University of Virginia Library

29. CHAPTER XXIX.

The subject of our common schools is one of
too much interest to be passed in silence, though
there is little that is pleasant to be said about them.
Munificent provision has been made for the public
instruction of our state. The general features of
the plan have been conceived in the noblest spirit;
the people have had all reasonable encouragement
to stimulate their own exertions; yet the real, practical
result has been, thus fat, lamentably small.
Several causes may perhaps be suggested in attempting
to account for this failure, and these
causes, acting and reacting upon themselves, becoming
alternately cause and effect, make research
difficult, even if it were certain that discovery
would be productive of good.

To maintain any sort of school for a part only
of the year is sufficient to secure a share of the
public money, and the benefit which might be
derived from even this, is diminished by an absurd
custom of charging the parent only for the time
which the scholar actually passes in the school,

deducting every day, or even half day, of absence.
This operates as a premium upon irregular attendance,
and the effect is to keep the classes continually
fluctuating, and to nullify any effort which
the teacher might be disposed to make for the
improvement of the school. To get as much work
out of the child as possible, and at the same time
to comfort ourselves with the idea that we are
sending him to school, is very pleasant, and the
case of the boy who was “kepatomtogoatatering,”
is no uncommon one. We keep them at
home with less apology sometimes.

The purchase of books, where there is nothing to
control the whim of the teacher, and where every
three months' teacher is sure to have a new fancy,
becomes quite an inconvenience among people of
very small means; and the effect of this is an
utter impossibility of classifying the scholars and
enabling the instructor to make the most of his
time. Some parents insist on having the school
books which served former teachers used as long
as they last, and as we all do as we like, this makes
fine confusion, and helps along the master's temper
by thwarting his plans at every turn.

“As is the master, so is the school”—so says
that wisest and kindest of despotic parents, the
Prussian government. This is true, beyond question,
and some of our common schools confirm it
lamentably. If the master cannot speak good
English, how can he be expected to “mend the

cacophony” of the scholars? If he be ignorant of
the first rules of good manners, can we complain of
the grossness of his pupils? If the teacher's handwriting
be but a vulgar scrawl, shall he set copies?
Can one inculcate neatness and good order who is
himself the most odious of slovens?

And on the other hand, what man in his senses
who is capable of earning a decent livelihood—
“who has arms to pare and burn a moss”—will
undertake a most vexatious and thankless task, for
wages inferior to those of a common laborer? Who
but the lame or the lazy can afford to work every
day and all day, and “board round” besides, all
for eight or nine dollars a month?

And what inducement can there be for study or
any effort at improvement on the part of such young
persons as may wish to become teachers, when
they know that it will probably be their fate to be
“examined” by persons totally incompetent, and
that these posts are usually let out, like railway
contracts, to the lowest bidder?

But, say some parents, why should we feel much
solicitude or be at extra costs in engaging a competent
teacher; since he will probably remain with
us only for a single term, while we shall be expected
afterwards to pay at the same rate for the
poorest kind of services?

I must not allow myself to dwell on these points,
since it can do but little service to point out faults
unless we are prepared to suggest improvements.

I would not have said even thus much if it had not
been a subject very near my heart, and one on
which I cannot but think our Western public are
but too apathetic. I may at least claim the merit
of “speaking the truth in love.”

Perhaps if the public money were bestowed in
sums proportioned to the time that a school has
been maintained in the year; the instruction of the
children of the very poor—those who are willing
to acknowledge themselves unable to support even
the small expense required—paid for by the state;
and payment claimed of all others, according to
the number of their children within certain ages, thus
cutting off all question as to deductions in case of
absence; and, withal, a list of books prescribed by
the superintendent of public instruction to all the
schools which are benefited by the public funds,
some of the minor difficulties might be obviated.

But our schools will never be materially improved
until parents learn to set some value on education
for its own sake; to recognize it as the most efficacious
means of extracting the greatest possible
amount of comfort out of narrow circumstances and
an isolated position. And since this enlargement
of views is only to be looked for as the gradual
result of contact with the enlightened, it must
evidently be of slow growth. No desire for improvement
will arise spontaneously until some degree
of knowledge has been acquired. The very
wish implies that the first steps have been taken.

When we have had only a taste of the sweetness of
“book-learning,” we shall no longer content ourselves
with “the three Rs, readin', ritin' and 'rethmetic,”
but view them as only the stepping-stones
to things far more delightful.

I believe I ought to make some apology to the
reader for this heavy patch upon a flimsy web. I
know it does not belong here, and that it will form
one of those skipping-places which teach young
people bad reading-habits. If I can cheat some
of my Western friends into a moment's attention
to a subject so important to us, I shall rejoice, as
did Paddy when he succeeded in passing his light
guinea by hiding it between two coppers.

But I have bespoken thee, O reader! and thou
hast promised me unlimited indulgence; and now,
as I have had my turn, I shall, in acknowledgment
of thy patient attention, treat thee to a story; which,
if not “furiously to the present purpose,” may yet
serve to give thee a new glimpse of the simple and
homely life which we of the woods lead every day.
It is a peep at the condition of an old settler;—a
peep with living eyes too, but “no offence, Hal!
no offence!”