University of Virginia Library

ROSE MAY, THE NEW SCHOOL-MISTRESS.
A REMINISCENCE OF A NAMELESS VILLAGE.

BY F. H. STAUFFER.

The village schoolmaster, in olden times, was as much consulted
as the oracle of Delphi; and though his answers were
as mysteriously and as adroitly chosen as those that issued
from the temple of Apollo, the questioner always rendered
them tangible, or deduced some omen, either for or against
himself. The domine, the parson, and the churchwarden of
our village, as well as those of other villages, were as much
respected and looked up to, as those who composed the famous
Amphictyonic assembly which once guided Greece. They
felt that they were entitled to the homage paid, and were
piqued when the superiority of the “lords of the manor” over
them was attested by the low bows and raised caps, when
they chanced to come down among their tenants.

But the sweetest recollection of my schoolboy-days, is the
introduction of the first female teacher into our village. The
proposal was received with joy by some, and with surprise
and disdain by others. The domine raised his hands from
astonishment and a want of words to express it, and seemed,
at the moment, with his lugubrious visage still further elongated,
a fit applicant as a mute to some undertaker. The
parson burst out into a tirade of invectives, and the churchwarden,
having no ideas of his own, and considering none
necessary in the presence of two such illustrious personages,
in his denunciations of enmity against the new measure,

adopted the invectives of one and the gestures of the other,
thereby still further securing the friendship of both. He considered
it an honor to be factotum to the domine and the
parson, which was exhibited by the proud manner in which
he strutted up the broad church aisle, on Sabbath-days, arrayed
in his drab trowsers, starched dickey, and dark camlet
jerkin.

Public meetings were called in reference to the adoption of
a female teacher, and almost as much commotion was created
as, years before, the first outbreak of war at Lexington had
occasioned. The public mind swayed to and fro like the
waves of the ocean; now on one side, and then, beneath the
desperate recoil, reaching far upon the beach of the other.
The domine's uneasiness soon vanished, for he felt it impossible
for anybody to misplace him in the eyes of the public. A
young man, who appeared as though he had just made his
debut from Bond-street, tried it once, but he signally failed.
He was handsome, secured the good graces of the fair sex,
and was just upon the point of stepping upon the highest pinnacle
of his ambition, when a circumstance occurred that
dashed him to the earth. A farmer's wife lodged complaint
with the chief burgess, and stated that the same identical
young man had been a seed and nick-nack peddler. She
affirmed that he sold her an article which he called the
“famous Glimiskarvie cabbage-seed,” with the precaution
that it was first to be raised in crocks or boxes; and the additional
one, that she should be careful and not stand them upon
the window-sill, as the plants would increase so large and so
rapidly, that they might push out the window! Under such
circumstances, the parishioners could remain no longer unconvinced,
and the new applicant was therefore dismissed.
The domine was elated beyond measure, and did not fail to

make the favorable decision the object of showing off his own
superior self.

But to return. It was concluded to decide the matter by
ballot at the last meeting. The old sticklers for the long-continued
regimen were defeated. Upon the night in question,
some mischievous wag, to the dismay of the sexton, had
stolen the clapper of the town bell, and folks were not reminded
of the appointment. The parson had discovered a huge
rent in his cassock, and during the time his “gude wife”
was engaged in repairing it, the hour of meeting slipped by.
He, like Cæsar, “would rather have been the first man in a
village than the second one in Rome;” and, as he could not
be there in time to become the president of the meeting (and
never debasing himself so much as to play second fiddle to
anybody), he did not go at all. The domine had “to go and
bury his father,” a duty he considered paramount to the subject
in esse. The churchwarden, in his humility, felt he was a
mere cipher, as void and out of place as an incidental clause
divested of its two extent-limiting parentheses. He absented
himself. And the young voters, who ever loved the smiles and
approving nods of the fair sex, and abhorred “cross purposes,”
repaired to the schoolhouse, humming the then popular air of

and the consequence was, that there were more white peas in
the ballot-box than black ones.

Domines of all ages have been noted for their sternness, and
also for occasional exhibitions of puerileness. Seneca, even
while penning his essays on tranquillity of mind, gave evidence
that he did not apply them to himself, by his pettish remark

upon the frequent intrusion into his studio. And Basil, even
while endeavoring to beat his own beautiful homilies into the
brains of thick-headed Ganymedes, revealed perturbating
spirits. The domine was thunderstruck at the decision, and
was as much depressed as he had before been elated at the
downfall of the seed-peddler. He could hardly believe that,
by being weighed in a balance with a “woman,” he had been
found wanting.

What a time there was when the old-fashioned stage-coach,
in which Rose May was expected to arrive, came lumbering
up the old dusty city road! All the folks were on the qui vive.
The little town was alive, and all the ladies seemed to have
chosen that day to do their marketing and shopping; and the
beau-ideal clerks of the village stores were at a loss to what
to attribute the sudden rush. The old gossips and satellites
of Madam Rumor sat under their door-ways, plying their
needles or circulating scandal to the humming of their spinning-wheels.
Ragged urchins threw away their hawkies, and stopped
short in their games of chuck-farthing. The blacksmith
threw off his smutty apron, and laid his sledge across the
anvil; and the joiner let the glue cool that he had been so
long waiting to arrive at the true point for use. The
boot-black, with a grin that revealed his white teeth, and put
a body forcibly in mind of a steel trap, ready set, rubbed
vigorously at a boot, that was far from being a Wellington,
without the hostelry. The barber and his customer, the one
with razor in hand and the other minus one whisker, hurried
to the door.

When the stage drew up at the Red Lion, there crowded
around such an assemblage of bar-room loafers and urchins
as was never chronicled in the annals of any village. The
arms and limbs of some stuck out of their clothing as though,

in their hurry, they had put on that of a younger brother
Then again there were some arrayed in the other extreme,
with coats on that were decidedly overalls. Many were barefooted,
and many had a shoe on one foot badly mated with the
boot on the other. They were noisy and clamorous, and like
the wiseacres whom they copied after, had taken to betting
upon the probable appearance of the expected teacher. When
the driver sprang down from the box and threw open the
stage door, there stepped out a portly gentleman of immense
rotundity, who would have been capable of acting Falstaff
without stuffing. The fat man came puffing and rolling up
the steps, like a hogshead of sugar unloaded from a dray, and
by a series of manœuvres in which he presented himself sideways,
like a corporal's chapeau bras braced sharp up against
the wind, gained admittance into the bar-room. The spectators
stood aghast. The young'uns tumbled over one another
in their efforts to make room for such a moving mountain of
flesh, and the old'uns began to conjecture upon the number
of pounds he would weigh. The driver unharnessed the
horses, watered them with water and himself with brandy,
and took them into the stable and himself into the hotel.
There was a disappointment all round. The crowd scattered:
a few remaining urchins swung upon the tongue of the stage,
or blew several unofficial blasts upon the horn, to the dismay
of the fat man, who had but commenced his set-to at the table.
Several of the older persons lingered by, probably to see what
his bill of fare would be; and the waiter, with a face as white
as his neat pinafore, strode ever and anon into the bar-room
to acquaint the host of the disappearance of a host of victuals
and viands.

But a slight circumstance, and yet the one that had been
the principal object of their look-out, escaped the notice of all.

Nobody expected that the stage could possibly have contained
another person besides the fat man, even if that person had
been a Lilliputian; and during the controversy and distracted
attention, a beautiful young lady, habited in a black silk pelisse,
a festucine dress, and an envious little straw bonnet,
stepped out of the opposite side of the coach.

The latter was the next day again beset, and would have
been for a week to come, had it not got noised abroad that the
new school-mistress had already arrived. When that fact
became fully established, almost everybody had seen her pass
down the street. Discussions and acclamations ran high.
Some said that she was tall; others, short. Some, homely;
some, beautiful. Some that she had on a black mantilla;
others, a green one. Some said her bonnet was straw, and
some that it was silk; some that it was white, some that it
was black, and many that it was neither white nor black, but
an orient pink.

Other improvements followed the entrance of the schoolteacher:
the district-school measure came into operation, and
such a change over the state of affairs, and that so quickly,
that the domine could not help thinking that he must have
been taking a nap for a score of years, like the famous Rip
Van Winkle. The old New England Primer was discarded
for one not a whit better. The English Reader was thrown
aside for somebody's series, that led the pupil up grade by
degrees, while at the same time and with the same ratio, sank
a shaft deep into the pocket of his sponsor. A grammar by
one of the redoubtable Smiths superseded that of Lindley
Murray; and Bonnycastle had to pass the palm for the best
algebra over to Davies.

How beautiful our new teacher appeared when she was
ensconced in the new school-house built after the first levying

of taxes. She was young and joyous, without any of the
dark, disagreeable expressions that made our young hearts
recoil like at the sight of a basilisk. She won our young
hearts by her winning manners, and we would have fought
for her with desperation. No bunches of supple whangers or
birchen rods hung, as in days of yore, over the old arm-chair,
as a terror to all evil-doers and delinquents. No ferule, with
the spoon polished by frequent usage, came in contact with,
or drew blood from our tender palms. No rulers, with a whirring
noise, buried themselves in the plaster of the wall behind
us, or landed with a terrible clatter upon the desk before us,
demolishing our structures of slate-pencils, spools, and pins,
upon the examination of which, the greatest philosophers
would have been at a loss to know whether they were intended
for miniature cabins or instruments by which to tell the brightest
stars in the galaxy. No stentorian voice, that caused the
little urchins on the low front benches to shake in their
trowsers, and the older ones in the background to appear
sober and thoughtful, followed the flight of the missile through
the air, commanding the walking target to bring it up to the
stand. A pleasant look from Rose May was worth a dozen
scowls from the domine, and was more implicitly obeyed. At
first there were several outbreaks while she had her face down
behind the high desk to put the head-lines on the copies. A
bombardment with wet paper balls would be carried on by
different factions, and sometimes a tattered spelling-book,
apple-core, or other contraband missile, in representation of a
“forty-six pounder,” made its advent through the air. Bartering
and pilfering were carried on with a high hand, and
effigies of Don Quixote and his inimitable squire could be
seen dangling by wet “papier mache” from the ceiling. At
such times she would make no remark, but greet us with such
a sad look, that the misgivings at our hearts overbalanced by
far the momentary pleasure we experienced. There was one
stubborn lad among us, Pat Malowny, who declared that he
would succumb to no woman. He had been hard to manage
by the male teachers, and they would have to, after chastising
him, apply lotions and brown salve to sore shins and sundry
bites about their persons. Rose May heard him bragging, and
as she more fully studied his character, she matured plans by
which to conquer him.

A few weeks after Rose May's administration, May-day
arrived. She had promised us a holiday, and we had held
meetings upon the subject prior; in one of which Rose May
stated that there ought to be some one to assist her in keeping
order and piloting the troop to the chosen grounds. The
choice was left to us by vote, and what a glorious time that
voting was! The like had never been heard of before, and
we all watched with increasing delight the developing of every
“new-fangled notion.” Rose May privately instructed us to
vote for Pat Malowny, and he was unanimously elected. The
astonishment depicted upon his features at the announcement
cannot be portrayed. He who, like Howitt's Jack-o'-the-Mill,
could twist himself into a bee-knot, or clamber up the spouting
upon the roofs of the houses and drop bits of brick and plaster
down the chimney into the porridge-pot, to the dismay of the
good folks below; he, a dirty, contemptible Irish boy, whom
nobody loved and everybody despised, to be made and freely
elected assistant chaperon to the party! Why it was astounding,
and he could hardly believe his own senses! Other
bright, thoughtful boys, who loved their teacher, and considered
it the greatest boon to administer to her happiness, and
whom she loved in return; who were ever at their respective
posts, yielding and submissive; who marked their going out

and their coming in with a low, graceful bow, and deposited
regularly every morning during their season, a red-cheeked
apple, bell-pear, or a plump, delicious peach, upon her desk, to
be rejected, and he, a numskull, chosen! He bent his head,
as if the wand of a fairy enchantress had been passed before
his vision. There was, in truth, a fairy hand at work, and the
spell that was rising like incense, emanated from the censer of
kindness; yet the coals of its fire were not heaped upon his
head, but a wooing sweetness interwoven with the whole.
He appeared with a clean and smiling face upon the day in
question, revealing a prepossessing appearance that never before
could be observed beneath the constant coating of dirt.
During the excursion he was as kind and confiding as could
have been wished. He helped those carefully over ditches
whom it once would have been his greatest pleasure, by a
show of accident, to lodge in the centre. Pat Malowny was a
great climber, and he was useful to the party in that point.
There was not a boy for miles around could match him at
that. He would often climb rocks to a height that made
much hardier folks tremble. No bird's-nests were safe from
his depredations, even if they were as high and inaccessible
as a magpie's or a stork's. He would climb trees as straight
and taller than the main-mast of the Pennsylvania line-of-battle
ship, and by holding on with one hand by a wild gooseberry
bush, that had grown out of the black mould where
once had been a bough, search out with the other the hole or
some tomtit or woodpecker. One time, by means of the quoinstones
and spouting, he ascended the old church-tower and
gave a long and additional peal to the bell after it had passed
the hands of the sexton. This trick occasioned more consternation
than the extra peal in the beautiful story of “the
Thirteenth Chime,” and the sexton, who was naturally superstitious,
could not help thinking that the great spirit of Notre
Dame had taken up his quarters in our quiet village kirk. A
crowd gathered, and at last a formidable troop were drummed
up to examine the cause of the strange phenomenon. They
marched slowly and cautiously up the long winding stairs of
the tower. The clapper still rang out several faint and dying
peals, but no living thing was visible. Those below, however,
who had not mustered courage enough to join in the ascent,
beheld, first the curly head and then the breech of Pat Malowny,
appear through the narrow belfry window, and in a
moment more he was standing at an immense height upon the
brass ball, sustaining himself by one hand at the slender rod
of the spire, and with the other directing the gilded vane in a
direction opposite to which it had pointed prior.

Pat Malowny gathered flowers for the party from the most
inaccessible rocks, and fashioned swings for the girls from the
dangling grape-vines. There was no fighting, no quarrelling;
all went on as by the hand of magic. He evinced judgment
and foresight plausible, and those who voted for him from
compulsion or request, were surprised, and attended to his
mildly-uttered commands with joy and alacrity. Bright-eyed
girls smiled sweetly upon him, and the beaming glances which
they cast upon him revealed that they saw traits and beauty
that they did not know he possessed, and amply repaid him
for his trouble. From that day Pat Malowny was an altered
boy. Those that said he would be an hostler at some inn,
were surprised to find him, years after, a great and eminent
lawyer and statesman, and those who prophesied that he
would stretch a hempen cord, found him, finally, a judge of
the Supreme Court. He was killed by kindness, and in this
fact there lies a moral; but I will not dissert upon it, for
words are more indelibly impressed when they are drawn out

by the thoughtful themselves. No school ever prospered
greater, and parents were astonished at the wisdom exhibited
by their protegés. There was no skulking about in the morning,
or time wasted by doing “chores,” that run the school
hours on to noon and made it useless then to go. No. We
were all up betimes, and sped to our places in a straight line
like the bee, and not in the devious course of the butterfly.
We went with the song of the lark on our lips, and not the
wail of the whippoorwill. There was an attraction at school
that was irresistible. We were not doing penance then! no
indeed! the hours flitted by too fast for that! Prizes, premiums,
spelling on sides, and themes for thought and action
without number, were brought into play by the new school-mistress.
She was joyous and happy, and the same feeling
was by proximity instilled into us. Her Christian name was
short and quaint, yet still had one letter more than our first
female parent, Eve. Her whole name was a beautiful couplet,
designating her beauty and character, and there was something
fluttering like an imprisoned dove in the bosoms of the young
men of the village when they were happy enough to secure a
smile from her, or a momentary glance from her dark bewitching
eyes. The statue of Memnon sang when the morning
sun first stooped to kiss it, but Rose May sang whether it
rose or set. She was as happy in shade as in sunshine, in
cloudy weather as in clear. No opportunity escaped her by
which she could impart to us knowledge. By almost every
simple plaything we possessed, she revealed to us principles of
some grand law or other that astonished us and made us feel
awed at her superior wisdom. By the sling she explained the
centrifugal and centripetal forces, and which was overpowered
when the stone passed through the air; in our leather suckers,
by which we hoisted large stones, she explained the atmospheric
pressure and delivered to us an agreeable lecture on
pneumatics, and in the bounding of a gum-elastic ball she explained
the angle of incidence and the angle of reflection.
Rose May was the same “rose” in “May” as in December,
and though she bowed her head in humility, like a rose upon
its stem, it was not because the people did not look upon her
with joy and pride. The day of the domine's dynasty was
over. He sighed like the last of the Mohicans, and was incensed
when our voices rang out into the air as we passed by
his domicile. We to laugh! why we had not even dared to
think during his reign, that is, if those thoughts were beyond
his own comprehension. If we could have had the elements
within us that burst out in their fulness from Sir Isaac Newton
or “Cripple Wattie” (Sir Walter Scott), they would not
even have dawned there! We, however, treated our old master
kindly, and with pretty Rose May as our prompter, often
thrust bouquets and small baskets of nuts or fruit under his
window. The villagers ever afterwards paused at the introduction
of a new thing into the village ere they crushed it to
the earth unheard. So much good had been wrought, and
such a lesson taught them, that it was not easily forgotten.
The young voters of the village, who greeted the new mistress
with one voice, did not lose their ardor for improvements as
they advanced in years.

From that nameless little village, like from other little villages,
there arose some bright stars, and not a few of those
who were taught by the domine and then by Rose May,
which seemed like a change from the hot and glaring sun to
the sweet, pale rays of the moon, took their stations among
the leaders of the people. Sublime thought, which is beautiful,
is nursed in the lap of sorrow and indigence, and many of
those who have inscribed their names upon the temple of fame

as far above the reach of aspiring followers as that of the
noble George Washington's on the huge bastions of the Natural
Bridge, were born in a rustic village and breathed the free
air of mountain and of valley. In a few years Rose May left
us, and then there were as many crowded around the stage as
at her arrival; but with a different emotion—and that emotion
was not of joy. She was of high birth; her parents were
wealthy, and she had by no means taught school to obtain a
livelihood. Some altercation with a lover whom she adored,
had caused the movement. She afterwards learnt and discovered
beyond a doubt, that she had been in the wrong, and,
determined to make all the reparation in her power, she returned
to her native home. Her discarded lover had endeavored
to drown his grief in wine, and was pressing hard upon
the road to ruin. There was none could save but her, and
she did save. She entered the house to which he so often
bent his steps, and found him with his stiff, neglected beard
pressing the goblet's rim. A veil was drawn closely over her
face, and her absence had improved her beyond recognition
without a glimpse at her features. She put her hand upon his
shoulder and beckoned to him to follow her. He stood astonished.
His own, and the tankards of his companions, were
brought down to the table, not with a shout and a ring, but
slowly and in silence. He appeared as thunderstruck as the
rough-featured Amphimedon when the lovely Penelope discarded
æsculanus, the Roman god of riches, and breathed joy
and hope into his own ears. Rose May's lover followed his
unknown yet angelic guide, and never afterwards did the
filthy air of a bar-room taint his lips. He and Rose May
were married, and with them life seemed without a thorn, and
every month in the year smiling, beautiful, enchanting May.