University of Virginia Library

79. A Philadelphia School-Boy
BY ALEXANDER GRAYDEN (1760-1766)

WHEN I was about eight years of age, it was deemed expedient to enter me at the academy, and I was accordingly introduced by my father to Mr. Kinnesley, the teacher of English and professor of oratory. The task of the younger boys, at least, consisted in learning to read and to write their mother tongue grammatically; and one day in the week, I think Friday, was set apart for the recitation of select passages in poetry and prose.

For this purpose, each scholar, in his turn, ascended the stage, and said his speech, as the phrase was. This speech was carefully taught him by his master, both with respect to its pronunciation, and the action deemed suitable to its several parts. More profit attended my reading. After Æsop's fables, and an abridgement of the Roman history, Telemachus was put into our hands;[251] and if it be admitted

that the human heart may be bettered by instruction, mine, I may aver, was benefited by this work of the virtuous Fenelon.

A few days after I had been put under the care of Mr. Kinnersley, I was told by my class mates, that it was necessary for me to fight a battle with some one, in order to establish my claim to the honor of being an academy boy. I found that the place of battle was fixed, and that a certain John Appowen, a lad who was better set and older than myself, though not quite so tall, was pitted against me. A combat immediately began between Appowen and myself, which for some time was maintained on each side with equal vigor and determination, when unluckily, I received his fist directly in my gullet. The blow for a time depriving me of breath and the power of resistance, the victory was declared for my adversary, though not without the acknowledgment of the party, that I had at least behaved well, and shown myself not unworthy of the name of an academy boy.

I have said that I was about to enter the Latin School. The person whose pupil I was consequently to become, was Mr. John Beveridge, a native of Scotland, who retained the smack of his mother tongue in its primitive purity. His acquaintance with the language which he taught, was, I believe, justly deemed to be very accurate and profound. But as to his other acquirements, after excepting the game of backgammon, in which he was said to excel, truth will not warrant me in saying a great deal. He was, however, diligent and laborious in his attention to his school; and if he had possessed the faculty of making himself beloved by the scholars, and of exciting

their emulation and exertion, nothing would have been wanting in him to an entire qualification for his office. But unfortunately, he had no dignity of character, and was no less destitute of the art of making himself respected than beloved. Though not perhaps intolerably severe, he made a pretty free use of the rattan and the ferule, but to very little purpose.

As my evil star would have it, I was thoroughly tired of books and confinement, and my mother's advice and even entreaties were overruled by my extreme repugnance to a longer continuance in the school. So, to my lasting regret, I bid it adieu when a little turned of fourteen, at the very season when the minds of the studious begin to profit by instruction. We were at this time reading Horace and Cicero, having passed through Ovid, Virgil, Cæsar, and Sallust.[252]