 | CHAPTER VI. Locke Amsden, The schoolmaster |  |
6. CHAPTER VI.
A man of letters, manners, morals, parts;
Unpatronized, and therefore little known;
Wise for himself and his few friends alone.”
Cowper.
Having fulfilled his engagement in the Horn-of-the-Moon,
and bid a regretful adieu to the many friends he had there
made, among the stanchest of whom was the straight-going
and strong-minded Bunker, young Amsden returned to his
family, with the intention of negociating, on some terms, with
his father, for his time, during the remainder of his minority,
that he might resume his studies. On naming the subject to
his parents, his father gave him the choice of serving out his
time, and receiving in return a portion of the homestead or
a new lot of land when he should become of age, or of going
now with nothing. Locke thanked him for the option, and
instantly decided to depart. His decision, however, was not
grounded on any dislike to an agricultural life; for, on the
contrary, he ever thought highly of that healthful and noble
avocation, which so early received the signal sanction of
Heaven. And ever since that charmed hour in which he
listened to the glowing picture of the life of the scientific
farmer, drawn by the stranger gentleman, whose visit, with
that of his bright-eyed daughter, was still secretly cherished
in remembrance, as an event which first fairly apprised him
he had a mind to be expanded, and a heart to be affected, he
had determined eventually to return to that life. But he
must first have knowledge, more knowledge, a little more
divert him from his purpose. To gain this, he had, as we
have just mentioned, freely relinquished, for aught he knew,
his whole birthright; and so, with as little hesitation, would
he have done, had its value been tenfold greater than it was,
even had he been compelled to go forth as penniless as the
beggar of the streets. He was not finally permitted, however,
to depart wholly unprovided. His good mother, who
had heard him reject the offers of his father, and dropped a
silent tear, — drawn forth, not at witnessing the sacrifice, but
the self-sacrificing and noble motive which had prompted it, —
again exerted her influence in his behalf, and not altogether
in vain. On the morning of his departure, he was furnished
with an outfit, which, with the limited amount of his winter's
wages, was sufficient to ensure his support for another year,
in his favorite pursuits. And with this little fund, and a light
heart, he was soon on his way to the public seminary he had
quitted the fall previous. On reaching his destination, he
was cordially received by his old friend Seaver, who still
remained the successful head of the institution, to which
he was proud to welcome one whom, the year before, he had
esteemed its brightest ornament.
Hitherto, our hero had entertained no thought of entering
any higher institution of learning, than the one at which he
had been pursuing his studies. But, although he cared
nothing for the honors of a college diploma, he yet was certainly
ambitious to be deserving of one. And, having long
since informed himself of the course of studies required to
complete a collegiate education, he had, during the latter part
of the preceding year, secretly directed his own studies with
a view of eventually mastering, in their order, all those sciences
embraced in the course thus required. In pursuing
this object, he soon discovered how much his labors would be
shortened by the unusual extent of his acquirements in mathematics,
them, composed nearly half of the course in question. Feeling
conscious that, with the proficiency he had already made,
it would require but very little exertion to make him master
of the branches last mentioned, he had devoted his time and
energies almost wholly to the acquisition of the dead languages.
And such had been his progress, that he now soon
found himself rapidly passing over the studies of the second
year of the prescribed course. For all this, however, he had
thus far, as before stated, formed no design of transferring
the scene of his labors to a college. But Seaver, who felt a
pride in the thought of furnishing the institution of which
he was a graduate, with a scholar of Locke's excellence, and
believing, moreover, that he should be promoting the best interests
of the latter, now began to beset him to make up his
mind to leave the academy and enter college, by joining, if
he preferred, such of the upper classes as his qualifications
should be found to warrant.
“Have you yet concluded,” said the friendly preceptor,
coming to repeat his advice one day, some two or three
months from his pupil's return to the academy, — “have you
yet concluded, Mr. Amsden, to follow my suggestions with
regard to entering college?”
“No,” replied Locke, “my means are too limited; and
were it otherwise, your academy furnishes me with all the
advantages which I at present desire, and more than I can
fully improve. Great advantages do not always make great
scholars.”
“True, too true,” rejoined Seaver; “but yet you, probably,
as do many others, greatly misapprehend the character
of the peculiar advantages of a college education. The sciences,
indeed, may be equally well acquired elsewhere—even
more rapidly and perfectly, sometimes, perhaps, as may be
seen in the case of yourself, who, uninterrupted by the multiplicity
in these institutions, have swept on, till you are already master
of more science, I doubt not, than many of those who
pass from the walls of college with diplomas in their pockets.
And still you have not had the opportunity of profiting by
the advantages I have named.”
“In what do these distinguishing advantages consist, let
me ask?”
“In this: — In the first place, you soon learn, in your intercourse
and collision with so many intellects of all grades
and of all degrees of erudition, the exact measure of your own
mind — its weakness and its strength. This, in the walks of
life, must always be of incalculable advantage: it will teach
one what his self-esteem had before entirely concealed from
him — the certainty of a failure in many an aim which the
same blinding principle would have otherwise led him to attempt.
And it will teach another that he possesses capabilities
of which he was, perhaps, before wholly unconscious,
and thus lead him successfully to essay some noble goal, to
which, but for that, he would never have aspired or attained.
And, in the second place, among this congregation of talent,
consisting of the many hundreds of the votaries of learning,
with whom you will be constantly associated, you will hear,
during your collegiate career, almost every possible subject,
pertaining not only to science, but all else that has ever
exercised the thoughts of men, discussed — discussed with
all the lights that can be thrown upon it, and settled, as far
as may be, by reference to professors, or other good authorities;
so that you will be thus enabled to enter the mingled
world of men, who are too bustling and busy to think much
themselves, or allow others much time to do so, with a ready
store of sifted knowledge, which he who has acquired his
education in comparative solitude will rarely ever obtain.
And there is yet another consideration which will be important,
teacher. You will receive a diploma of the graduate's degree,
which perhaps may be indispensable in obtaining the
preceptorship of an academy — or, at least, so eligible a
one as your merits should command.”
“Ay; but I propose to become a teacher of common
schools — ”
“Till you can do better — is it not so, my friend?”
“No, Mr. Seaver, no. Both experience and observation
have shown me the sadly defective condition of our common
schools — those first nurseries of science, upon the management
of which, as it appears to me, almost all that we prize
depends. They must not only foster and bring forward all
the germs that are transplanted into our higher institutions
of learning, which will flourish or decline according to the
numbers and quality of the supply thus furnished; but they
are the radiating points of intelligence to the great mass of
the community, that will become enlightened in proportion
as the light emitted from these points is strong or feeble.
But how can either of the two great objects I have named
be expected from schools conducted, as most of our common
schools now are, by those who need the very instruction they
are employed to impart to others? Men do not thus manage
the objects of their care in the physical world. There the
greatest skill and attention are always bestowed on the youngest
plant, till it is nursed, moulded, and brought forward into
a shape and condition in which it will push up rightly of itself,
or require less skilful hands to attend it. And yet the
parallel between the young plant and the young mind is in
every body's mouth! My own wants and troubles in obtaining
good instruction, when a boy, have led me to think much,
and feel deeply on this subject. And I have long since resolved
that my feeble powers, as far as they may go, shall be
contributed to the object of remedying the existing evil; for
sure they are the most needed.”
“There is much force in your remarks, Mr. Amsden. The
condition of our common schools is indeed deplorable. And
the people of this country appear to be strangely blind on
the subject. They either do not see it in the just light in
which you have placed it, or they expect what they will never
see — men qualified for the task engaging as teachers of common
schools, for wages which will not pay the interest of the
money and time — estimated at its worth in money — spent
by them in obtaining their qualifications. But why should
you, who are poor, be the first to make the sacrifice, which
you must make, if you engage in this employment?”
“And why should I not? I am satisfied that examples of
the kind must be set, and sacrifices be made, before the eyes
of the community will be opened to the difference between
what now is done, and what may be done, with our common
schools. And why, I repeat, should not I be the first to go
forward? The pecuniary sacrifice which I may be compelled
to make, will, with my present feelings, cause no abridgment
of my happiness; and I shall rest content with the
pleasure of my employment, and the consciousness of doing
good for my reward.”
“The purpose is indeed a high and noble one, Mr. Amsden;
and my conscience will not permit me to say another
word in dissuasion. But, allowing that you persist in your
determination, does that — to return to the point from which
we started — does that circumstance furnish any answer to
the main part of the argument I have advanced as the
ground on which I advised you to change the present scene
of your studies to that of a college?”
“Perhaps not. Your views, Mr. Seaver, were certainly
new to me; and they have had sufficient weight on my mind
to determine me to reconsider the matter in question. But
possible that your arguments, as far as opinion is concerned,
may prevail.”
And the arguments of Seaver did prevail. The objected
want of pecuniary means having been obviated by the
proffered assistance of the generous and high-minded friend
who had induced him to take the step, — Amsden, after a few
days spent in preparation, and in writing to apprise his friends
of his change of purpose, set out for the college to which he
had been recommended by his preceptor, and for which his
course of studies more particularly fitted him. Reaching the
institution, after little more than a day's journey, he immediately
presented himself for examination; when, having been
found amply qualified, he was permitted to unite himself with
the Sophomores, at a time when they had been nearly two
years in college. And, within a fortnight from the time of
the conversation above detailed, he might have been found
within the classic walls of his newly adopted Alma Mater,
burning, in his eager pursuit of knowledge, the midnight oil,
where
His chamber shed its lonely beam,
Was widely spread the varied lore
Which feeds, in youth, our feverish dream.”
But alike vain and thankless would be the attempt to
interest the general reader in a description of the seemingly
dull and unvaried routine of a life of study. The student's
world is all within his own mind. There he finds enough to
engage, enough to interest him. Others, however, think not
of this, nor take note of the treasures he is silently hoarding
up for the rich and glorious appropriation of the future.
They can see nothing to admire in his listless, abstracted appearance;
and when, in after times, he comes forth into the
active scenes of life, which call for an exhibition of his treasured
years of toil are seen perhaps in a day, they are astonished
at his unexpected display of intellectual power, and wonder
why they had never heard or thought any thing of that man
before.
For nearly a year and a half, through vacations and all,
our hero applied himself, with all the enthusiasm and mental
energy with which he was so unusually gifted, in unremitting
labor to the grateful task before him, not only perfecting
the particular sciences required of him, but extending his
researches into the broad and widening fields of general
knowledge. At the end of this period, however, having gone
over, in advance of his class, the little of actual study that
now remained to complete the whole course prescribed by the
rules of the institution to entitle him to a degree, he asked,
and very readily obtained, leave of a discretionary term of
absence, to enable him to replenish his pecuniary resources,
by resuming the avocation of teaching, which it was still his
unaltered purpose, in despite of all probable sacrifices, to
make the business of his life.
| CHAPTER VI. Locke Amsden, The schoolmaster | |