University of Virginia Library

2. CHAPTER II.

The accidental call of the travellers at the house of the
farmer, as narrated in our opening chapter, formed an era in
the life of Locke Amsden. By that call, new thoughts
had been suggested to his mind — new feelings and hopes
awakened in his bosom; and, as the slumbering energies of
his intellectual and moral nature became thus aroused, young
ambition began to point him upward to the temple of science,
over whose distanced-hallowed pinnacles floated the mystic
banner of fame. At first, every word of the revered stranger
was recalled, every position revolved over and over in mind,
and every argument carefully weighed; and the result of the
process was faith and conviction. Then came the inspiriting
words of the beautiful little being, who, in angel shape, had
thus appeared in his path to incite him onward; and, “I
would be a scholar, Locke,” continued to ring in his ears.
“Ay, and I will be a scholar!” he at length mentally ejaculated;
“and then I will go where she lives, and she shall
know that I have worthily done her bidding, and justified
the good opinion of her father. But where does she live? —
yes, where?” For he now recollected, that he had not
learned from her, or her father, the place of their residence;
and, under the proud and joyous impulse which his reverie
had imparted, he flew to his parents with the inquiry. But
neither of them could answer it. They had not ascertained
even the family name of their visiters. Mr. Amsden had

thought of asking the man these particulars; but, it occurring
to him that his wife would naturally find them out from the
little girl, he desisted. And this Mrs. Amsden had intended
to do; but her attention was so much engrossed in the cares
of preparing the dinner, that she had neglected it, till the
return of the gentleman into the house deprived her of the
opportunity of doing so, without appearing obtrusive. The
Christian name of the girl, therefore, with the fact, that she
and her father came from a place some fifty miles to the
south, and were destined to another nearly as far to the
north, was all that had been ascertained concerning them,
other than what their personal appearance indicated. But,
although our young hero was thus left in ignorance of the
names, residence, character, and calling of his new friends,
and for many years was doomed to remain so, yet the event
of their visit was not the less destined to exercise an important
influence on his future life and fortunes. It seemed to be,
indeed, one of those trifling incidents which so often seem to
change the fate of individuals, and impart an enduring impulse
towards a destiny to which, in all human probability,
they otherwise would never have been called. Such an
impulse had been imparted, in the present instance, by the
mere call of two entire strangers; and that simple incident
would probably have been sufficient of itself, had no other
grown out of it, to give a new and continuing direction to
the energies of him on whom it so peculiarly operated. But
there yet remained to be added another occurrence arising
from the circumstances of the first, which was directly calculated
to strengthen every impulse already received, and every
resolution formed under it.

About a month from the time the incidents we have been
sketching transpired, a strong board box, directed to Master
Locke Amsden, was left at the door by a teamster; who, saying
he had received it from another teamster, with directions to

leave it at this place, went on his way, without giving any
further information respecting it, or those who sent it.

Wondering what might be the contents of the box, the
receipt of which was so unexpected to him, though partly
anticipating the source from which it must have come, Locke
flew for his hammer, and knocked off the cover; when, to
his joyful surprise, he found the box filled with books, upon
the top of which lay a neatly folded and superscribed little
billet, directed to himself. Eagerly snatching up the paper,
he opened it, and read, in the finely-traced characters of an
unsettled female hand, the laconic contents:—

“A lot of old, musty volumes, in return for your nice
little present. Father has picked them out from his old
college books, and given them to me to send to you, saying
you would like them. If you think, as he says, about them,
I shall be pleased to have you accept them from

With a low shout of irrepressible joy, he now hastily
caught up his treasure, rushed into the house, and, calling on
his mother to come and witness his good fortune, fell to
unpacking the books, greedily running over the title-pages
of each, as, with many a half-suppressed exclamation of
pleasure, he successively took out the different volumes,
which, to the number of eight or ten, the box contained, and
spread them around him on the floor. The collection consisted
of a complete set of mathematics, from common
arithmetic to fluxions; a standard work on natural philosophy;
another on astronomy; together with separate treatises
upon geology, mineralogy, and chemistry; while the whole
was accompanied by a good set of mathematical instruments.

From what we have already shown the reader of the

character and inclinations of Locke, it may be easily imagined
with what rapture he doted on this munificent and
appropriate present, not only from its intrinsic value, and
the untold advantages which he was to reap from it, but for
the fair giver, and her prompting father, by whom it had
been so delicately and flatteringly bestowed, — with what
pleasure he looked forward to the time when he should be
allowed to devote himself wholly to the great, but coveted
task, which, in these books, he now saw set before him. By
most others, perhaps, the course of mathematics here presented,
had been viewed only as a labor of almost endless
toil and difficulty. He, however, looked upon it but as a
labor of delight, so much the better for its promised length,
since that would add so much the more to the fund of his
happiness. For the first week, his leisure was given to
looking over the subject matter on which the volumes of his
prized little library severally treated, and arranging the
order, in which his own good sense and discrimination
rightly taught him they should be studied. Having settled
this, and accordingly determined to make mathematics his
first study, while he should proceed with geology and the
like as his light reading, he began with algebra, assiduously,
and with his usual systematic perseverance, devoting to it
every hour he could snatch from his customary employments
on the farm. And thus, making what progress he could, in
the brief intervals allowed him for the purpose, and leaving
all knotty points to be thought over and solved while at work
in the field, he alone, unassisted and unprompted, steadily
pursued the course he had marked out for himself, neither
seeking nor asking any other recreation or pleasure than
what his studies afforded. But, although this course was a
source of constant pleasure to Locke, not so did it soon
become to his honest but simple-minded father, who, rightly
enough attributing his son's growing inadvertencies in business
to these books, often wished, in his heart, the whole
collection at the bottom of the sea. And these inadvertencies,
which so naturally grew out of the course he was pursuing,
were, it must be confessed, not unfrequently of a character
to cause vexation to a business man of a less petulant turn
than Mr. Amsden. For, if the latter had reason to complain
of his son in this respect before, he had much more cause
for doing so now; since, with the greatest willingness and
undoubted capacities for work, the boy too often effected but
little, and as often did that little wrong. In those kinds of
labor, to be sure, where he could induce his father to task him,
he would apply every energy of body and mind, till his task
was completed, which was generally by noon; when, for the
remainder of the day, he might be seen lying on the grass,
under some shady tree, with his book and instruments spread
before him. But in work which would not admit of this, the
problems that he took with him in his head into the field,
often led to singular oversights in the business about which
his hands were employed. If he was sent on an errand to
some other part of the farm, he would sometimes wholly
forget what he went for. Sometimes he would leave the
bars down, the cows unmilked, or the hogs unfed; and sometimes,
when hoeing alone in the cornfield, and when some
mathematical question occurred to his mind which he wished
to solve, he would stop work, and making a smooth bed of
earth to serve for slate or paper, fall to figuring or making
diagrams with his finger in the place he had thus prepared,
and think no more of his hoeing, perhaps, till roused from
his study by the loud note of the tin house-trumpet summoning
him home to his mid-day or evening meal. All
these, as innocently done as they were, cost him, as may well
be supposed, many a scolding and fretful expostulation from
his impatient and driving father, who, as the season of out-door
labor drew to a close, expressed himself heartily
thankful that the time for beginning the winter school had
at length come, that Locke's body might now go where his
head and heart had been all summer. On the last point, at
least, the father and son were quite of the same mind. And,
accordingly, the latter, as the long wished-for period when
he could be allowed to give himself wholly to his studies
arrived, joyfully packed up his books, and changed the scene
of his mental operations from the farm to the school-house.
But here again it was his fortune soon to become, though not
exactly in the same way as before, the unintentional cause of
much uneasiness and perplexity to another personage. That
other personage was the schoolmaster, who — his acquirements,
as usual with the mass of our district-school teachers,
being confined to common arithmetic, grammar, and the like,
without the ability to illustrate one half of the principles even of these—viewed with considerable alarm, at the outset,
the formidable-looking books which Locke had brought into
the school with the avowed intention of pursuing the studies
they contained. And he made several attempts to draw the
other from his purpose. Common arithmetic, said he, should
first be thoroughly studied, and all the sums worked over
and over, till they were as familiar as the alphabet. Locke,
in reply, said he should like to have a sum pointed out to
him in any of the arithmetics which he could not already do;
though, if the master would illustrate to him the rules of
allegation and double position, he would like to listen, as he
did not quite understand all the reasons for the results of
these two rules. Not caring to push the matter any farther
on that tack, the teacher next recommended geography as a
useful and interesting study. In answer to this, Locke proposed
to submit himself to an examination; being able, as he
believed, to answer every ordinary question that could be
raised, either on the maps or in the text-book. The master
then mentioned English grammar, advising the other again
to commit the grammar book to memory. Here, also, he
was met by the obdurate pupil, who, though willing to join
the parsing class at their lessons, objected to spending any
more time upon his grammar book; and, by the way of
furnishing a reason for his objections, he immediately brought
forward the book in question, and, handing it to the former,
kept him reluctantly looking over till the whole was rattled
off at one recitation.

Being foiled in these and every other attempt of the kind,
the master concluded to let Locke go on in his chosen pursuits
unmolested; and right thankful would he have been for a
reciprocation of the favor. This, however, as with reason
he had feared, was not granted him by the unconscious
object of his dread, who soon called on him for explanations
of problems or principles, of which he knew about as much
as the man in the moon; but of which he had unwisely
determined to conceal his ignorance, lest it should be said in
the district, that there were scholars in the school who knew
more than their master. And having settled on this course,
no other alternative now remained for him, but to meet these
calls for instruction in the best way he could. And it would
have been amusing enough to a spectator, in the secret, to
have witnessed the various shifts to which the poor fellow
was driven, to get along with his troublesome pupil, without
exposing the ignorance which he was so anxious to conceal.
At one time, when thus called on for instruction, he would
pretend such a hurry, that he could not attend to the
required explanation; at another, when apparently he was
about to comply with the request of his pupil, he would
suddenly discover some delinquency in the school, which he
must immediately attend to, and which would be made to
occupy his attention so long, that he would have barely time
to hurry through the ordinary duties of school, before the
established hour of closing. At another time, he would take

the book, look over the difficult passage, and, handing it back
to Locke with a knowing smile, advise him to try it again;
he would soon see the only difficulty, and it would be better
for him to discover it for himself. And at yet another, when
hard pressed for assistance, he would read the problem in
question several times, and after glancing at the context till
he had got the run of the technical terms, proceed with a
pretended explanation, for which neither himself, pupil, or
any one else, could ever be any the wiser. From this
unpleasant predicament, however, the thus sadly annoyed
teacher was at length happily relieved. For Locke, finding
himself unable to make any thing out of the man, even when
he was successful enough to get him to look at his studies,
came, after a while, to the conclusion to let him entirely
alone, and depend only on himself for mastering the difficulties
which he met in his progress. And, with his excellent
self-formed habits of thought — that of patient investigation,
and of thoroughly understanding every thing, as, step by
step, he carefully advanced — he found but little trouble in
overcoming every obstacle that presented itself in his course
onward. And if ever, as was rarely the case, he was compelled
to pass over a difficulty unexplained, he never lost
sight of it till it was conquered.

There is nothing, perhaps, upon which the growth of
intellect so much depends, as upon habits of thought;
nothing which so clearly constitutes the great distinguishing
difference, in the present, between a strong intellect and
a feeble one; and nothing which so conclusively accounts
for the beginning and constant increase of that difference in
the past, as the opposite habits of thought that have been
contracted in youth, or, at the latest, in the first years of
manhood. A glance at the contrasted methods adopted and
pursued by two individuals of the two different classes of
thinkers to which we have alluded, will show the truth of

this position; and, at the same time, explain the causes of
their respective intellectual conditions. An individual of one
of these classes begins, we will suppose, upon one of the
rudiments of education. Before mastering the first elementary
principle, he leaves, or is suffered to leave it, for the
next. In coming upon this, he has not only to contend with
the difficulties he left unmastered in the former lesson, but
those likewise of the intrinsically worse one of the present.
Both the temptation and excuse are now doubled for sliding
superficially over this also. The third, in this way, is found
still worse, and consequently is still more imperfectly mastered;
and so on, in the particular branch on which he is
engaged, or any other, probably, which he shall undertake to
learn, to the end of the chapter; at which he will arrive little
or none benefited by all that he has acquired. For the
knowledge thus gained is imperfect and uncertain, and
cannot be relied on as data for reasoning, but is constantly
leading to false conclusions. And besides this, he has wholly
failed of gaining one of the great objects of study — mental
discipline. He has contracted the habit of thinking superficially
upon every thing. All his ideas become vague and
confused; and all the operations of his mind, are, consequently,
imbecile and unsafe, producing no fruits, or but the
fruits of error. This intellectual condition, indeed, becomes
one that would seem almost to justify the absurd, and without
considerable qualification, the false assertion of Pope,

Now for an individual of the other class. Like the former,
and with no other advantages, he commences the same rudiments.
But, unlike the former, he is induced to make
himself completely master of the first principle, and familiar
with all its details, before proceeding any farther. This
being accomplished, he thus becomes armed with power to

encounter the next; which, in this way, he finds but little if
any more difficult than the preceding; and which, when
equally well perfected, gives him still additional strength to
grapple with the third. And so he proceeds, or may proceed,
through the whole circle of the sciences, carefully making
his way, step by step, onward; never sliding over a difficulty,
but often retracing his steps to return to the onset with
improved means of overcoming the obstacle in his progress.
In this way, as he advances in the path of acquirement, just
so much certain knowledge he gains, to be stored away in
the chambers of his mind for future appropriation, either to
its direct uses, or to the purposes of induction, comparison,
or other process of reasoning. In this way, also, his mind
acquires method, clearness, and vigor; and he thus becomes
enabled to think correctly and thoroughly, and arrive at safe
conclusions on whatever subject is presented for his investigation.
Now these two individuals will carry the different
habits of thought, thus respectively formed by them, into the
business and various concerns of life; and the results will
there be equally visible, as in the walks of science. The
one never thoroughly investigates any subject. His views,
as before intimated, are all superficial; and his conclusions,
consequently, as often as otherwise, are erroneous, leading
him into false movements in business, if guided by his own
mind, if not reducing him to a miserable dependence on the
opinions of others, by whom he is liable to be equally misled.
The other examines every subject presented for his consideration
patiently, weighs it carefully, sees it in all its bearings
clearly, and thus becomes prepared to decide with confidence
and correctness. The one, in short, seeing only part of the
bearings of the various questions which are constantly arising
in life for his decision, makes bad bargains, or rejects good
ones, rushes into uncertain speculations, lives in continued
embarrassments and troubles, which he calls misfortunes, but
which good habits of thought would have enabled him to
avoid, and ends his career, most probably, in poverty and
insignificance, or in sudden ruin and disgrace. The other,
carrying along with him the means of avoiding the evil,
which is brought upon its victim through the causes we have
just named, and, at the same time, the means of grasping the
good, which, through similar causes, is rejected, goes on
increasing in competence, wisdom, and influence, moving
quietly through life, and leaving, at his death, a useful
example, and an honest fame behind him.

Such are generally the results deducible from good and
bad habits of thought; and yet who will say these habits,
for good or for evil, are not usually formed through the care
or negligence of teachers? Instructors of youth, where
rests the responsibility?

But to return to our young hero. For the remainder of
the winter school, though left, for the best of reasons, by the
master, to work his way unassisted, he pressed forward
steadily and rapidly in his chosen course of mathematics.
And the school having at length been brought to a close,
spring, summer, and autumn again succeeded but to find
him, in every moment of his leisure, employed on his studies
in the same manner, and with the same untiring perseverance,
as in the preceding season. One incident, however, occurred
this season to vary the monotony of his secluded life; while,
at the same time, it became the means of affording him
advantages in his studies, which he never before had been so
fortunate as to receive. That was an accidental acquaintance
he formed with an old, self-taught land-surveyor, who resided
in a different part of the same town; and who, like himself,
was a great lover of that strong, but healthy food of the
mind — the science of numbers and quantities. Locke and
this man, by that sort of intellectual free-masonry which
passes among sympathetic minds, were not long, when the

opportunity occurred, in finding each other out, and forming
a close intimacy. The surveyor, having studied much more
than was immediately necessary for the exercise of his
calling, and dipped considerably deep into principles, was
able to explain to the former many knotty points which he
had been puzzled to resolve, besides showing him the practical
part of surveying, upon which, having gone through
geometry and trigonometry, he had now commenced. Locke,
in return, brought the other his books, which, to the extent
of more than half of them, at least, he had never seen;
and which, being loaned him, he fell to studying with boyish
enthusiasm. No sooner was this singular companionship
thus fairly established, than our boy-hero was found, every
rainy day, and at other times when he had finished his tasks,
during the summer and fall, posting off on foot to commune
and practise with his gray-headed brother in science. And
when met, the two might have been seen intently engaged
in surveying fields, measuring heights and distances, or
patiently plodding on together in navigation, which they
soon jointly commenced.

This pleasing intercourse, however, was at length brought
to a close by the stormy weather and bad travelling which
immediately preceded the setting-in of winter. And Locke,
bidding his old friend farewell, took home his books for the
purpose of resuming his studies in the winter school, for the
beginning of which the time had now arrived. But in this
purpose he was for some time doomed to be disappointed.
For, when the usual time for commencing the school came,
it was found that no teacher had been engaged. The committee,
up to this time, had been waiting for applications for
the school, expecting that their only trouble, as usual, would
be in deciding upon a selection of the various applicants.
But it somehow had unaccountably happened, that not a
single application had been made; and the committee were

now consequently forced to bestir themselves in going out in
search of a teacher. But in this, also, they were without
success; for, though they found candidates for teaching in
plenty, they could find no one, when they named their particular
school, who made not some excuse for not undertaking
to instruct it. This they thought very strange, as their
school had ever been considered a very orderly one. But as
strange and uncommon as the trouble was, they were compelled
to yield to it, and reluctantly give up all thought of
having a school that winter.

Various were the conjectures formed in the district, by
way of accounting for this unexpected failure. Some contended,
that the school, after all, must be so unruly that no
teacher would engage in it; others, that the masters had not
been treated with sufficient attention by the inhabitants of
the district; and yet others, that the schoolmasters had
combined to strike for higher wages, and had come to the
determination not to teach till the punished public should
voluntarily come forward, and offer the secretly-fixed prices.
Among all these, and other sage conjectures of the cause,
however, no one had hit upon the truth. For the true secret
of the misfortune at length leaked out; when the discovery
was made, that Locke Amsden had, in fact, been the innocent
and unconscious cause of the whole of it. He, it appeared,
besides annoying his own teacher with questions too hard for
him, had also been the means of a similar annoyance to
many other teachers of the neighboring districts. He had
been in the habit, the preceding winter, of frequently attending
the evening spelling-schools, which it was customary
for the instructors in that section of the country to appoint
and hold at intervals, through the whole term of their engagements.
And at each of these evening schools, which he
thus went abroad to attend, he was sure to propose to one or
two of the best scholars, for answer, some difficult point in

grammar, some mathematical question of his own originating,
or, as was more generally the case, such as he had
met with in his studies, and was anxious to see explained.
Nearly all these questions, as had been expected, and, indeed,
commonly requested by the mover, were carried for solution
to the master; who, too often, was compelled to resort to
some pitiful evasion to hide his inability to furnish the
required answer. And the same questions, also, besides
being agitated in the schools into which they were first
introduced, were often communicated to other schools, and
thus became a source of trouble to other masters; so that, in
this way, there was scarcely a teacher, anywhere in the
vicinity, who had not experienced the inconvenience of
Locke's scholarship and inquiring disposition; and most of
them, though they prudently kept the fact to themselves,
fairly wished him out of the country, and secretly resolved
never to be caught engaging to instruct any school where he
should be a pupil. It appeared, therefore, that the failure
of the committee, before mentioned, was occasioned, not by
there being bad scholars in the school, but good ones; or
rather one, whose aptitude and acquirements had made him
so much the dread of the schoolmasters, with whom the
country then happened to be favored, as effectually to keep
them out of the district.

The disappointment thus occasioned the district, however,
as vexatious as it was to Locke at the time, was, like many
other disappointments in life, of which we are wont to complain,
destined, in a short time, to prove a blessing, not only
to him, but to the whole school. For, in a few weeks, an
unforessen occurrence brought them an instructor well qualified
for his task. This was a senior collegian, who had
returned to spend his last vacation at his father's residence,
in a neighboring town; and who, on accidentally learning
that the district in question had been unable to supply themselves

with a teacher, from the suspected causes we have
named, was thereby induced to send them word he would
come and instruct their school, if they would give him a
dollar per day and board. To be sure, the very unusual price
demanded by the young man, threatened, for some days, to
prove an insurmountable obstacle to engaging him. The
sum asked, contended the committee, was outrageous, unheard
of, and it was out of all question that they should give it.
But all the larger boys and girls clamored; Locke electioneered
as if life and death hung on the event; and his mother,
whose influence was generally felt in the neighborhood, when
she chose to exert it, went round to see other mothers, who,
being either convinced by her arguments in favor of the
cause she had espoused, or tired of having their noisy children
any longer at home, beset their husbands to beset the
committee; and the result was, that the committee, unable
to stem the current thus brought to bear against them, started
off, and engaged the young gentleman, whose name was
Seaver, at his own price. The next Monday morning, to
the great joy of Locke, he appeared on the ground, and
commenced the duties of his school.

We have said that Mr. Seaver, the instructor now employed,
was well qualified for the task he had undertaken;
and in so saying, we meant much more than what extensive
attainments in science and literature, merely, would necessarily
imply. He possessed science, indeed, to an eminent
degree; but as is too rarely the case, especially with those
fresh from the schools, he possessed it without any of that
learned quackery of technical terms and unusual words,
which is so often made to shut out knowledge from the
common mind as effectually as the monastic walls of the dark
ages. His language, indeed, on whatever subject employed,
though the most abstruse to be found in the books, was as
simple as that of childhood itself; while, at the same time,

he had the happy faculty of putting the minds of all he
addressed, even to the youngest and weakest, at once into
the full possession of his ideas. This, with a good understanding
of human nature, — and of human nature, particularly,
as developed in the philosophy of the young head
and the young heart, to enable him to know how, when,
and where to interest, incite, check, and control, — together
with a temperament of his own, and a general discrimination
to insure a judicious application of his other faculties, combined
to make him that invaluable acquisition to society — a
good schoolmaster; one who, if adequately rewarded, would
do his part in throwing the full light of science, within
the gliding years of half a generation, over the mind of a
nation.

The instruction of a teacher of the character we have
just described, was a new thing to Locke Amsden. And it
is needless for us to say, perhaps, how the advantages thus
furnished him were improved. The first week he spent in
looking up, and obtaining from his teacher, explanations
and illustrations of all the knotty points which he had left
unmastered in his course of mathematics. When all these
were clearly understood and familiarized to his mind, he
commenced, in good earnest, his onward progress. Day and
night, almost unceasingly, applying every energy of his
mind, he soon finished what remained yet to be studied of
the ordinary course of mathematics, and thence passed on
into and through physics, or natural philosophy, astronomy,
and even a considerable portion of fluxions, with a rapidity
and comprehension of what he passed over, which perfectly
astonished his instructor; who, unwilling to check him in a
career where he was accomplishing so much which was
important, and which is so often neglected after the pupil is
put upon more seductive studies, had thus far suffered him
to bestow nearly his undivided attention to the branches we

have enumerated. But as the school drew to a close, that
instructor began to direct the attention of his favorite scholar
to studies which had never, or not so particularly, occupied
his mind. After a course of delicate questioning, calculated,
with one of his turn, to make him keenly feel his own
ignorance, and, at the same time, to furnish incentives to
action, the former opened to the wondering and longing view
of the latter the necessity and advantage of exploring other
departments in the wide field of learning. And, fired with
new zeal at the prospect, our young aspirant, as he was thus
made to see before him
now became doubly ambitious to mount their glittering
steeps. But the close of the school, which was now at hand,
precluded all opportunity, for the present at least, of entering
upon this glorious field of exertion; and, with peculiar regret
and sorrow, he was compelled to bid adieu to his beloved
instructor, relinquish study, and return to the labors of the
farm.

After the termination of this school, Locke found himself
in a different situation from what he had ever been in before,
at least, since he had begun the work of self-education. The
books which had been presented him by the kind strangers —
around whose fondly-remembered images, fancy, as he grew
older, was daily throwing a more romantic interest — had all
been studied, and their contents mastered; and, as he was
unable to procure others upon those branches which he next
wished to peruse, he now found himself without any food
for his hungering mind, or at least such as would satisfy a
mind like his, whose desires, instead of being appeased, were
now tenfold increased. And from this state of unsatisfied
longings, without employment for his mental energies in the
present, and without hope to encourage him to look forward

with certainty to any period when his inclinations could be
gratified in the future, fancy began to obtrude her illusive
creations into those chambers of thought which before had
been devoted to the operations of reason. He became
absent, moody, and despondent, and was fast falling a prey to
a morbid imagination — a malady than which, for strong and
sensitive minds, nothing scarcely is more to be dreaded; for
In vain did his father attempt to rouse him from his almost
continual reverie — in vain attempt to repress those secret
desires which he well knew to be the leading cause of his
abstraction, and awaken an interest for business. But he
little understood the nature of the mind he attempted to
control; for as well may we attempt to chain the lightnings
of heaven, as the soul really thirsting after knowledge. Such
a mind may be thwarted, chilled, ruined; but it can never be
so far restrained as to be moulded to other purposes, at least
till opportunity be allowed for its ruling desires to become,
in some good degree, sated. The father, wholly failing, at
length gave up the attempt in vexation and despair; but
another, who better understood the nature of the mind thus
diseased, and the only remedies which could effect its cure,
now undertook the task, and was successful.

One evening, as Locke sat alone in an open window,
vacantly, and in moody thoughtfulness, gazing out at the
rising moon, or the stars that were fading in her over-powering
beams, his mother gently approached, and took a
seat by his side.

“Locke,” said she, in kind and gentle tones, after sitting a
moment without appearing to attract the attention of the

other, “Locke, your father complains that you are unusually
inattentive to business, this summer.”

“Complains? Well, he is always complaining of me — I
can do nothing right; but brother Benjamin — he can do
nothing wrong.”

“It is possible, indeed, that you may sometimes get more
censure than you should, and your brother more praise than
he deserves, in the contrast which one of your father's turn
would naturally draw between you. But still, Locke, I fear
you have given too much cause for these complaints. I have
myself often noted your neglect and heedlessness; and I
now put it to your own conscience, my son, whether such a
course is right, — is justifiable, in you?”

“Perhaps I may sometimes do wrong, in these respects,
though it is not because I am unwilling to work — to do
right. But you know how anxious I am to study, and may
be, I think too much about that, to be as quick and ready as
some. Still, I cannot help it; I have almost every thing
yet to learn, and I must know, O mother, I must know!”

“I see, Locke, that your whole heart is set on being a
great scholar. But scholarship alone, my son, will never
make you truly great or happy. It is not the one thing
needful; it brings not the pearl of great price. It may,
indeed, bring you, as I once read in the works of some poet,

“I have often heard you speak of religion, mother, and I
have never denied its importance; but I have never before
heard you speak in this manner of learning. You surely do
not hold it so lightly as one might think from what you have
just said, do you?”

“I hold it lightly only, my son, when compared with the
things of heaven. It would be my highest ambition to see
you, as you enter life, a religious and an educated man.”

“Why, then, mother, are you not willing I should be
allowed an opportunity to obtain an education?”

“I am, Locke — I am willing — even desirous; but such
an education as I fear our means would be sufficient to afford
you, would not, I suppose, satisfy you. And yet, seeing
how much your mind is set upon it, I have lately been
thinking, that something might, and perhaps should now, be
done for you. If a year to a good academy would serve
your purpose —”

“A whole year, mother!”

“Yes.”

“Oh! if I could go a whole year! But father would
never consent to it.”

“Judge not too hastily, Locke; perhaps he will consent
to it. Your brother has grown to a lusty and active boy,
and you might now be much better spared; that is, after the
present work-season is over. And that is as soon as I shall
be able to fit you out with the necessary clothing. But
suppose, Locke, I should try to intercede with your father
for you, would you take hold of business as you ought, till
after harvesting?”

“I would try, mother; and if you will bring father to the
promise, I think — indeed, I know — that neither he or you
shall have reason to complain of me any more.”

“Well, then, my son, go to your rest now, and get up in
the morning with a cheerful look, and go to your business
like a man with his senses about him; and, within a few days,
we will see what can be done.”

Locke did as his mother had advised; and, two days afterwards,
his father made the glad announcement of the permission

which his mother had encouraged him to hope would be
granted him.

From that day, Locke was a new creature. As happy as
the lark, with which he rose in the morning, he cheerfully
and diligently toiled through the day; giving his undivided
attention to any and every kind of work upon which he was
requested to engage. So complete a revolution in the business
character of his son was the cause of much wonder to
Mr. Amsden, who had predicted, that the permission he had
given him to go abroad to school in the fall, instead of
diminishing, would so increase the faults of which he complained,
as entirely to spoil him for business; little dreaming,
that his own conduct, in trying to repress his son's over-powering
inclinations for study, had more than all else
contributed to bring him into that state of mental abstraction
and despondency, from which, through his mother's influence,
he had been so timely rescued, by the only means,
probably, that could ever have proved availing.

In this manner passed away the summer season; and the
happy period, which was to reward Locke for his toils, at
length approached. As the time drew near, Mr. Amsden,
although his strict regard for his word forbade all thought of
breaking his promise to his son, began, nevertheless, to feel
a great reluctance at parting with him. And when he
thought of the efficient help which the boy had rendered him
through most of the season, at which he had been both gratified
and profited, he could not forbear, by various favorable
offers, to try to tempt the other to remain. It was, however,
all in vain; for Locke, steady to his unalterable purpose,
would listen to nothing short of the promised year's opportunity
for study. And when the day fixed for his departure
arrived, he packed up his books and scanty wardrobe, and,
bidding the family adieu, set out on foot, with a light heart,

for the village where the academy at which he proposed to
pursue his studies was located. A little more than a day's
walk brought him to his destination, when, to his great joy,
he found the institution under the charge of his old teacher,
Seaver, who, a month or two previous, at the close of his
collegiate career, had been engaged as a permanent preceptor.

It is not our purpose to follow our hero in his course of
studies through the year that now succeeded. Suffice it to
say, that, by the advice of his preceptor, he devoted his time
chiefly to the acquisition of the Latin and Greek languages,
reserving, however, certain hours of the day, and such times
as others generally spent in recreations, to the study of his
own language, and such of the higher branches of English
education as he had never had an opportunity of acquiring.
Having, in his previous course of self-education, been accustomed
to depend almost wholly on his own energies for the
successful prosecution of his studies, he relaxed nothing from
his mental habits here; and the result was, as it will ever be
with those who do the like, that although he consulted his
teacher, perhaps, less than any one in school, he yet out-stripped
them all in the rapidity of his progress. And as he
was about to leave the institution, at the end of the year, he
had the satisfaction of receiving from his venerated instructor
the flattering encomium, that he had never known so great
an amount of knowledge acquired by any individual in so
short a period.

After the close of his year at the academy, young Amsden,
who had now shot up into the usual proportions of manhood,
returned to his father's with the intention of commencing a
vocation to which he had long looked forward with pleasing
solicitude — that of imparting to others the knowledge which
had afforded him so much happiness in acquiring: For,

from his childhood upward, he had heard no one employment
so much lauded for honor and usefulness, as that of an
instructor of youth; he had seen the same idea reiterated
by the most celebrated of authors; and he had not yet learned,
that the world too often applaud most what their practice
shows they hold in the least estimation.