be
learned. The cultivated fields, alternating with wood
and mowing lands and pastures, orchards and gardens
and dwelling-houses and barns, herds and flocks, the
colors and shapes and motions of birds, — how beauti-
ful ! And with what infinite beauty are fraught the
changing clouds, the sky with its deep expanse of blue,
the colors going and coming, varying from morning till
night, the purple mists on the hills, the coming on of
twilight and darkness, with its hosts of stars, — what a
loss to every creature capable of this never-ceasing, ex-
haustless enjoyment, what a loss not to have the capacity
awakened !

A capacity for the enjoyment of this beaut}' is nearly
universal. By cultivating it we shall awaken a suscep-
tibility for the higher moral and spiritual beauty which
also everywhere is near us. I suppose that nature's
beauty was intended to train the eye and the heart for
this higher.

The sources of beauty in the forest are inexhaustible.
Each mass of trees of one kind is an element of dis-

JjV old teacher, , 103

tinct and separate beauty. Each has its own shape,
its own colors, its own character. IIow unlike in all
these particulars are an elm and an oak ! Not less
unlike are two forests made up chief!}', the one of elms,
the other of oaks.

Nearl}' allied to the elms, when seen in masses, are
the ostr^'a or hop-hornbeam, the carpinus or hornbeam,
and the celtis or nettle-tree and hackberry. Of the
same character with the oaks are the chestnuts, and
somewhat nearly, the beeches. But how different is a
mass of linden-trees ! Entirelj' unlike each of these
and each other are the birches and poplars, when seen
growing together in numbers ; the birches grading down
with alders, on one side, and connected by the ostrya
with the oaks, on another.

A different element of landscape beauty are the wil-
lows, and a still more different the tupelos. A grove
of liriodendrons or tulip trees has an aspect quite dif-
ferent from that of an}- other forest trees.

The pines, wholl}- dissimilar in their effect from any
of the trees with deciduous leaves, form among them-
selves several groups as unlike each other as the elms
and the oaks. The true pines, the pitch pine, the white
and the Norway, form one strikingl}'^ natural group.
Yet how unlike are the separate members ! How dif-
ferent the appearance of a forest of pitch pines and of
one of white pines ! The larches form another group
not less distinct ; the firs and spruces another ; the cedars
and arbor- vitses, another ; and the hemlocks, more beau-
tiful than all, still another.

We see the cause of these different effects when we
come to study the individual trees. What an image of

104 REMINISCENCES OF

strength and niajest}^ is an oak ! An old chestnut
hardly less. In the beech the character is softened into
a kindly, domestic beauty. A beech, with its clean
bark and rich, lasting leaves, glistening in the sun's
light, should be near a home for children to play under
and women to admire. What majestic grace in the
American elm, whether it spread abroad its arms in
a gradual upward curve, bending down again at their
extremities and almost reaching the ground, forming
deep, vaulted arches of shade, or whether it rise in an
unbroken column to seventy or a hundred feet, and
there form an urn-shaped head, or a Grecian cup, or a
light, feathery plume !

With what queenl}' stateliness rises the hickory, left,
by the native taste of the proprietor, in some green
field sloping down to the Nashua in Lancaster, or on
some other pleasant stream of the Atlantic slope in
Xew England ! Of the four or five species of this
beautiful tree a natural group is formed, interfering with
no other, and including in its outer limits the black-
walnut and the butternut, by which it is allied in its
characteristics to the oaks, though still so remote.

The maples, giving their peculiar splendor to our
mountains and river-sides, would form still another
alliance. The rich colws of their spray in the early
days of spring and of their leaves as the}' ripen in
autumn are not its only claims to' admiration. What
hopeful vigor in the aspiring trunk of a young rock-
maple ! What dignity in the loftiness of the ancient
tree !

I know of nothing more delicatelj' graceful than the
pensile spray of the fragrant birch, whetlier decked

AN OLD TEACHER. 105

with its golden catkins in April, or its light-green leaves
at midsummer. So the silvery flash from the stem of
a yellow birch, how charraingl}' it mingles with the
lights and shadows of the depths of a forest ! IIow
startling, almost, is the effect of the gleam of white
lisfht from the bark of the canoe birch or the white
or gray birch, in the same situation !

How magnificent the vast, columnar trunk of one of
the few old plane-trees, or button-woods, which some
unexplained disease or plague has left us ! ^

What beauty is there in the manner in which the
climbing plants, the drapery of the forest, are disposed !
The trunks within the wood are occupied bj' a great
variety . of closely adhering epiph3'tes, lichens, which
form upon the bark a thin crust or a delicate mossiness,
or a brown, orange, yellow, or white star, — a stud}' of
themselves. The lichens which invest the bark of our
birches, beeches, maple, and some other trees in the
interior of the forest are very curious. The}' seem,
like strange Oriental writing, to have been formed by a
delicate pen or brush, or a still more delicate graver.
Such are the opegraphas. Not less beautiful are the
finely dotted or stippled lecideas, lecanoras, and the
starlike parmelias.

But on the edge of the forest,^where the sun gets in,
the climbers arrange themselves like a curtain, to shut
out the glare of da}' from the awful silence and sanctity
of the deep recesses of the wood.

Where rather than in the forest are the simplest ele-
ments of beauty — color, form, and motion — to be
studied ? In the spring, every tree has its own shade
of green, and these shades are changing, day by day

106 REMINISCENCES OF

and hour by hour, till they pass into the full, deep gi'eens
of summer, and thence in autumn into the rich reds, 3'el-
lows, scarlets, crimsons, and orange tints of the maples,
tupelos, oaks, and birches, the purples and olives of the
ash and beech, and the browns and buffs of the hackma-
tack, the hickory', and the elm. Not only the leaves,
but the branches and trunks of all the trees have colors,
— neutral tints, of their own. The forms are not less
various, nor the motions, from the shivering of the
leaves to the swaying and balancing of trunks and
branches in the wind, — to say nothing of the colors
and shapes and motions of birds and other animals best
seen in the forest, with the reflected images in the
lakes and streams. The combination of trees, and
their contrasts in shape and character, their position on
a plain or on a slope or summit of a hill ; broad
masses upon the side of a mountain, or covering its
top, witli wide or narrow glades losing themselves in
their depths, and the play of light and shadow, in the
sunshine or under a cloudy sky ; the interchange of
cultivated grounds and wild woods, and the grouping
of trees, are circumstances by the stud}' of which the
student may be prepared to understand and to enjoy art
as exhibited \>y the painter or the poet, as well as by
the landscape garden(;r.

Sir Uvedule Price would have us studj' the works of
the painter to form just ideas of the beautiful and the
picturesque in scenerj', — a pleasant stud}' doubtless for
those who have the means. But wh}' not rather stud}'
the elements of beauty where Claude and Poussin and
Salvator Rosa studied, in the forest, by the lake or
waterfall, and by the sea ? To the originals or to copies

AN OLD TEACHER. 107

of the great paintings we ma}' not easily find access ;
but the originals of the originals are within reach of all
of us.

Where else hut in the forest did Shakespeare get that
wild-wood spirit which makes us feel the air and the
very sounds of the woods breathing about us in "As
You Like It" ? Where else but beneath the " verdant
roof," under "venerable columns,"

" Massy and tall and dark,"

or in

" Quiet valley aud shaded glen,"

does Bryant refresh himself with pictures of early
3'ears, and forget

*' The eating cares of earth "?

The forest thus affords us inexhaustible means of
giving variety and beauty to the face of the country ;
and ever}' person may avail himself of them from him
who owns a single acre to him who has a thousand.

The planter is a painter on a vast scale, with the
plains and slopes and hills of a township or a county
for his canvas, all the colors of vegetable life for his
tints, aud real clouds, real rainbows, and real rocks,
streams, and lakes for his background. Every tree
has not only its own shape and outUne, but its own
shades and colors, always preserving the same general
character, but varying in its hues and tintings from
earliest spring to latest autumn, and ^et with an
undertone fixed, or but slightly changing, through the
year.

Ever}' mass of trees of one kind has the shapes
and colors of the individual tree intensified by grouping.

108 REMINISCENCES OF

and brought into strong relief b}' brighter lights and
deeper shadows.

The painter has thus for his pallet lift}" marked and
decided colors, with the power of modifying each by
the introduction of any one or of any number of all
the rest ; and combined with these leading and sub-
stantive features are the forms and colors of all the
numerous vines and climbers of our woods, which are
continually modifying the impression of the branches
and of the outline, — the lichens which spot or shade the
trunks with colors gay or grave, the tracery of mosses,
and the characteristic trailing plants and ferns which
show themselves about the lowest part of the stem.

Of shrubs he has a choice not less ample, both in
color and shape, from the whortleberr}', which rises a
few inches from the ground, up through ledums, rodoras,
andromedas, kalmias, sweet- ferns, candleberry m^-rtle,
rhododendrons, azaleas, cornels, viburnums, dwarf
oaks, the mountain and Pennsylvania maples, the glau-
cous magnolia, and how many others, till the impercep-
tible line is passed which separates shrubs from trees.

To each point in the picture he may give the color,
the prominence, and the expression which shall most
fitly belong to it, and shall best harmonize or contrast
with the recesses and projections, the forms and hues
around. Much may be done to give breadth and extent.
The apparent height of low hills may be increased by
planting them with trees of gradually loftier stature,
the summit being crowned with the tallest trees of the
forest. To the perfect level of a plain may be given,
by a similar selection, the appearance of an undulating
or var3'ing surface.

AN OLD TEACHER. 109

By the careful study of its character, every tree may
be clispLayed to the greatest advantage. Spir}- trees
ma}' be pLanted in the vicinitj' of steeples and other tall
buildings, not to conceal, but to bring them forward ;
picturesque trees, with climbers and striking shrubberj',
may be planted along steep slopes ; and quiet, round-
headed, or drooping trees may clothe the low-lying sides
of a lake or river. The various trees ma}' be thrown
into obscurity or brought prominently forward by their
position in reference to roads and paths. These may
be laid out so as to give the appearance, with the real-
ity, of subserviency to mere convenience, or, when
leading up into the woods, to favor the impression of
"wildness and intricacy so pleasing to the imagination.

To get command of the materials for this form of
landscape painting, the student must go into the forest,
not only every day in spring, but he must go in mid-
summer and in midwinter, and every day of autumn.
He must study in the open glades and in the thickets,
and he must look at the forest at a distance. He must
learn the peculiar character of each tree standing by
itself, and of the trees of each species as seen grow-
ing together in masses ; and he must watch the effects
produced by the combination and various grouping of
the several trees ; how the}' are affected by the vicinage
of rocks and of water, and how by climbing vines, fan-
tastic roots, and other accidents of landscape.

Consider for a moment the changes which will take
place in a forest just planted. Suppose that it occupies
the summit of a hill and runs along down its side, accom-
panying the path of a brook, which is known formerly
to have had a voice of music through the year, but

110 REMINISCENCES OF

which has, of late )'ears, failed to be heard, from the
improvident felling of the trees which once covered the
hill. We have had it planted with larches and other
deciduous trees and with evergreens ; and we hope to
live to see it make a conspicuous figure in the land-
scape. For the first few years it is beautiful chieflj' to
the e^'e of hope. The fences or hedges intended to
screen the 3'oung trees from the sun and winds are the
most prominent objects. But even in these earliest
years, a walk to the hill will be well rewarded by the
sight of the visible progress which many of the 3'oung
nurslings have made. Ever}' spot unusually' protected
or unusuall}' moist will offer points of emerald green
more beautiful and more precious to the eye of the
planter than jewels. In the autumn, some of these
spots will send out a brilliant gleam of scarlet or orange
or purple.

In a few years more — a strangely short time — some
of these trees will be distinctl}^ visible at a distance, at
all seasons, and will assume an individual character.
They will overtop the fences and attract and fix the
eye. The little rill will prolong its winter life further
and further into the spring and summer. Its windings
will be marked by greener grass and more flourishing
3'oung trees, and by the wild flowers which will have
gone back to their native haunts, and the e^'e will glide
pleasantl}^ along its course to a river, or till it is lost in
the distance. The outline of the hill will be changed
from a tame, monotonous curve into one fringed and
broken with inequalities, becoming every 3"ear more
decided. The hill itself will become taller, wilder, and
larger ; and the forest, of which only the nearer side

AN OLD TEACHER. W\

Will be seen, will stretch in imagination over distant
plains and hills bej'ond the limits of vision. The
stream will have resumed its never-ceasing course, and
the naiad her continuous song. The fences will have
become long since unnecessary and will have disap-
peared, and the sun's light will lie upon a sheltered
field bj' the edge of the wood. Pains have been taken,
in planting this hill, to avoid straight lines as the limit,
and to let deep angles, securing sheltered lots favorable
for tillage, cut into the forest. This, as the trees come
to maturity', will allow the eye to penetrate into these
pleasant nooks between woods on either hand.

The kinds of trees best suited to forest planting will
depend on the object the planter has in view. If that
be ship-timber for a future generation, oaks, pines,
and larches will be planted, native and foreign. If his
object be to furnish materials for domestic architecture,
he will plant trees of the various tribes of pines. If
it be materials for furniture and the arts, he will plant
maples, birches, walnuts and hickories, lindens, alders,
ashes and chestnuts, beeches, willows, cherry-trees and
tulip-trees. If his object be the beauty of the land-
scape, he will plant or sow all the species of our na-
tive trees, shrubs, climbers, and under-shrubs, — oaks,
ashes, tulip-trees, chestnuts, birches, with various kinds
of pines and hemlocks upon the heights ; elms, plane-
trees, pines, and some of the poplars on low hills or
parts of the plain to which seeming elevation is to be
given ; lindens and walnuts, the black, the European,
and the butternut, upon the slopes ; alders and willows,
tupelos and river poplars, the red and the black birch,
the white cedar and the arbor-vitse, along streams ; the

112 REMINISCENCES OF

cherry-trees and tliorns, the several species of corniis,
locusts, rolMiii.'is, gloditzias, and acacias, ciders, wild
pears, and \vil<l a])plc-trccs, and whatever else has
showy blossoms, along the edges most fully presented
to view ; bir<;hes, hornbeams and hop-liornbeams, the
nettle-tree and the hackberr}', elms of all kinds, pop-
lars, native and foi'cign, beeches and ashes, pines and
other evergreens, maples and oaks, everywhere.

Important questions, and worthy of careful and
mature consideration, are. What trees are best suited to
ornaniont the lawn ; what best to l)e near a dwelling-
house, where a family wants one tree, or a few, for
beauty and shade, but has not room for many? What
should 1)(; left or planted in pastures, for the comfort
and health of sheep and cattle, and what are most
ornamental and most suitable for public squares, large
or small, and what for the sides of a road in Ihe coun-
try, or a street in a city or town ?

Ever}' tree is more or less beautiful. Everj- tree is a
picture, varying in color, in freshness, in softness or
brilliancy, in light and shade, in outline, in motion, in
all the accidents of vegetable life, through all tiie sea-
sons and all the hours, from the Iteginning to the end
of the year. Every long-lived tree of the taller sorts,
such as oaks, elms, beeches, ashes, pines, may become
a picture for many generations of the children of men,
— a precious heirloom fidl of [)leasant associations, and
hallowed with the memories of parents and grand-par-
ents, or of children early lost or long gone away never
to return.

pA'cry species of tree has its own peculiar inhabi-
tants. I''.a(:h is the favorite resort of i)urticular birds,

A!V OLD TEACHER. 113

whicli prefer to build their nests in it, or if they build
elsewhere, like to come and sing in its branches. Each
species has its own insects, beautiful and friendly, or
hostile ; its own epii)hytes and parasites, lichens on its
bark or de[)endeut from its branches, and mosses and
fungous plants which live upon its trunk or on its leaves
in health or in decay.

The grandest of trees, in our climate, is the oak, and
none will more generously repay every care wMiich is
bestowed u|)on it, or more siwely carry our remem-
l)rance down to future generations, as it is the longest
lived. There are many dilferent species in America,
all distinguished for different excellences. There are
twelve well known as growing naturally in Massachu-
setts, and there are probably others ; certainly there
are others in New F^ngland. Several from the West of
Europe thrive here, and doubtless many from Asia, and
from other parts of America, would grow well here.
Our native species deserve our first attention.

The most valuable for the forest and the most mag-
nificent for the lawn is the white oak, nearly allied to
the European white oak. For the lawn, therefore, it is
first to be chosen. The objection to the white oak as a
roadside tree is, that it takes up too much space ; when
allowed to grow unrestrained, it stretches out its vast
arms to too great a distance on every side. We want,
for roads and streets, trees which will afford shade, but
which will lift up their arms out of the way. If we
take an oak, it must be the chestnut oak, or the rock
chestmit oak, or the scarlet. If we take an elm, it
must be, for narrow streets, the English elm. The
white oak is admirably suited, better than any other
8

114 REMINISCENCES OF

tree, to the corner of u common, or a point where three
roads meet at a large angle, lu such a situation it will
be able to develop its sublime qualities, and in a cent-
ur}" or two, will become the most venerable natural
object in the county.

The red oak becomes a very large tree, grows rapidl}',
is very hard}^, makes a fine head, has large, brilliant
leaves, and a trunk which retains its youthful appear-
ance very long.

The scarlet oak is a middle-sized tree, which recom-
mends itself b}' its deepl}' cut and delicatel}' shaped
and polished leaves, and the rich colors the}- assume in
autumn. There is no stiffness about the tree, and
everj' individual of a long row would have its own
shape and outline. This, however, is true of all the
oaks.

A tree, found in the southern part of New England,
in Massachusetts and Connecticut, and which recom-
mends itself strongl}' by its size, its port, and the
beauty of its leaves, and its large acorn-cups, is the
over-cup white oak, seldom seen and therefore little
known, but well deserving to be introduced everywhere
upon the lawn or along the roadside.

The post oak is a small tree of some beaut}', remark-
able for the star-like shape of its leaves.

Some of the European oaks are worthy of cultiva-
tion, the two varieties of the English oak, both of
which grow perfectl}' well with us, and the Turkey oak,
nearl}' approaching to an evergreen.

It is not necessary to say a word about the American
elm. Everybody knows it, and it is the only tree that
most people do know. It speaks for itself.

A AT OLD TEACHER. 115

The tulip-tree unites many qualities as an ornamen-
tal tree. It is beautiful when j-oung, from the agree-
able color of its bark, and its large, peculiar leaves.
It is a rapid grower. It rises to a great height, and
has fine, showj' flowers and fruit, and it is wholly unlike
all the other trees of our forest, — the only one of the
magnolia family' large enough to make much show.

A more picturesque tree in its old age, very oak-like
in its character, is the chestnut, which is hard}', grows
more rapidl}- than most deciduous trees, and has a splen-
dor of vigor and life scarcel}' surpassed. Its masses of
Starr}' yellow blossoms are conspicuous in summer, long
after the blossoms of all other trees liave disappeared.

The hackberry, when in perfection, has almost the
grandeur of the oak, with something of the grace of
the elm.

The Norway maple, and that which we get from Eng-
land, where it is called s3X'amore, are valuable trees.
The former stands against the northern blasts and the
sea breezes better than almost an}' other tree. All our
American maples should be seen on the lawn. They
are unsurpassed in brilliancy and variety of color in
autumn. The red maple, and the river, or white, have
too decided a tendency to spread to be highl}^ recom-
mended for the sides of streets and roads. The rock
maple is the best and finest of the tribe. It soars to
the loftiest height, and wants nothing in shape or vari-
ety and brilliancy of color. It giows perfectly in a
cla3'ey soil.

The beecli is perfectl}^ well suited to stand near a
house. It is alwaj's beautiful, has a clean stem, and
bright, polished, glossy leaves, glancing spiritedly in

116 REMINISCENCES OF

the sun. It comes out earlj' and retains its delicately
colored leaves ver}- late, and has show}- blossoms and
sweet nuts. It is said not to attract the electric fluid,
and therefore is not struck by lightning, and is not as
liable as most trees to be browsed upon b}- cattle.

These two last qualities recommend it as particularly
suitable to be planted in a pasture. Humanitj', not
less than enlightened economy, requires that shade be
provided for the herds and flocks in their pastures. A
few beeches, beautiful to the e^'e, will shelter them from
the sun, and invite them to repose, instead of wander-
ing. Other trees adapted to this purpose are lindens
and maples. Beautiful pasture trees are all the species
and varieties of the hickorj'. In deep soils they get
much of theii* food from a point below the roots of the
grasses, and therefore interfere little with the mowing
field or pasture. The}' are also well suited for the
sides of roads, as their tendency is not to form large
lower limbs. They are thought to be peculiarly difficult
to transplant ; and so the}' are when taken from the
forest or its neighborhood, but when properl}' managed
in a nursery, their tendency to depend almost entirely
upon the tap-root being corrected b}' judicious pruning
of the root, they may be removed as safel}' as any
other tree.

Would it not be worth while to take some pains to
propagate more extensively a tree which bears so valu-
able a fruit as the shagbark?

Among middle-sized trees may be mentioned the
sassafras, recommending itself by its curiously lobed,
sweet leaves, its blossoms, and its striking fruits ; the
hornbeam, for the fine color of its fluted trunk and its

AN OLD TEACHER. 117

handsome leaves ; the hop-hornbeam, for the softness of
its fohage ; the locust, not alwa^'S a low tree, for its
soft, satiny leaves and fragrant show}' flowers, and the
endless variety of its outline.

As in proper keeping with the regularity' of a street,
we may choose trees of regular and somewhat formal
and monotonous beauty, such as the linden, and when
there is room enough, the horse-chestnut, or the red
maple, or the river maple.

Many people, with a sentiment for beaut}', but with
little cultivation of taste, are delighted with mere sj-m-
metr}^ in a tree. To such persons, a row of lindens
will give great pleasure, on account of their symmetri-
cal regularity, while the depth of shade and of color,
and the fragrance of the blossoms of the English tree,
recommend it to all.

The black-walnut and the butternut are sometimes
planted for their fruit along enclosures, so as to serve,
at the same time, for shade to travellers. Both tliese
and the European walnut might be planted for these
purposes still more extensively. The}' are all shade
trees ; and in comparison with other nations of equal
intelligence, we value too little the pleasant additions
which the fruits of these trees make to the dessert, and
to the economical produce of those who cultivate them.

The wild black cherry unites in a remarkable degree
all the qualities which should recommend it for the for-
est, the lawn, and the avenue. It is a hardy, rapid
grower of shapel}' trunk and beautiful bark, leaves,
and flowers ; it bears a valuable fruit, its wood is hard
and durable, and suited at once to the uses of the
joiner and the cabinet-maker ; and it is so attractive

118 REMINISCENCES OF

to man}' insects as to draw them away from the more
vahiable fruit trees. Yet it is improvidently destroj'ed
wherever it is found growing, from a belief that it
actually creates injurious insects. It seems to do this
onl}^ because it draws them away from the trees of the
orchard, and concentrating them, gives the cultivator
the opportunity of destroying them at once on one
tree.

Few people have ventured to plant pines as shade
trees on the sides of roads. The white pine is, how-
ever, well suited to this purpose. It is a rapid grower.
Its lower branches may be removed with safety, and it
has a fine S3'mmetrical head. One of the most impos-
ing rows of trees I have ever seen in this country is a
row of tall old white pines in North Berwick in Maine.
When all its branches are permitted to grow, the white
pine furnishes a better protection against the winds in
winter than any deciduous tree.

When there is room for them to grow to their full
development, several of the firs and spruces, and the
common hemlock, are excellent for roadsides. But
they must have ample space, as their beaut}' is de-
stroyed by cutting away the lower branches.

The various species of n3'ssa, pepperidge, or tupelo
tree have rarely been cultivated as shade trees or for
ornament. Yet no other tree in our forests has such
resplendent leaves, none is so brilliantlj' green in sum-
mer, and none is more vividly scarlet and red and pur-
ple in autumn, and in its port it is altogether peculiar.
Its fault is that its leaves fall early, and its brilliancy is
transient.

The attention of cultivation has been so exclusively

AN OLD TEACHER. 119

fixed upon the valuable properties of the thorns as
hedge plants, that thej' have often failed to perceive or
to recognize their great variety of beauty for the lawn.
In Scotland and in the northern continental countries
of Europe, the beauty of the birch is felt and has often
been sung. The poorest of our birches is almost as
good as the European birch, while the latter is young ;
and we have three others, all far more beautiful at all
ages, the yellow birch, the black birch, and the canoe
birch. They are unsurpassed in the delicacy of their
outline, in the graceful sweep of their branches, in the
vivid play of the sun's raj's upon their leaves, and in
the charming motions and colors of their pendulous
flower-tassels in spring, at a season when most other
trees give few signs of life. Tender and delicate as
they seem, they are all singularly hard}', and swift and
sure growers, even in the most exposed situations. The
vegetable world does not offer a group of more grace-
full trees.

The plane-trees. Oriental and Occidental, or the
European plane and our button- wood tree, form a pillar
of vast size and strength, free from limbs near the
ground, and admirably adapted to avenues and road-
sides. In moist ground no other tree will make so
conspicuous a figure. Its immense columnar trunk
and large leaves took the fanc}' of the ancient Greeks,
who preferred it above all other trees ; and the Romans
in this, as in other matters of taste, followed the Greeks.

120 REMINISCENCES OF

CHAPTER XV.

WHAT WE OWE TO LOUIS AGASSIZ AS A TEACHER.

An Address before the Boston Society of Natural History,
January 7, 1874.

Mr. President : —

I THANK 3'ou for the great honor you do me b}- invit-
ing me to say something before and in behalf of j-our
society, in commemoration of the most distinguished
naturalist that has appeared among us. You know
how reluctantly I consented to speak, and I feel how
inadequate!}' I shall be able to represent the society.
Yet I cannot but admit that there is some apparent pro-
priet}" in your request. I was one of those who formed
this societ}'. All the others who first met are gone :
Dr. B. D. Greene, Dr. J. Ware, F. C. Gray, and the
rest, and my old friend. Dr. "Walter Channing, in whose
office most of the first meetings were held. Moreover,
while I was in the seat you now occup}-, it was agreed
by my associates that it was veiy proper and desirable
that a survey of the State, botanical and zoological,
should be made, to complete that begun hy Prof. Hitch-
cock in geology. At their request, I presented to Gov.
Everett a memorial suggesting this.

Our suggestion was graciously received. Gov. Ever-

AN OLD TEACHER. 121

ett brought the subject before the Legislature, in which
some friends of natural history in the House of Repre-
sentatives had already been acting toward the same
end ; an appropriation was made, and he was authorized
to appoint a commission for that purpose. On that
commission four members of this society were placed,
the reports of three of whom. Dr. Harris, Dr. Gould,
and Dr. Storer, have been, and still continue to be,
considered of signal and permanent value, and Mr.
Agassiz himself regarded them as among the best
reports evei' made. It has given and still gives me the
greatest satisfaction to know that the society has been
continuall}^ goiug forward, and that it is now more
prosperous than ever.

A little more than twent^'-seven j'ears ago, as I was
sitting in m^^ study, a message came to me that two
gentlemen desired to see me. They were immediatel}'
admitted, and Dr. Gould introduced me to Louis Agas-
siz. His noble presence, the genial expression of his
face, his bealning ej^e and earnest, natural voice, at once
gained me, and I responded cordiall}' to his introduc-
tion. He said, "I have come to see you because Dr.
Gould tells me that j'ou know the trees of Massachu-
setts ; I wish to be made acquainted with the hickory.
I have found the leaves and fruit of several species in
the Jura Mountains, where thej^ were deposited when
those mountains were formed ; but since that time none
have been found living in Europe. I want to know
them as the}' are now growing."

I told him that I knew all the species found in New
England, and should be glad to show them to him.
" But I have," I said, " presently to begin my morn-

122 REMINISCENCES OF

ing's work. If 3-011 will let me call on 3-011 immediatelj"
after dinner, I shall be glad to take 3-011 to them."

At the time fixed I called on him at his lodgings,
and took him in m^- chaise, first to Parker's Hill, where
one species of hickoiy grew, then through Brookline,
Brighton, and Cambridge, where two others were found,
and to Chelsea, where a fourth and one that might be a
variety-, were growing. I pointed out the character-
istics of each species in growth, branching, bark, fruit,
and leaves, and especially in the buds. He listened
with the most captivating attention, and expressed sur-
prise at m3- dwelling upon the peculiarities of the buds.
" I have never known the buds to be spoken of as a
characteristic," said he; ''that is new to me." He
admitted the distinct peculiarities of structure in the
buds, and, I have no doubt, remembered ever3- word I
said, for a few months afterwards, I saw in a news-
paper that Mr. Agassiz would give a lecture, in Eox-
buiT, on the buds of trees.

We drove on to Chelsea Beach, which stretches off
several miles, apparentl3- without end, and as the tide
was veiT low, was then nearl3- a quarter of a mile
wide. He was charmed with eveiything, expressing
his pleasure with all the earnestness of a happy child,
hardl3' able to restrain himself in his admiration and
delight. He told me that he had never before been on
a sea-beach, but that he Avas familiar with the Avave-
marks on the old beaches laid open in the Jura Moun-
tains.

I need not sa3'' what a pleasant drive this was. I had
long felt great interest in various departments of natu-
ral histoiy, but had been so fully occupied with 1113- own

AN OLD TEACHER. . 123

duties as a teacher that I had been able to indulge
myself full}-, and that for a small part of the year, in
one only. Here was a companion who was intimately
acquainted with all, and with the most distinguished
men who had been advancing them, and who was ready
and happy to communicate wealth of information upon
every point I could ask about.

Some days after, I invited all the members of this
society to meet Mr. Agassiz at my house. Ever}' one
came that could come. They conversed very freel}' on
several subjects, and Agassiz showed the fulness of his
knowledge and his remarkable powers of instant obser-
vation. All seemed to feel what a precious accession
American science was to receive.

Not long afterwards, Mr. Agassiz accepted an invi-
tation to spend Christmas with us. We took some
pains, ourselves and our children, among whom were
then two bright bo3'S, full of fun and frolic, one in col-
lege and one nearly prepared to enter. He was easily
entertained, entering heartil}', joyousl}', and hilariously
into ever^-thing, games and all, as if he were still as
young as the 3'oungest, but full of feeling, and moved,
even to tears, by some poor lines to him and his native
land.

My friends, I have thus shown 3'ou how intimate I
became, for a few weeks, with Agassiz, whom I found
the wisest, the most thoroughl}' well informed and com-
municative, the most warm-hearled and the most mod-
est man of science with whom, personally' or by his
works, I had ever become acquainted. I did not keep
up that intimate acquaintance, both because I was too
busy in m}' own work, and because I did not deem

124 REMINISCENCES OF

myself worthy to occupy so much of his time, conse-
crated, as it was, to science and the good of mankind.
The strong impression he made on me was made on
almost all who ever listened to or even met him. It is
not surprising then that the news of the death of Agas-
siz caused a throb of anguish in millions of hearts.
Such a death is a loss to mankind. What death among
kings or princes in the Old World, or among the aspi-
rants for power or the possessors of wealth in the New,
could produce such deep-felt regret?

He is gone. We shall see his benignant face and
hear his winning voice no more ; but we have before us
his example and his works. Let us dwell, for a few
moments, on some features in his life and character, as
an inspiration and a guide, especially'' to those who
mean to devote their leisure or their life to natural his-
tory, or to the great work of teaching. What a change
has taken place in the whole civilized world, and espe-
ciall}' in this country, in men's estimation of the value
and interest of these pursuits, since he began his
studies ! To whom is that change more due than to
Agassiz ?

He was endowed b}' nalure with extraordinarj' gifts.
His fascinating e3'e, his genial smile, his kindliness and
ready S3'mpath3% his generous earnestness, his simpli-
Cit}', and absence of pretension, Jiis transparent sin-
cerity, — these account for his natural eloquence and
persuasiveness of speech, his influence as a man, and
his attraction and power as a teacher. For the devel-
opment and perfecting of many of his highest and most
estimable qualities of mind and character, Mr. Agassiz
was doubtless indebted to his noble mother, who, judg-

A A OLD TEACHER. 125

ing from eveiytbing we can learn, was a very rare
and remarkable woman. To the quiet, homel}', house-
hold duties, for which the Swiss women are distin-
guished, she added unconsciousl}- very uncommon
mental endowments, which she wisely cultivated by
extensive reading of the best authors and by conver-
sation with the most intelligent persons.

Trained by such a mother, Agassiz grew up in the
belief of a Creator, an infinite and all-wise intelligence,
author and governor of all things. He was sincerely
and humbly religious. During his whole life, while
exploring every secret of animal structure, he saw such
wonderful consistenc}' in every part that he never for a
moment doubted that all were parts of one vast plan,
the work of one infinite, all-comprehending thinker.
He saw no place for accident, none for blind, unthink-
ing brute or vegetable selection. Though he was a
man of the rarest intellect, he was never ashamed
to look upwards and recognize an infinitely higher and
more comprehensive intellect above him.

In his earliest years and through childhood he was
surrounded by animals, — fishes, birds, and other crea-
tures, — which he delighted to study, and with whose
habits and forms he thus became perfectly familiar.
His education, in all respects, was yQxy generous and
thorough. He spent his early years in some of the
most distinguished schools and colleges in Germany ;
and he had the good fortune to be made, early, a stu-
dent of the two great languages of ancient times. He
became familiar, b}^ reading them in their native Greek,
with the high thought and reasoned truth and graceful
style of Plato, and the accurate observations and

126 REMINISCENCES OF

descriptions of Aristotle, the nicest observer of ancient
times, and justly considered the father of natural his-
tory. Probably no work has been more suggestive to him
than Aristotle's " History of Animals" ; and probably
his own breadth of conception and largeness of thought
upon the highest subjects were due, in no inconsider-
able degree, to his early familiarit}' with Plato. He
also read some of the best Latin authors, and wrote the
language with great ease.

No one who earl^^ has the time and opportunit}', and
who desires to become a thorough naturalist, or a
thinker on an}' subject, should neglect the stud}' of
these two languages. From them we borrow nearl3'ail
the peculiar terms of natural science, and find the origi-
nals of almost all the words which we use in speaking
on ethical, metaph^'sical, sesthetical, and political sub-
jects, and no one can be sure that he perfectl}^ under-
stands any of these words unless he knows them in
their original language.

I dwell upon this subject, because I believe that the
early study of language, especiall}' of the ancient' lan-
guages, is far too much undervalued. We use lan-
guage, not onl}' in our communication with others, but
in our own thoughts. On all subjects of science, or
whatever requires accurate thought, we think in words,
and we cannot think, even within ourselves, upon any
subject, without knowing the words to express our
thoughts. He who is most fully and familiarl}' ac-
quainted with the richest language and the thoughts
that have been expressed bj' it, has tlie power of most
easily becoming not only a good thinker, but an elo-
quent speaker. No greater mistake can be made, in

AN OLD TEACHER. 127

the early education of the future naturalist, than the
neglect to give him a full and familiar acquaintance
with the words by which thought can be carried on
or communicated.* *

Agassiz's mothjer-tongue was French, but both this
and German were in common use in the Pays de Yaud.
He lived, for years afterwards, in several parts of Ger-
man}', and thus attained, without special stud}-, the
rich language which we Americans have to give so much
time to acquire ; and he lived long a studious aud labo-
rious life in Paris, where he became intimately ac-
quainted with Cuvier and other distinguished natural-
ists, and perfectl}' familiar with the French language in
its best form. Moi'e than once, when he was putting
his note-book into his pocket, he told me he knew not
whether he had made his notes in German or in French.

Agassiz's universality of stud}' and thought suggests
a precious lesson. It is never safe to give one's self
entirely to one study or to one course of thought. The
full power of the mind cannot be so developed. Nature
is infinite ; and a small part of one kingdom cannot be
understood, however carefully studied, without some
knowledge of the rest.

* It is a matter of the greatest satisfaction that the only true mode
of learning language, the natural one, by word of mouth from liv-
ing teachers, is becoming common; the language itself first, and
afterwards the philosophy of it, — the rules . It is most desirable
that this mode of learning the ancient languages should be intro-
duced, to learn first the language, to read and understand it, and
afterwards the rules. Indeed, I would not recommend the study
even of Greek, if most or miich of the time given to it had to be
thrown away upon grammar. The true mode, Agassiz's mode,
of teaching on all subjects, is becoming more and more common.

128 REMINISCENCES OF

Neither must a man allow himself to be a mere natu-
ralist. Every man ought to seek to form for himself,
for his own happiness and enjo3'ment, the higliest char-
acter for intelUgence, and for just and generous feeling,
of which he is capable. He is not a mere student of
a department of nature. He is a man ; he must make
himself a wise, generous, and well-informed man, able
to S3-mpatliize with all that is most beautiful in nature
and art, and best in society. It would be a poor, dull
world, if all men of talent were to educate themselves to
be mere artisans, mere politicians, or mere naturalists.

Agassiz took a large, comprehensive view of the
whole field of natural history ; his thorough education
and intimate acquaintance with the works of the high-
est men in several walks. Von Martins, Cuvier, Hum-
boldt, and others, made it possible for him to do it,
and he then fixed on certain departments, and for
the time, he gave himself entirel}' to one.

As a future inhabitant of America, it was fortunate
for him to have been born, and to have grown up, in
one of the free cantons of Switzerland. He was thus
accustomed to treat men as equals ; and thus his per-
fect familiarity and his freedom from all assumption
were as natural to him as they were graceful and win-
ning. He looked down upon none, but felt a sympathy
with everything best in every heart. The reaUty of
these great human qualities gave a natural dignity
which his hearty and read}' laugh could never diminish.
Ever}' one was drawn towards him by what was best in
himself. With the greatest gentleness he united a
strong will, and with a resolute earnestness, untiring
patience. His great object was truth, and as he never

AN- OLD TEACHER. 129

had any doubt that it was truth, he may have been
impatient, but he never felt really angry with those who
opposed it.

Mr. Agassiz had, for several years, the great advan-
tage and privilege of being an assistant, in the descrip-
tion and delineation of fishes from Brazil, to Von Mar-
tins, the genial and eloquent old man of Munich. la
him he had the example of a man, who, with great
resources as a naturalist, had for many years given
himself, in a foreign country, to the study of a single
department of botany, without, however, shutting his
eyes to anything that was new and remarkable in any
page of natural histor3\ To one who was a good lis-
tener and never forgot what he heard, what a prepara-
tion must this have been for his own expedition, many
3'ears after, to the sources of the Amazon, to which he
was invited by the Emperor of Brazil, in which he was
assisted by the princely aid of his own friends, and
from which he brought home a greater number of new
species of fresh-water fishes than were ever before dis-
covered by one individual, thus carrying forward that
work upon the fishes of Brazil, his first work, which he
had published when he was twenty-two years old !

He spent the leisure of several years in examining
the reefs and dredging in the waters of the coast of
Florida and other parts, always bringing home stores
of new species and genera, and completing the history
of innumerable known ones. What a preparation were
these 3'ears for the great Hasler expedition, in which
the depths of the ocean were very fully explored, and
innumerable objects, new and old, were brought up,
showing that the bottom of the ocean is anything but
9

130 REMINISCENCES OF

barren, and throwing new light upon the geology of
recent and of ancient times !

"Whenever Mr. Agassiz undertook a special work, he
prepared himself for it bj' a careful stud}' of whatever
had been done in that particular line by all others.
He had seen everywhere indications of the action of
ice. He determined to investigate. He began b}*
reading all he could find upon the subject, and then set
himself to observe, patiently and carefully, what was
taking place in the glaciers themselves. He gave the
leisure of several j'ears to this examination, and then
felt himself read}' to observe the effects of similar action
in former ages and distant regions. The opinions of
such an observer, after such a preparation, cannot be
without authority and value ; and it is not surprising
that he should not himself have been willing to 3'ield
them to those of others who had never given the same
stud}' to the subject.

When he wrote his wonderfully complete work upon
the American Testudinata, he began by studying what-
ever had been written in regard to that family of ani-
mals, and he furnished himself, by the liberal aid of
many friends, with immense numbers of specimens, so
that he had ample means of satisfying himself in regard
to almost every question that could be asked as to
structure * or habits. Such a work will not need to be
done over again for many }ears. It can never be entirely
superseded, except by a work showing greater diligence,

* In speaking of the thorough execution of the works in the four
vohames, we ought not to forget the aid he received from the exqixis-
ite skill in drawing and engraving of Sonrel, who wore out his eyes
in the work, and of Burckhardt and Clark.

A.V OLD TEACHER. 131

greater fidelity, and better powers of nice observation
and faithful description.

Let no one who has not carefully' examined this, and
his other papers in the " Contributions to the Natural
Ilislor}' of the United States," venture to speak of his
incompleteness.

His example as a teacher has been of inestimable
value, as shovving the importance of the best and largest
possible preparation, teaching b}' things really existing
and not by books, opening the eye to the richness and
beant}' of nature, showing that there is no spot, from
tbe barren sea-beach to the top of the mountain, which
does not present objects attractive to the youngest
beginner, and worth}' of and rewarding the careful con-
sideration of the highest intellect.

The town of Neufchatel, near which Mr. Agassiz
was born, and particularly the hills behind it, give fine
views of natural scenerj'. From a hill, not two miles
from his former home, I had a view of the lake and the
plains and the mountains be3'ond, which I now recall as
one of the wildest, most varied, and most exquisite I
have ever seen. Agassiz thus grew up to a love of the
beautiful.

This love of the beautiful in nature has been increas-
ing from the most ancient times to the present. It is
more generall}' felt and more full}' enjoyed now than
ever before, and in this country, apparent!}', more than
in any other. More persons leave the cities, as soon as
they begin to grow warm and dusty, to enjoy the coun-
try or the seaside, the mountains or the lakes ; and they
enjoy rationally and heartily. Who has done more
than Agassiz to increase this enjoyment? With thou-

132 REMINISCENCES OF

sands it is becoming not mere!}' the enjoj-ment, but the
stud}^ of the beautiful. Collections of shells, curious
animals, minerals, sea-weeds, and flowers are becoming,
like libraries, not onl}' sources of pleasure to the e3'e,
but of delightful stud}', "whereb}' a nearer approach is
made to the very fountain of enjoj'ment. We not only
see and feel, we begin to understand. The more we
see of the uses, of the wonders, of the structure, the
more profound is our enjoyment. Who has done more
than Agassiz to awaken this enjoj'ment?

In 1855, with the aid of Mrs. Agassiz, who, from the
beginning, did a great deal of the work, Mr. Agassiz
opened a school for young ladies. For this he was, in
all respects, admirably well qualified. The charm of
his manner, his perfect simplicity, sincerity, and warm-
heartedness, attracted ever^' pupil, and won her respect,
love, and admiration. He knew, almost instinctively,
what we teachers have to learn by degrees, — that we
cannot reall}' attract, control, and lead a child, and help
to form his habits and character, without first loving
him ; that nothing in the world is so powerful as real,
disinterested affection. He gave himself, b}' lectures
most carefully prepared, an hour's instruction, real
instruction, ever}' day. All his pupils retain their
respect and love for him, and some keep the notes
they made of his talks, and read them with delight.
The school was continued for seven years, with great
success, attracting pupils from distant parts of the
country-.

One of the secrets of his success as a teacher was,
that he brought in nature to teach for him. The young
ladies of a large school were amused at his simplicity

AN OLD TEACHER. 133

in putting a grasshopper into the hand of each, as he
came into the hall ; Init they were filled with snrprise
and delight, as he explained the structure of the insect
before them, and a sigh of disappointment escaped
from most of them when the lesson of more than an
hour closed. He had opened their eyes to see the
beauty of the wonderful make of one of the least of
God's creatures. What a lesson was this to young
women preparing to be teachers in the public schools of
the Commonwealth, showing that in every field might
be found objects to excite, and, well explained, to
answer the questions, what, and how, and why, which
children will always be asking.

He had all the elements necessary to an eloquent
teacher, — voice, look, and manner, that instantly at-
tracted attention ; an inexhaustible flow of language,
alwa3's expressive of rich thoughts, strong common-
sense, a thorough knowledge of all the subjects on
which he desired to speak, a s^nnpath^- with others so
strong that it became magnetic, and a' feeling of the
value of what he had to say, which became and created
enthusiasm. He thus held the attention of his audi-
ence, not only instructing and persuading them, but
converting them into interested and admiring fellow-
students.

His mode of teaching, especially in his ready use of
the chalk and the blackboard, was a precious lesson to
teachers. He appealed at once to the eye and to the
ear, thus naturally forming the habit of attention,
which it is so diflficult to form by the stud}* of books.
Whoever learns this lesson will soon find that it is the
teacher's part to do the stud}", to get complete posses-

134 REMIMSCENCES OF

sion of what is to be taught, in any subject, and how
it is to be presented, while it is the part of tlie pupils
to listen attentively and to remember. This they will
easily do, and to show that they do remember, they
may be easily led to give an account in writing of what
they have heard. Every lesson will thus be not only
an exercise of attention and memory", but a lesson in
the English language, proper instruction in which is
very much needed and very much neglected. When-
ever a pupil does not fully understand, the teacher will
have the opportunity, while he is at the blackboard, of
enlarging and making intelligible.

Wherever the teacher shall be successful in adopting
this true and natural mode of teaching, the poor text-
books which now infest the countrj' will be discon-
tinued, and those who now keep school will become
real teachers ; school-keeping will be turned into teach-
ing. When this method is fairl}- introduced, we shall
hear no more of long, hard lessons at home, nor of
pupils from good schools who have not learned to write
English.

The advent of Agassiz is to be considered a most
important event in the natural histor}' of the countr}'.
The example of his character, his disinterestedness,
his consecration to science, his readiness to oblige even
the humblest and most modest, his superiority' to self-
interest, his sincerity and absence of all pretension, his
enthusiasm in all that is noble, — all these recommended
n )t only him, but the science he professed. Never was
a life more richlj' filled witli stud}', worlv, thought ; and
all was consecrated, not to the benefit of himself, but

AN OLD TEACHER. 135

to the promotion of science for the good of his fellow-
creatnres.

For many 3-eavs i\Ir. Agassiz has seemed to live only
for the advancement of natural history, by the building
up of his Museum, for which he had collected materials
of the greatest possible diversity, which would, prop-
erly cared for and arranged, form a museum superior
in numbers and variety to any similar collection in the
world. Shall this great work be allowed to fail ?

Let every person who honors the memoi y of Agassiz
say, No ! Let every one who regrets that the great
main support of the noble structure is taken away,
resolve that it shall not fail, but that, so far as depends
on him and what he can do, it shall go on and be

BUILT AND FILLED, AND STAND FIRM, A GLORIOUS TEM-
PLE OF SCIENCE FOREVER.

136 REMINISCENCES OF

CHATTER XVI.

FAREAVELL.

ON the clay of parting, some of your number requested to
be allowed to take a copy of what I had read, that they
might send it to an absent friend, or keep it as a remembrance
of me. I did not consent to this, from an unafiected feeling that
Avhat I had said was not worth so much trouble ; but I prom-
ised to have it printed for them. As it passed through the
press, I felt still more sti'ongly than before how poor and in-
adequate is my expression of the great lessons I would fain
inculcate. I beg you, therefore, not for a moment to judge
of the value of these lessons from what I have written, but
let my words lead you to the Divine source from which they
are drawn. I beg you also to remember that this Farewell,
though printed, is not published, and to use it, therefore, as if
it were sent to you in manuscript.

The hour has at last come, my dear young friends,
when we must part. At the ver}' moment when you
have become more dear to me than ever before, when I
feel that we more entirely sympathize, that you more
cordially enter into my plans for your advancement,
and that your progress is more satisfactory, at this
moment we are preparing to separate. And it is right
that it should be so. If we teachers have been able to
do anything for j'ou, it has been to prepare you to go
on without our aid. We have never attempted to com-
pel, we have hardl}', indeed, attempted to lead 3'ou ;
but wc have pointed out the objects which we have

AN OLD TEACHER. I37

thought you ought to have in view, and have done
what we could to encourage 3'ou to pursue them ; we
have presented the motives and inducements by which
we have thought 3'Ou ought to be urged, and we have
endeavored to make them 3'ours. This we have done
with a profound conviction that all real progress must
be voluntary, and that until we have enlisted j'oiir
heart}' co-operation in the work of 3'our own education,
we have accomplished nothing.

"VYe have endeavored, ever}' morning, to open to you
some lesson from the words of the Saviour or his apos-
tles, or those miglit}', inspired men of old, whose lan-
guage, ever since it was uttered, has furnished the fittest
expression for the deepest wants and the highest aspi"
rations of the human soul ; expression of penitence and
sorrow for sin, of prostration under affliction, of confi-
dence and filial trust in that Father who alone can help,
— the strong and unwavering confidence which a feeling
of reliance on the strength of the Infinite Helper alone
can give, and of the boundless hopes of immortalit\'.
We have endeavored to show you not onl}^ how com-
forting and necessary these words are to us, but how
transcendently wise and reasonable. AYe have endeav-
ored to teach you not only to sa}', with sinful David,
" I am afflicted and ready to die," and " Wliat is man
that thou art mindful of him?" but with triumphant
Paul, " I can do all things through Christ which
strengtheneth me." We have done this, not only
because we have ourselves dailj' felt the need of the
instruction, the consolation, and the wisdom, which we
find in these divine words and which we can find no-
where else, but because we have wished to do something

13S HEMIA'ISCEA'CES OF

to imluce 3-011, clear children, to form the ]iabit of daily
searching in these exhaustless treasures of wisdom and
truth and love. And ni}' earnest prayer to God is, that,
If all the other lessons I have endeavored to inculcate
shall be blotted from your practice and ^our memory*
this at least ma}' remain.

'SVq have ever3' da}" invited ^'ou to prostrate j'our-
selves, with us, before the throne of mercy, and to ask
of God those things which are necessary- for us. And
this we have done not onl}- because we have ourselves
daily and hourl}' felt the need of support, strength, and
guidance, which we believe God alone can give us ; for,
iu reference to our special and personal wants, we
would obe}' implicitly the command of our Saviour,
" Enter into thy closet, and pra}"^ to thy Father in se-
cret." but Ave have endeavored, in this also, to do some-
thing to form in 3-0U the habit of beginning ever}' day
and ever}' work wuth asking the blessing of God. I
believe in the efficacy of prayer. I believe that the sin-
cere and heartfelt pra3-er is always heard ; and when
it is a right praver and offered in a right spirit, I believe
it is alwaA's granted. How far we may pra3' for tempo-
ral blessings I know not. For m3-self, I dare not ask
for anything temporal without adding, " Not m3' will
but Thine be done." But for spiritual blessings, the
only ones of any great consequence, we ma3- pra3' with-
out ceasing. Weak, fi ail, and tempted, as we are, we
must pray ; and however strong the temptation may
be, I believe that if, in the moment of temptation, we
can, in the spirit of Christ, throw ourselves into the
arms of the Father and ask. Father, strengthen thy
child, we shall obtain strength.

AN' OLD TEACHER. ]39

What, tlien, are the most important lessons wliich you
have been learning, or which you ought to have been
learning, during this preparatory course of iliscipline?
Is not the first so to use, improve, and occup}' every
talent of bod^- and of mind, ever}' affection of the heart,
and ever}' faculty- of the soul, that they shall be at
least twofold greater and better than when they were
committed to you? Have you a riglit, on any other
condition, even to hope for those gracious words of
welcome from the great Master, " Well done, good and
faithful servant ! enter thou into the joy of thy Lord " ?

Is not the second, to set up a standard, in the im-
provement of these talents, higher than anything earthly
can furnish, a standard which shall be made up from
your highest conceptions of what is best and most beau-
tiful in the visible works of God, and of which you have
a model, in spiritual things, in Him onl}^ who came in
the image of the Father? Is it not to aim continual!}-
to be perfect, even as your Father in heaven is perfect?

Is it not your duty, in the third place, to devote all
these powers, thus carried as far towards perfection as
you can have strength and opportunit}' to carrj' them,
to the service of your fellow-creatures? To learn how,
in your sphere and according to 3'our abilit}', to love
your neighbor as yourself?

And is not the highest and most consummate and
comprehensive of duties, which the Saviour has repeated
as the first of all the commandments, to consecrate
yourselves, with all j'our powers of bod}^ improved by
obedience to his laws, with all ^-our mental faculties
brightened and strengthened b}' the^ud}^ of liis works,
with all your social affections perfected by devotion to

140 REMINISCENCES OF

his creatures, with all the capacities of your spiritual
nature elevated In* habitual reverence, by contemplation
on liis law and communion with him in prayer, to
consecrate all to his love, to love the Lord thy God
with all thy heart, and with all th}" soul, and with all
th}' mind, and with all thy strength?

Think not that j^ou are bound to forget or to sacrifice
yourselves. On the contrary, the divine lesson of the
talents commands us to cultivate and improve to the
utmost every faculty we find ourselves possessed of.
It only substitutes for the selfish motives b}' which the
man of this world is influenced, motives incomparably
higher and stronger and more enduring. What higher
motive for self-cultivation and self-improvement can we
even conceive of than the hope of becoming more fit
to be servants of God, fellow-workers with Christ, min-
isters of good to men ?

Whatever faculty you find within j'ou, do not fear to
use and cultivate it to the highest degree. Whence,
for example, is a love of the beautiful? Is it not the
gift of him who is the Author of all of beauty that
there is in creation ? Can you hesitate to exercise the
faculty he has given 3'ou upon the objects for which it
was given ? There are some among our fellow-ereatnres
who are so constituted, or so educated, that they are
to be won from evil onl}' by their love of the beautiful.
Study all forms of beauty and all means of expressing
it. It cannot be useless to attempt to copy the beauti-
ful shapes in which God has formed the works of his
hand, or the colors in whicli lie has clothed them.

If 3'Ou live within reach of objects of natural histor}',
do not let the opportunit}- be lost of studying them.

AN OLD TEACHER. \J^\

Study plants, birds, shells, rocks, anj'thing that is
God's workmanship. Do not, for a moment, think
that the study of his wox-ks, pursued in a right spirit,
can fail to bring you nearer to him.

Cultivate the power of expression. Study language.
The first miraculous gift to the earliest converts to
Christianity was the gift of tongues. It was necessary
for the highest service then : it is not less so now. By
it we understand better, in proportion as we pursue the
stud}', whatever is said or written in our own language
or in other languages. By means of it we penetrate
into whatever is the object of investigation, and set in
order our own thoughts and conclusions, and make
them clear and definite to ourselves. By means of it
only do we communicate to others, for their good or
pleasure or our own, our thoughts, feelings, wants,
purposes, and aspirations ; and we express them forci-
bl}' and efiectually just in proportion as we possess
more full}', as we have cultivated more faithfull}', this
wonderful power of expression. The extent of our
knowledge is measured, in some degree, by the extent
of our vocabulary. By nothing else is man so distinctl}^
raised above other animals as by the gift of articulate
language ; and by nothing else is one man so distin-
guished from another. The literature of a nation is the
expression of the thoughts, meditations, fancies, and
conclusions of the thinkers of that nation. Acquaint-
ance with literature is an acquaintance with the minds
of which it is the exponent. The stud}' of language is,
therefore, the most useful study in the preparatory
course of every one's education, and the study of gen-
eral literature is, through life, one of the most delight-
ful and profitable of human pursuits.

142 KEMINISCEXCES OF

Our own English literature is probably, taking all
things into consideration, the richest of all literatures,
and for ns it is without question far the most valuable.
I would therefore recommend to each one of you to
make it a point to become somewhat fully acquainted
■with this noble literature. It will take man}' years.
But the time, and you must devote only leisure time to
it, will be well and most pleasantly spent; and in ob-
taining this knowledge 3'ou will necessaril}' become
acquainted with the leading thoughts of the best think-
ers, \ipon all the most important subjects, in morals,
taste, criticism, history, philosoply, poetr}', theolog}',
antiquities, and philanthropy, that have occupied the
minds of men. To have a great object like this in
view will give a purpose to your reading, and will pre-
vent its being desultor}', though it may seem so.

There is a great deal of poetry in the language which
is not worth reading. Of that, a compendium, such as
Cleveland's, will furnish 3'ou with sufficient specimens.
But there are great and nol)le poets with whom I would
advise you to become familiar. Such are Shakespeare,
Milton, AVordsworth, Cowper, Scott, Bryant, Gray,
Goldsmith, Coleridge, Young, and Pope, especially the
first eight or nine.

I regret that the course 3'Ou have pursued on astron-
om}' is so defective. For those who remain with me, I
shall endeavor to remedy the defect. To all of you I
would recommend a work b}' Mrs. Lowell, which is now
in preparation, and two works bj- Prof. Nichol.

There are certain portions of history with which every
well-educated person should endeavor to become famil-
iar. Such are the history' of our own country-, of our

AN OLD TEACHER. 143

mother country, of Western Europe in modern times,
of Greece, of Rome, and of Judnea, which last 30U will
best learn from the Sacred Scriptures.

1 recommend to 3-ou, as valuable parts of your read-
ing, books of travels and books of biograph}-, as mak-
ing 3'ou acquainted, better than anything else, with the
world in which God has placed 3'OU, and with the occu-
pants of that world. Biograph}' tends to malve us char-
itable. He must be thoroughly bigoted who shall con-
tinue to think ill of our brethren the Methodists, after
reading attentively the life of Wesle}^ ; or to condemn
in a mass those who belong to the Catholic Church,
after having become intimate with the character of Fe-
nelon. The life of Elizabeth Fr3% or of William Penn,
proves that there are earnest and sincere Christians
amongst the Quakers ; the life of Leighton shows that a
bishop ma3' be ver3^ humble, and that of Peabodv or of
Channing, that vital piety ma3' dwell with one who
rejects all authorit3' of man's device, and admits that
onh' of the simple Word of God.

We are all willing enough to believe in the piet3-, in-
telligence, and Christian faithfulness of those of our own
sect ; it is therefore particularly important, if we would
make our reading help us to become charitable, in the
comprehensive sense of charit3- as explained to us b\'
St. Paul, that we should seek to become acquainted
with those who differ from us most in their theological
opinions There is no danger of our being made to
waver in our own opinions, if we have formed them b3^
pra3'erful stud3' of the words of the Saviour ; and if we
have not, it is only right that we should waver, until
we shall have learnt to obe3' that great command of

144 REMINISCENCES OF

Christian libert}', " Prove all things, hold fast that
which is good, " and that higher command of the Sa-
viour, " AVlir, OF YOURSELVES, JUDGE YE NOT AVUAT IS

RIGHT? " He need not fear to be unduly biassed by the
opinion of a brother who has thoroughl}' learnt the
great lesson, " Call no man master on earth, for one is
your master, even Christ, and all 3'e are brethren."

Upon the subject of morals, of moral philosophy,
I have constantly referred you to the source of light
and truth. It is profitable to read other books upon
the subject, but it is dangerous to consider them as
having authority. The}^ may help us to think, to form
opinions for ourselves ; but ever^' practical question
must be settled by our own conscience, enlightened and
guided b}- the truths of the gospel.

To the important subject of mental philosophy you
have, in ^our course with me, paid little attention.
This has not been from any forgetfulness or neglect
on m}' part. The studies to which you have given your
attention are more elemental and preliminarv in their
nature ; and most of 3'ou are but just reaching the age
at which metaph3-sics can be profitably studied. The
time, however, is coming ; and I can recommend as
pleasant and useful books, " Reid on the Mind,"
" Stewart's Elements," " Locke on the Human Under-
standing," " Brown's Lectures on the Philosophj' of the
Human Mind."

As a help to careful reading and reflection, and to
the storing up for use of what is most valuable, I would
advise you to keep a diary, not of your feelivgs, but of
the good thoughts or beautiful images which are pre-
sented or suggested bj' your observation, by your read-

AN OLD TEACHER. 145

ing, or b}' conversation. This will cultivate j'onr powers
of expression, improve jour habits of attention and
observation, and strengthen your memory ; and if
riglitly used, it will give you materials for improving
and elevated conversation.

Conversation ma}' be made the most delightful of all
arts. Its first and necessary uses are to carry on in-
tercourse in all the business of life, to communicate our
wants, soiTOws, feelings, affections, and purposes. It
may be made an instrument to instruct, soothe, and
delight. Too little is thought of it, and too little pains
are taken to improve in it. Hence we find ver}' few
good talkers, where there might be many. Most peo-
ple make no progress at all in it ; they talk at sixty as
they talked at sixteen. The}' sa}' what comes into their
mind, without reserve or selection, without choice of
thought or of language. It should be managed much
better ; it may, b}' each one of you. A daily recurring
opportunit}' of doing good to others by doing good to
3'ourself, of contributing to the pleasure, instruction,
and elevation of those nearest and dearest, ouglit to
demand a better preparation. She who will take pains
to have suitable topics for conversation, topics which
will bring in narrative, imagery, witticism, sentiment,
and will study the art of introducing them naturally
and gracefully, will make herself a charming compan-
ion, and will be a blessing to the circle of which she is
the ornament. Let me enjoin upon you to take pains
in regard to your conversation, and let me remind you
that the indispensable graces of a good talker are sim-
plicity, naturalness, sincerity, and truth.

We have taken much pains, in the regulations of the
10

146 REMINISCENCES OF

school, to induce you to form habits of punctuality and
order in the disposal of your time. These you will
find of the utmost consequence. After a few 3'ears,
and as soon as you shall have entered upon the active
duties of life, most of you will have very little leisure
for reading or writing or private thought. That little
will depend on your habits of order and punctuality,
and will be of scarcely any avail, unless used with
severe economj'. l>ut those few moments of leisure,
M'isely used, will make the difference between thou<;ht-
ful, well-informed, wise, and agreeable ladies, and friv-
olous and gossiping old women.

There are two practical rules in reading which I would
gladly engrave upon your memory. Be not deceived
b}' names. A book with the best name — a sermon
or theological treatise — may be the vehicle of arro-
gance, self-sufficiency, bigotry, pride, uncharitableness,
in short, of whatever is most inconsistent with, and
hostile to, the verj- spirit of Christianity ; while a ro-
mance or a song may breathe the spirit of gentlen<?ss,
humility, love, and charity, — the highest and peculiar
graces of the gospel. Kemember that he who began
his pra3er with thanking God that he was not as other
men were, went awa}- condemned.

The second rule is, remember that your heart, your
imagination, your conscience, are in ^^our own keeping.
"Whatever tends to stain the puritj' of your imagination,
whatever tends to increase your pride and self-love, to
make j'ou think better of yourself and of those who
agree with you, or to diminish 3-our charitableness, and
make you think ill of others, of those who dilfer from
you, whatever tends to diminish 3'our love aud rever-

AN OLD TEACHER. 147

ence for God and his Providence, is bad and to be
shunned, by whatever name it may be called.

I have spoken of some of the means 3'oa must use to
improve the talents of which you will be called to ren-
der an account ; and as all the parts of life are uecessa-
ril}' connected, I have naturall}- anticipated something
of the uses to be made of the talents so improved. I
shall not, of course, undertake to enter into all which is
meant b}' devoting our talents to the service of our fel-
low-creatures. Every good life is necessarily devoted,
directly or indirectly', to the service of mankind. We
have before us, therefore, a subject as broad as human
life, and as various.

To a single point in this wide field I would ask for a
few moments your attention : it is the dut}' of educating
3'ourselves for a life of charity, of devoting to chari-
table uses the talents you will have improved. I wish
3^ou to consider this question, whether it is not the duty
of each one of 3'ou to prepare herself to do something
etf'ectually to relieve or diminish the wants, the igno-
rance, the sufferings, and the sins of her poor fellow-
creatures? And b}' this preparation I mean something
different from the general, vague, good purpose, which
almost every woman has, to be charitable to the poor.
I mean a special preparation, a careful inquirj' as to
what are the wants and what the condition of the poor,
and what ought to be and can be done by Christian
women for them. I should be most thankful to ni}'
Father in heaven if I could know that he would move
the hearts of mau}^ of you to choose this for jour
profession, as deliberately, as thoughtfully, and as res-
olutely as your brothers are choosing law, medicine,

248 REMINISCENCES OF

commerce, or some useful art. A great pnipose for
which Christ came ou earth is not accomplished, the
gospel is not 3'et preached to the poor ; and I think it
never can be until woman takes up the work. This
need not take you from other duties ; it will not inter-
fere with them ; for he who neglecteth to provide for
those of his own house has denied the faith, and is
worse than an infidel. It will only take time which
would be otherwise lost.

You will ask me what I think you ought to do to pre-
pare jourselves for a life of charity.

1 . I would answer, the first requisisite is an earnest
d^,s/re to engage seriously in the service of God, in the
way which he has pointed out. How can 3'ou show
this desire but by serving your fellow-creatures ? How
can you know that 30U love God, whom 3-ou have not
seen, if you love not your brother whom you have seen?
You cannot benefit God. He hath no need of you.
All things are already his. You cannot henejit God.
You can serve him only b}' serving your fellow-crea-
tures.

Some of you will doubtless live a single life. Be not
willing to lead a useless one. You will have the re-
sources of art and taste, music, drawing, a rich and
elegant literature, eloquent preaching and religious
services that you delight in, refined and cultivated
friends, pleasant homes, am[)le houses in cit}' and coun-
try, and all the other appliances of wealth and luxur}'.
And you can live very happy lives in the enjo3inent of
all these thiugs. But can you, after hearing all the
lessons of the gospel, can j-ou suppose that a life so
spent, no matter how innocently, no matter with how

AN OLD TEACHER. 140

much refinement and elevation, that a life so spent for
se//, is a life acceptable to God ?

2. The second requisite is, that 3'ou get a just idea
of the greatness and excellence of this work, the true
nobleness of a life of charity. What n:iore noble work
can there be, what more angelic, than to save from sin,
from ignorance, from suffering, from despair? This is
the life which the Divine Being who came into the
world himself led. He was anointed to preach the
gospel to the poor ; he was sent to heal the broken-
hearted, to preach deliverance to the ca2)tives, and the
recovering of sight to the blind, and to set at liberty
them that are bruised. Is not this a divine life? To
be able to do either of these things, or to help in doing
either, — is it not worth}' of long-continued prepara-
tion and stud}' ? To do anything well . requires time
and labor. To cultivate roses successfnllj' requires
months of careful attention. To make skilfully a shoe
or a bonnet requires months and e^'en years of appren-
ticeship. To make well even the cheapest cotton fab-
rics Avhich are worn b}^ the poor has tasked the science,
the ingenuity, the perseA^erance, the patience of man}''
of the best thinkers. Is it worth a less expenditure of
time and of thought to relieve the wants, to remove
the ignorance, to cultivate the mind, to elevate the
character of the wearer ?

3. The next requisite and preparative is to search,
studiously, the Scriptures. If with an humble, earnest,
and prayerful spirit you consult these Oracles of God,
light will come out of them to illuminate your darkness.
We see lists of text-books and vade mecums for the
lawyer, the physician, the architect, the engineer, and

150 REMINISCENCES OF

we know tliat years are required to understand and
master them. The text-books for the woman of charity
are the Gospels, the Kpistles, the Prophets, the Psahns-
Are not these books worthy of equal study? Tlie}'
must be studied that you may fill y(jur hearts with tlie
spirit of these divine books, and that 3'ou may fill your
memory with the precious words of consolation, encour-
agement, truth, hope, for your own support, and for
the support and guidance of those to whom you would
minister.

Eead also the lives of eminently successful philan-
thropists. You can learn much by their experience,
and 3'our hearts will be warmed b}- their ardor. I do
not recollect one of them who did uot go about his or
her work in the spirit of the gospel. When Elizabeth
Frj' went in amongst the abandoned women in the jails
iu London, she felt safe and sutRcientl^' annetl with
only the Bible ; and when Dorothy Dix goes amongst
the felons and madmen in still more dangerous places
in this countr}', her sole armor is the Bible, her trust,
the Giver of the Bible.

4. The fourth requisite of which I shall speak is
that you endeavor to live a hoi}- life. Do the will of
the Father, and you shall know of the truth ; and I think
none have a right to expect to be led into the truth
except those who obe}- tliis condition. How can yow
know how to sympathize with the sorrows of others for
sin, if you have never felt any sorrow for your own sin ?
How shall you be able to discern the deep wound of
sin in another, if you have never opened your e3'es to
your own? How wilt thou see to pluck the mote out of
thy brother's eye, when a beam is in thine own eye?

AN OLD TEACHER. 151

AVlth these preparations, or, I should rather say,
with this continual preparation, gird yourself to the
great work. It is a great work, and yet, like all other
gi'ent things, it is mitde up of little particulars. Each
one of you is row, already, prepared to enter npon this
work, at least, the apprenticeship to it. You can teach
a poor child to read, or you can prepare her for the
Sunda}^ school, and use persuasions with her and with
her parents to induce her to go there. You can tench
the excellency of truth and obedience and honesty.
You can teach the greatness and goodness of God, and
his all-seeing presence. AVhat 3'ou know already you
can teach.

What has been done to relieve the wants of the poor
has often been unavailing, because it has been done in
ignorance, — in ignorance of their character, wants,
and circumstances. "Will you not be willing to spend
time in searching thoroughly into the wants, character,
and condition of those wlioni you would relieve? It
will take a great deal of time. True. What good
thing does not? If 3"ou were not spending your time
in relieving your poor brother, in what better waj'
would j-ou spend it? AYould it be better to be reading
the novels of the day? Will your sleep be sweeter
when you have filled your imagination with the fancied
sorrows of a fancied heroine, thfiu when you have been
endeavoring to teach a motherless child to follow the
example of her risen Lord, to offer an evening prayer
to her Father in heaven? Would time be better spent
in embroidery? Is a cushion or a slipper for 3'our sis-
ter of more consequence than bread for a Imngiy child?
Will your time be better spent in making and receiving

152 REMINISCENCES OF

calls ? When yon lay your hearl upon yo\ir pillow at
nii;iit and connnit yonrsclf to the protection of the
watchful Shepherd of Israel, will it be a sweeter thought
to you to enumerate the agreeable and fashionable peo-
ple you reckon on your list of friends, than to call to
mind the lone and forsaken lambs you have been seek-
ing to gather within his fold?

Will your time be better spent at the play, the opera,
the concert, the ball, or in making preparatious for
them? Do not suppose, my dear children, that I cou-
domu either of these ; I do not. Indulge in them.
Only take care to do it innocently. Take care not to
neglect other things more important. Only remember
that for all these things God will bring you into judg-
ment. I do not condemn them ; I only ask, When the
sun shall be setting for the last time to your earthly
eyes, which will sound sweetest to your memory's ear,
the songs and airs of the concert and the opera, the
merry tunes to which your own feet have moved, or the
hymns in which you shall have taught poor outcast
children to sing the praises of their God?

Oh, if you will try the value of time by an unfailing
test, send forward your thoughts, on the wings of
heaven-taught imagination, to that day when the Son
of man shall come in his glory and all the holy angels
with him, and before hiiTi shall be gathered all nations,
and he shall separate them one from another ; and the
King shall say to those on his right li;ui<l, Come, j'e
blessed of my Father, inherit the kingdom prepared for
you from the foundation of the world ; for I was an
hungered, and ye gave me meat ; I was thirsty, and ye
gave me drink ; I was a stranger, and ye took me in ;

AN OLD TEACHER. 153

naked, and ye clothed me ; I was sick, and ye visited
me ; I was in prison, and 3^e came unto me. Then
shall the righteous answer him, sa^'ing, When Lord?
And the King shall answer, and say unto them, Ver-
ily I say unto 3'ou, inasmuch as ye have done it unto
one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it
unto me.

What will then be your rejoicing, if. while these
words are uttered, a multitude shall present themselves
before the King, of those w^hom you have fed and
clothed, and saved from prison and ignorance and sin !

What will be your dismay, if among all the recol-
lections of earth, there shall not come one — not one —
memory of a brother saved !

1 have thus endeavored to suggest some of the means
you are to use to cultivate the faculties which have been
intrusted to you. and I have pointed out a great object
to which yon should devote them. I have endeavored
especially to urge upon you the motives which should
lead you to hve a life of charity, and the great beauty
and excellency of such a life

I trust that the few words 1 have said will suffice to
recall some of the many I have addressed to you in the
daily morning lessons. 1 would only add that we
must seek the means of obeying the first and great com-
mandment, by giving ourselves resolutely and faithfull}-
to the work which is suggested by the second, which is
like unto it.

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R W.B. JACKSON LIBRARY

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Emerson

Reminiscences of an old
teacher

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