 | CHAPTER VIII. Locke Amsden, The schoolmaster |  |
8. CHAPTER VIII.
For, like the fool's, 't is built upon the sand.”
Parnel.
The place to which we will now repair, as the seat of the
future operations of our schoolmaster, was a thriving interior
village, with a population of something over a thousand.
Its name, Cartersville, was derived from that of its founder,
a Mr. Carter, an enterprising individual, who, some forty or
fifty years before the period of our story, here established
himself, erected several kinds of mills, and opened a store,
which, with the natural advantages of the location, soon drew
around them the buildings and shops of other settlers, till
the place swelled, at length, into a village of considerable importance,
with, perhaps, even more than the usual complement
of mechanics' shops, taverns, stores, churches, and fine
dwelling houses. At the time of which we are writing, the
first Carter, whom we have named as the principal founder
of this village, had been dead many years. He had amassed,
during a prosperous and active life, an amount of property,
which, for a country merchant, was considered very large.
This he had left to three sons and a daughter. Two of the
sons became spendthrifts, soon squandered their portions,
and left the country. The daughter, who was now dead,
had married a man that had lost her portion also, and gone
abroad, but little better than bankrupt. The remaining son,
who alone inherited any of his father's talents for business,
in the trade to which he had been brought up, that of merchandise,
and was now accounted the rich man of the place,
being extensively engaged in business, and still a man of
industry and good calculations in traffic, though otherwise a
person of rather contracted notions. His family, however,
consisting of a wife and three daughters, were of small advantage
to him, either in improving his property, or in elevating
his character, — at least not to any correct standard
of moral action. For his wife was a woman of false tastes,
and of affectedly fashionable habits; and accordingly she had
brought up her daughters, who, as might be expected under
such maternal guidance, had little to boast, of which they
had reason to be proud, being vain, empty-headed, wrong-hearted
girls, fond of expensive display, priding themselves
upon their father's wealth, talking much about family distinction,
and only ambitious to be looked up to — as they
unfortunately were by the young society of the place — as a
sort of inapproachable standard in dress, and all matters pertaining
to what they deemed stylish life, and to be considered,
as they considered themselves, the very
“Glass of fashion and the mould of form.”
This family belonged to the school district in which Locke
Amsden was now engaged as a teacher for the ensuing winter;
but, being above patronizing a common school for the
purposes of educating their children, Mr. and Mrs. Carter,
or rather Mrs. Carter, in conjunction with two or three other
wealthy families of similar views, had established a private
school, or select academy, as they called it, which was designed
to afford the means of what they chose to term a
genteel education, leaving the district schools of the village
to be attended by the children of less distinguished families,
and all those who had tastes for nothing better. At the head
manners, qualifications, and general character, admirably
fitted him for such a station. He wrote himself Manlius C.
W. Tilden, Professor of Elegant Literature; and taught crow-quill
penmanship, drawing sundry problems in geometry,
French, fashionable pronunciation, and the whole round of
what he designated belles-letters accomplishments, including
music upon the piano, flagelet, &c., if required. The tendency
of this school had been, as might be expected, to create
envy; as little as there was reason for it, towards the favored
few who attended it, and to cause the common schools to be
neglected and looked upon with contempt. And Dr. Lincoln,
who was a man of science, and an abominator of every thing
of the tinsel order, was the first man to whom it occurred
that it was a matter of importance to attempt to elevate the
character of the common schools of the place, both to counteract
the influence we have named, which he considered in
all respects baneful, and to make those schools what they
should be for public benefit.
Towards night on the day previous to the one appointed
for entering upon his engagement, young Amsden arrived in
the village to which we have just introduced the reader, and
immediately repaired to the residence of his employer, Dr.
Lincoln.
“Your arrival just now is most opportune, Mr. Amsden,”
said Lincoln, shaking the other heartily by the hand; “for I
hope to have the remainder of the afternoon to myself, uninterrupted
by professional calls, to enable me to spend a little
time with you, in introducing you at your boarding place
(for we have concluded to board you at one place), visiting
with you our school-house, and in apprising you, in some
measure, of the difficulties you will have to encounter, if you
earn your money, as I intend you shall. But, come, sir,
night, and we will talk over these matters at our leisure.”
The doctor then ushered the other into his house, and
introduced him to his wife, a highly intelligent and agreeable
lady, who, with her husband, — they having no children, —
and a domestic of each sex, constituted the whole family.
After a pleasant half-hour spent in general conversation,
the doctor and his guest set forth to visit the school-house,
as the former had proposed.
“You have rather a large proportion of fine dwelling-houses
in your village, have you not, doctor?” said Amsden,
as they gained the street, and proceeded on their way.
“It may be so,” replied the doctor. “Some ambitious
people, in times past, erected several expensive buildings;
since which many others, having imbibed the idea that social
happiness is dependent on the size of the house where it is
to be enjoyed, have followed the example; less for their own
good, in some instances, I believe, than the good appearance
of the village.”
“Quite possible. But to whom belongs that large house,
up yonder, observed Locke, pointing to a castle-like building,
standing on an eminence, a little aloof from all others.
“O, that is the residence of the Carter family,” answered
the other. “This village took its name from the father of
the owner of that house. The old gentleman was a stirring
man, in his day, and died very wealthy. And his son, who
built that fabric, is esteemed by some to be now equally
rich; though he built, as some shrewd ones would have it,
not so much according to his own judgment, as on his wife's
somewhat different scale of greatness.”
“It is a showy thing, indeed,” rejoined the former; “but
still I fancy it less than that much smaller, but more truly
elegant house, as I should esteem it, standing within the borders
establishment.”
“Ah! that was built by a man of true taste, and one of the
finest of gentlemen,” said the doctor, warmly. “He married
the daughter of the elder Carter, and received that farm as her
dowry. But he got entangled by his profligate brothers-in-law,
and lost the whole establishment, which went into the
hands of city creditors, while the unfortunate debtor was left
to shift for himself, and, finally, to go to foreign lands, and
there die, as is now generally supposed.”
By this time they reached the school-house, which was
situated in a noisy business corner, about ten paces from the
street, with a blacksmith's shop on one side, and a cooper's
on the other.
“Here is your palace, my lord of the birchen sceptre,”
said Lincoln, giving the other a good-natured slap on the
shoulder.
“Ay, but it is rather near the street here; is it not, doctor?”
remarked Amsden.
“True,” replied the former, ironically; “but don't you
perceive the wise design of that? It is to inure the children
to the danger of being run over, and horses to the danger of
being frightened, to the peril of the necks and limbs of
their drivers.”
“You succeed so well in reasons,” observed the other,
laughing, “that I will hear you tell why the house is made
to stand between two such noisy shops.”
“O, the idea,” answered Lincoln, in the same strain, “the
idea must have been taken from the classics; as you scholars,
I think, should at once perceive. Demosthenes, you
know, practised oratory amid the roar and racket of water-falls.
And who knows how much the future orators, that
shall have been educated in this school, will be indebted for
which you appear so disposed to complain?”
They then entered the house for an inspection of the interior,
whose miserable construction and arrangement were the
same as are still a greater part, perhaps, of common school-houses
at the present day.
“I had looked to see things different here,” remarked
Locke, glancing round the room, as they entered it. But
you have the same construction of seats as is seen so generally
elsewhere — close, narrow, and all of an equal height;
so that, while the limbs of the larger pupils are cramped
up, and otherwise rendered uncomfortable, the feet of the
little ones are left dangling in the air.”
“Why, the object of that plan doubtless is,” said the doctor,
“to train the legs of the large ones to occupy a modest
space in this world, and to cause those of the little ones to
become so benumbed by hanging over the corners of the
seats, which will thus impede the circulation of the blood in
the arteries and veins, as to take away the troublesome desire
of the restless creatures to run about, and go out of doors.
And is not the custom sanctioned by that old and refined
nation, the Chinese, who cramp the feet, &c., of their children?
And are not the modern corsets of the intelligent and
fashionable ladies of our own enlightened land, used on the
same principle?”
“And then these seats,” resumed the former, without replying
to the comments of the other, whose ironical meaning
he perfectly understood; “these seats, as usual, rise from the
front here, where we stand, like the seats of an old amphitheatre
— rise one above another, till the last one, yonder, is
nearly half way up to the ceiling; so that the pupils on the
upper tiers of the seats will be uncomfortably warm, in the
heated air which always occupies the upper portion of the
time, perhaps, as uncomfortably cold.”
“Very true,” rejoined Lincoln, “very true; but then the
object in this, also, is perfectly plain — it is to have the softest
heads in the school placed up there to be baked over, so
that they may be on a par with the others.”
“Well, I wonder,” remarked Locke, now laughing heartily
at the satirical hit of the other, “I wonder, in view of the
other conveniences of the house, how the matter of ventilation
came ever here to be thought of, as it appears to have
been, by that contrivance for lowering the upper sashes of
the windows?”
“You remember the lesson you formerly received, I see,”
replied the doctor, assuming a serious air. “These windows
were altered to admit of ventilation, at my own suggestion,
some years ago. An opening might be made in the ceiling,
as was done in your school-house, if thought necessary; but
as this building is so old, and full of crevices for the admission
of fresh air, perhaps it will be hardly worth the while
to do this.”
“Perhaps not, in this old house,” said Locke; “but in a
new one, which you will build here soon, I conclude, you will
probably have this attended to, as well as several other improvements,
which should be made in the interior of most of
our school rooms; for I think you must agree with me, doctor,
in the opinion that our school-houses are, generally, but
illy adapted to the purposes for which they are, or should be
intended.”
“I certainly do, Mr. Amsden,” answered the other. “And
the reason I treated the defects you have here pointed out,
in the manner I did, was because I thought with old Horace,
Fortius se melius, plerumque secat res,” —
denunciation;” and I felt like seizing on the sharpest weapon
I could find for cutting up the faults and defects in question.
Yes, sir, I have noticed the inattention of the public to this
subject for years; and I have the more wondered at it when
I saw that improvements were going on in all other kinds of
buildings. The people now are getting to have convenient
and healthy houses for themselves. They also build very
warm and well-contrived stables for their horses and other
cattle. They have even, lately, built houses for their hogs,
on new plans, which are well adapted to their purposes.
But the houses for educating their children in — they are
never thought of!”
“Will your school prove a troublesome one to govern?”
asked Amsden, as they now left the house on their return.
“O no,” answered the other; “at least, I suspect not.
You will find the scholars mischievous and noisy enough, no
doubt, but not disposed to dispute your authority, I think.
The difficulties you will have to encounter, before making
any thing of your school, will be of a different, and, I really
fear, of a worse character to overcome. You will find the
school at the lowest ebb, flat, dead — dead to all ambition,
all inclination to study and learn. We have gone on the
cheap-teacher system till our school has completely run down.
And I have employed you to elevate it, Mr. Amsden.”
After Lincoln had taken Locke to the quarters he had engaged
for him, and introduced him there, the two returned
to the house of the former, where they found waiting for
them an excellent supper, that was partaken with a keen
appetite, and enlivened by a conversation of that easy, elevated,
and sparkling character, which persons of intellect and
attainments can always so easily get up, and which such only
know how to appreciate and enjoy.
“If you, Mrs. Lincoln,” said the doctor, rising from the
“if you will entertain Mr. Amsden in my absence, I will
now go out for an hour or two.”
“Certainly,” replied the lady; “but where do you think
of going, husband? You know you may have urgent calls,
when it will be necessary that you be found.”
“True,” answered the former. “Well, I have my poor
patient at the corner, up here, to visit; and then I think of
calling at Carter's.”
“Mr. Carter's family are not sick, are they?”
“No, wife; but I am going to make an effort to get some
of those girls into Mr. Amsden's school. It would be not
only for their own good, but it would be a triumph over their
Professor of Gimcracks, which I should enjoy.”
“You will hardly prevail on Mrs. Carter to listen to any
thing of that kind, I fancy, sir.”
“As respects her own daughters, possibly not; but recollect
there is a sprout there of a different stock, who has
sense enough to see the difference between science and syllabubs.”
“Ay; but to expect her to take such a course in despite
the ridicule and sneers she would have to withstand from so
many there, would be expecting considerable in a young lady
of eighteen, you must remember.”
“In an ordinary young lady it might be so. But she is not
an ordinary young lady, and as I am well acquainted with
her” —
“What vanity, now!”
“Vanity or no vanity, I shall talk with her on the subject.”
“And in vain.”
“We shall see.”
The lady playfully shook her head, and the doctor departed
on his destination. But, instead of following, we will
introduce the reader to the family which had been the subject
of the above discussion.
In a showily furnished apartment in the large house which
we have before mentioned, sat a starchy-looking woman of
perhaps forty, surrounded by four young ladies — three
of them her daughters, the other her husband's niece. One
of the daughters was thrumming a guitar. The other two sat
nearly facing each other, at the opposite ends of a large sofa,
lazily lolling their heads and shoulders over the cushioned
arms, while their feet met and intermingled in the middle.
One was reading, with an occasional sigh, a fashionable English
novel; the other, a volume of Byron's poems. By the
side of a stand, which had been drawn up near the sofa to
furnish light to the two readers, sat the niece, darning stockings.
The daughters, all looking much alike, were of delicate
forms and quite fair complexions, but they were leaden-eyed
beauties; and their trained countenances were sadly
lacking in natural expression. The niece was a different
looking person. Instead of the dawdling negligence exhibited
in the ill-fitting, ill-matched, and gaudy apparel of the
others, every article of her plain, but extremely neat
dress, seemed exactly fitted, both by its color and fashion, to
grace her small, compact, and elegantly turned figure. It
was said by those who had noted her face at church, or when
she sat listless, that her features were beautifully regular, and
well shapen; but those with whom she had ever conversed,
could never remember how that was; for the expression of
her clear, wholesome, and smile-lit countenance so instantly
caught and arrested the scanning eye, and called up the
heart to blind it, that they either could never think to make
the examination, or sufficiently succeed, if they attempted it,
to enable them afterwards to say any thing decisive of the
question. Her character, also, was as different from that of
she appeared abroad, she was greeted by all persons most
noted for understanding, with recognitions of the most marked
respect; and the eyes of the poor and lowly, as they followed
her, spoke blessings. But still she did not dress like
her cousins. She was not the daughter of the stylish Mrs.
and the rich Mr. Carter, and the fashionable world said but
little about her.
Presently the sharp jingle of the door-bell announced a
visiter. The mother pulled up her high-starched ruff still
higher. The daughter at the guitar stopped short in her
thrumming, and assumed a graceful leaning attitude over her
instrument; while the other two daughters suddenly righted
themselves on the sofa, and fell to adjusting their deranged
false curls with most commendable diligence. The less cumbered
niece, who had none of these important duties to perform,
at once laid down her work, rose, and was approaching
the door with the view of ushering in the new comer, when
her step was arrested by the interposing gesture and words
of Mrs. Carter,—
“No, no! let the servant do that — it's decidedly the most
fashionable.”
The other then quietly returned to her place, and fearlessly
resumed her ungenteel employment.
In a moment the inner door was thrown open by the servant
girl, and Dr. Lincoln entered, and made his compliments
to the ladies.
“Why, you have made quite a mistake, doctor,” said Miss
Ann Lucretia, the elder Miss Carter, with a pretty simper,
as she lightly tapped her white finger on a string of her
guitar; “we are not sick, only a little en dishabille, as you
perceive.”
“Well, I felt quite endishable myself, an hour ago; but a
the feeling,” said the doctor, with apparent honesty of
manner.
“Now how can you pretend to be so ignorant of elegant
literature, doctor?” exclaimed Miss Angeline Louisa, gracefully
flirting her novel in her delicate hands.
“Perhaps the doctor do n't appreciate us, sister,” lisped
Miss Matilda Mandeville, the youngest of the three, a girl
of about fifteen — “few do, you know; at least Professor
Tilden says so.”
“O! indeed I do,” replied the doctor, with a bow and deprecating
smile. “I am always just so blundering. But
now for business: I called to say to you, Mrs. Carter,” he
continued, turning to that lady — “that I have supplied with
a good teacher our district school, which commences to-morrow”
—
The speaker paused, and the lady stared with a look which
seemed plainly to say, “well, I wonder what I have to do
with that?” — “and I did not know but you would feel like
patronizing the school a little,” at length added the speaker.
“We do patronize it by paying half the taxes that support
it, for aught I know; for I never troubled my head to
inquire about the district school, I am sure — not but what
it may be very useful for the lower classes,” replied the lady,
with great dignity.
“Certainly,” said the other; “and I have sometimes known
good families turn in their sons and daughters with good advantage
to them. And I thought it possible that some of the
young ladies here might be disposed to attend, for the sake
of looking a little into the common sciences.”
“No, I thank you, doctor,” replied the elder sister, with an
ineffable toss of the head, “we are quite satisfied with our
present instructor, whose select academy, I believe, is allowed
to be very distingué.”
“La, me!” cried Miss Angeline Louisa, “I wonder what
Professor Tilden would say to our attending a district school!
Come, what do you say to turning in with the ragged
urchins of the canaille, Matilda Mandeville?” she added,
giggling outright at the thought.
“O, dear me! how could one be so very vulgar?” exclaimed
the fair sprig of gentility to whom the question was
put.
“And what does Miss Maverick think of this matter?”
said the doctor, who, finding himself repulsed, as he had been
forewarned, with the mother and daughters, now turned confidently
to the niece before described; “what does Miss
Maverick think?” he repeated with an expression which he
intended and believed she alone would rightly interpret, —
“perhaps she is not so erudite but that she might attend our
school awhile, with some benefit.”
The young lady thus addressed lifted her clear blue eyes
to the shrewd interrogator, and turned upon him, as he concluded,
a look of the most searching scrutiny. The next instant,
however, that look lost all its severity, and melted into
a sweet, appreciating smile, that told that she had read a
compliment instead of disparagement, in the doubly significant
words of the speaker.
“I am quite conscious of my deficiencies in the solid
sciences, sir,” she replied; “and I confess I have sometimes
wished for an opportunity to study them more. If you have
a well-qualified instructor, I have but little doubt that it
might be more profitable for me” —
“Now you are not in earnest, surely, are you, Mary?”
interposed Miss Ann Lucretia; “why, where can be your
taste? What! leave our Academy of Elegant Literature,
so very recherché, for a common district school, filled up with
the mere rabble, and headed by a country rustic, no doubt,
who perhaps never trod on a carpet in his life?”
“Why, our notions vary a little in these particulars, you
know, cousin Ann,” modestly replied the former. “But, were
they alike, I know not but I ought to be willing to attend our
district school, for the purpose of lessening the burden of
expense to uncle Carter, who has so kindly paid the high
tuition which your instructor asks, that I might have the
same privilege with his own daughters.
“I suppose Mary wishes to keep in our circle of society?”
significantly remarked the old lady.
“Why, who could think of such a thing as going to a district
school?” said Miss Angeline Louisa; “I should be
ashamed to have people know I thought of the thing.”
“Indeed, so should I,” chimed in the delicate lisper, Miss
Matilda Mandeville; “for common schoolmasters are nothing
but pedagogues, and they are the ones, you know, that Professor
Tilden laughs so much about.”
The conversation was here interrupted by another peal
of the bell; and, in a moment more, the notable personage to
whom the young ladies had so often alluded in the foregoing
discussion, was shown into the apartment. He was a man
something under thirty, dressed in the extremes of fashion,
and of manners which he evidently considered very Chesterfieldian.
He bowed with an attitude on entering; and,
as soon as he had disengaged himself from the three besieging
sisters, who all sprang forward to meet him at the door,
he advanced to a proffered seat, with a patronizing nod to
the doctor, a distant “how d'ye do” to the still seated Mary,
and a superb double congee to Mrs. Carter.”
In the black-bird chit-chat that now sprang up between
the sisters and their elegant professor, Lincoln found opportunity
to speak with Miss Maverick alone.
“Now for your decision, Miss Maverick,” he said.
“On the subject you were speaking of when he entered?”
she asked; O, I have come to no decision, sir.”
“What would your father have advised in such a case,
Miss Maverick?” persisted the former.
“You are quite a skilful pleader, doctor,” replied the other,
with a melancholy, yet arch smile; “are you sure you did
not mistake your profession?”
“No,” said the doctor, smiling in surprise and admiration;
“but what other girl would have taken that view of the drift
of my question? If, however, you think I am appealing to
what I might well suppose would be, with you, unanswerable
authority, for the purpose of carrying some selfish point only,
you are mistaken. I will therefore press the question.”
“My father,” said Mary, “as perhaps you may know, sir,
was very anxious that I should first secure the solid sciences,
and kept me at those schools where he thought I could study
such of them as suited my age, to the best advantage. He
even taught me in them, a part of the time, himself.”
“Then I have your opinion in this matter — have I not?”
“Perhaps not; for, as unsuitable as I have felt my late
course of study to be, for me at least, I have seen but little
chance of pursuing any other with the hope of good instruction
in your school, with the instructors you have lately had.”
“There is something in your observation, doubtless, Miss
Maverick; but we shall have a different instructor this
winter.”
“Do you know him personally, that you can answer for
his qualifications?”
“I do. He is a scholar and a gentleman. Now shall I
not have your decision? I know it will require some nerve
to stem certain currents. But, as your father's friend, let me
advise you to do it.”
“I know,” rejoined Mary, with a moistened eye, and other
evidences of tender emotion, “I know you were my good
father's friend, and he yours. And I thank you kindly, Dr.
Lincoln, for the interest you take in me. But I cannot now
I am too much indebted to him to take any step which he
might disapprove, whatever my own opinion should happen
to be.”
The doctor now took his leave of the family, and, after
seeking out Mr. Carter at his store, and saying a few words
to him in private, returned to his own happy abode.
| CHAPTER VIII. Locke Amsden, The schoolmaster | |