University of Virginia Library

7. CHAPTER VII.

MRS. MURRAY had informed Edna that the gentleman
whom she had engaged to instruct her
resided in the neighboring town of —, and
one Monday morning in August she carried her
to see him, telling her, as they drove along, that he was the
minister of the largest church in the country, was an old friend
of her family, and that she considered herself exceedingly
fortunate in having prevailed upon him to consent to undertake
her education. The parsonage stood on the skirts of
the village, in a square immediately opposite the church,
and was separated from it by a wide handsome street, lined
on either side with elm trees. The old-fashioned house was
of brick, with a wooden portico jutting out over the front-door,
and around the slender pillars twined honeysuckle
and clematis tendrils, purple with clustering bells; while
the brick walls were draped with luxuriant ivy, that hung
in festoons from the eaves, and clambered up the chimneys
and in at the windows. The daily-swept walk leading to
the gate was bordered with white and purple lilies—“flags,”
as the villagers dubbed them—and over the little gate
sprang an arch of lattice-work loaded with Belgian and English
honeysuckle, whose fragrant wreaths drooped till they
touched the heads of all who entered. When Mrs. Murray
and Edna ascended the steps and knocked at the open door,
bearing the name “Allan Hammond,” no living thing
was visible, save a thrush that looked out shyly from the
clematis vines; and after waiting a moment, Mrs. Murray

entered unannounced. They looked into the parlor, with
its cool matting and white curtains and polished old-fashioned
mahogany furniture, but the room was unoccupied;
then passing on to the library or study, where tiers of
books rose to the ceiling, they saw, through the open window,
the form of the pastor, who was stooping to gather
the violets blooming in the little shaded garden at the rear
of the house. A large white cat sunned herself on the
strawberry bed, and a mocking-bird sang in the myrtle-tree
that overshadowed the study-window. Mrs. Murray called
to the minister, and taking off his straw hat he bowed, and
came to meet them.

“Mr. Hammond, I hope I do not interrupt you?”

“No, Ellen, you never interrupt me. I was merely
gathering some violets to strew in a child's coffin. Susan
Archer, poor thing! lost her little Winnie last night, and I
knew she would like some flowers to sprinkle over her
baby.”

He shook hands with Mrs. Murray, and turning to her
companion offered his hand, saying kindly:

“This is my pupil, Edna, I presume? I expected you
several days ago, and am very glad to see you at last.
Come into the house and let us become acquainted at
once.”

As he led the way to the library, talking the while to
Mrs. Murray, Edna's eyes followed him with an expression
of intense veneration, for he appeared to her a living original
of the pictured prophets—the Samuel, Isaiah, and Ezekiel,
whose faces she had studied in the large illustrated
Bible that lay on a satin cushion in the sitting-room at
Le Bocage. Sixty-five years of wrestling and conquests
on the “Quarantina” of life had set upon his noble and
benignant countenance the seal of holiness, and shed over
his placid features the mild, sweet light of a pure, serene
heart, of a lofty, trusting, sanctified soul. His white hair
and beard had the silvery sheen which seems peculiar to

prematurely gray heads, and the snowy mass wonderfully
softened the outline of the face; while the pleasant smile on
his lips, the warm, cheering light in his bright blue eyes,
won the perfect trust, the profound respect, the lasting love
and veneration of those who entered the charmed circle of
his influence. Learned without pedantry, dignified but not
pompous, genial and urbane; never forgetting the sanctity
of his mission, though never thrusting its credentials into
notice; judging the actions of all with a leniency which he
denied to his own; zealous without bigotry, charitable yet
rigidly just, as free from austerity as levity, his heart
throbbed with warm, tender sympathy for his race; and
while none felt his or her happiness complete until his cordial
congratulations sealed it, every sad mourner realized
that her burden of woe was lightened when poured into
his sympathizing ears. The sage counselor of the aged
among his flock, he was the loved companion of the
younger members, in whose juvenile sports and sorrows he
was never too busy to interest himself; and it was not surprising
that over all classes and denominations he wielded
an influence incalculable for good. The limits of one
church could not contain his great heart, which went forth
in yearning love and fellowship to his Christian brethren
and co-laborers throughout the world, while the refrain of
his daily work was, “Bear ye one another's burdens.” So
in the evening of a life blessed with the bounteous fruitage
of good deeds, he walked to and fro, in the wide vineyard
of God, with the light of peace, of faith, and hope, and
hallowed resignation shining over his worn and aged face.

Drawing Edna to a seat beside him on the sofa, Mr. Hammond
said:

“Mrs. Murray has intrusted your education entirely to
me; but before I decide positively what books you will require
I should like to know what particular branches of
study you love best. Do you feel disposed to take up
Latin?”

“Yes, sir—and—”

“Well, go on, my dear. Do not hesitate to speak freely.”

“If you please, sir, I should like to study Greek also.”

“O nonsense, Edna! women never have any use for
Greek; it would only be a waste of your time,” interrupted
Mrs. Murray.

Mr. Hammond smiled and shook his head.

“Why do you wish to study Greek? You will scarcely
be called upon to teach it.”

“I should not think that I was well or thoroughly educated
if I did not understand Greek and Latin; and beside,
I want to read what Solon and Pericles and Demosthenes
wrote in their own language.”

“Why, what do you know about those men?”

“Only what Plutarch says.”

“What kind of books do you read with most pleasure?”

“History and travels.”

“Are you fond of arithmetic?”

“No, sir.”

“But as a teacher you will have much more use for mathematics
than for Greek.”

“I should think that, with all my life before me, I might
study both; and even if I should have no use for it, it would
do me no harm to understand it. Knowledge is never in
the way, is it?”

“Certainly not half so often as ignorance. Very well;
you shall learn Greek as fast as you please. I should like
to hear you read something. Here is Goldsmith's Deserted
Village; suppose you try a few lines; begin here at
`Sweet was the sound.'”

She read aloud the passage designated, and as he expressed
himself satisfied, and took the book from her hand,
Mrs. Murray said:

“I think the child is as inveterate a book-worm as I ever
knew; but for heaven's sake, Mr Hammond, do not make
her a blue-stocking.”

“Ellen, did you ever see a genuine blue-stocking?”

“I am happy to be able to say that I never was so unfortunate!”

“You consider yourself lucky, then, in not having known
De Staël, Hannah More, Charlotte Brontë, and Mrs. Browning?”

“To be consistent of course I must answer yes; but you
know we women are never supposed to understand that
term, much less possess the jewel itself; and beside, sir,
you take undue advantage of me, for the women you mention
were truly great geniuses. I was not objecting to
genius in women.”

“Without those auxiliaries and adjuncts which you deprecate
so earnestly, would their native genius ever have
distinguished them, or charmed and benefited the world?
Brilliant success makes blue-stockings autocratic, and the
world flatters and crowns them; but unsuccessful aspirants
are strangled with an offensive sobriquet, than which it
were better that they had millstones tied about their necks.
After all, Ellen, it is rather ludicrous, and seems very unfair
that the whole class of literary ladies should be sneered at
on account of the color of Stillingfleet's stockings eighty
years ago.”

“If you please, sir, I should like to know the meaning of
`blue-stocking'?” said Edna.

“You are in a fair way to understand it if you study
Greek,” answered Mrs. Murray, laughing at the puzzled expression
of the child's countenance.

Mr. Hammond smiled, and replied:

“A `blue-stocking,' my dear, is generally supposed to be
a lady, neither young, pleasant, nor pretty, (and in most
instances unmarried;) who is unamiable, ungraceful, and
untidy; ignorant of all domestic accomplishments and truly
feminine acquirements, and ambitious of appearing very
learned; a woman whose fingers are more frequently
adorned with ink-spots than thimble; who holds housekeeping

in detestation, and talks loudly about politics, science,
and philosophy; who is ugly, and learned, and cross; whose
hair is never smooth and whose ruffles are never fluted. Is
that a correct likeness, Ellen?”

“As good as one of Brady's photographs. Take warning,
Edna.”

“The title of `blue-stocking,'” continued the pastor,
“originated in a jest, many, many years ago, when a circle
of very brilliant, witty, and elegant ladies in London, met
at the house of Mrs. Vesey, to listen to and take part in the
conversation of some of the most gifted and learned men
England has ever produced. One of those gentlemen, Stillingfleet,
who always wore blue stockings, was so exceedingly
agreeable and instructive, that when he chanced to
be absent the company declared the party was a failure
without `the blue stockings,' as he was familiarly called.
A Frenchman, who heard of the circumstance, gave to these
conversational gatherings the name of `bas bleu,' which
means blue stocking; and hence, you see, that in popular
acceptation, I mean in public opinion, the humorous title,
which was given in compliment to a very charming gentleman,
is now supposed to belong to very tiresome, pedantic,
and disagreeable ladies. Do you understand the matter
now?”

“I do not quite understand why ladies have not as good
a right to be learned and wise as gentlemen.”

“To satisfy you on that point would involve more historical
discussion than we have time for this morning;
some day we will look into the past and find a solution of
the question. Meanwhile you may study as hard as you
please, and remember, my dear, that where one woman is
considered a blue-stocking, and tiresomely learned, twenty
are more tiresome still because they know nothing. I will
obtain all the books you need, and hereafter you must come
to me every morning at nine o'clock. When the weather
is good, you can easily walk over from Mrs. Murray's.”

As they rode homeward, Edna asked:

“Has Mr. Hammond a family?”

“No; he lost his family years ago. But why do you
ask that question?”

“I saw no lady, and I wondered who kept the house in
such nice order.”

“He has a very faithful servant who attends to his household
affairs. In your intercourse with Mr. Hammond be
careful not to allude to his domestic afflictions.”

Mrs. Murray looked earnestly, searchingly at the girl, as
as if striving to fathom her thoughts; then throwing her
head back, with the haughty air which Edna had remarked
in St. Elmo, she compressed her lips, lowered her vail, and
remained silent and abstracted until they reached home.

The comprehensive and very thorough curriculum of
studies now eagerly commenced by Edna, and along which
she was gently and skillfully guided by the kind hand of
the teacher, furnished the mental aliment for which she
hungered, gave constant and judicious exercise to her
active intellect, and induced her to visit the quiet parsonage
library as assiduously as did Horace, Valgius, and Virgil
the gardens on the Esquiline where Mæcenas held his literary
assize. Instead of skimming a few text-books that
cram the brain with unwieldy scientific technicalities and
pompous philosophic terminology, her range of thought and
study gradually stretched out into a broader, grander cycle,
embracing, as she grew older, the application of those great
principles that underlie modern science and crop out in
ever-varying phenomena and empirical classifications. Edna's
tutor seemed impressed with the fallacy of the popular
system of acquiring one branch of learning at a time, locking
it away as in drawers of rubbish, never to be opened,
where it moulders in shapeless confusion till swept out
ultimately to make room for more recent scientific invoices.
Thus in lieu of the educational plan of “finishing natural
philosophy and chemistry this session, and geology and

astronomy next term, and taking up moral science and criticism
the year we graduate,” Mr. Hammond allowed his
pupil to finish and lay aside none of her studies; but sought
to impress upon her the great value of Blackstone's aphorism:
“For sciences are of a sociable disposition, and flourish
best in the neighborhood of each other; nor is there
any branch of learning but may be helped and improved by
assistance drawn from other arts.”

Finding that her imagination was remarkably fertile, he
required her, as she advanced in years, to compose essays,
letters, dialogues, and sometimes orations, all of which
were not only written and handed in for correction, but he
frequently directed her to recite them from memory, and
invited her to assist him, while he dissected and criticised
either her diction, line of argument, choice of metaphors, or
intonation of voice. In these compositions he encouraged
her to seek illustration from every department of letters, and
convert her theme into a focus, upon which to pour all the
concentrated light which research could reflect, assuring
her that what is often denominated “far-fetchedness,” in
metaphors, furnishes not only evidence of the laborious industry
of the writer, but is an implied compliment to the
cultured taste and general knowledge of those for whose
entertainment or edification they are employed—provided
always said metaphors and similes really illustrate, elucidate,
and adorn the theme discussed—when properly understood.

His favorite plea in such instances was, “If Humboldt
and Cuvier, and Linnæus, and Ehrenberg have made mankind
their debtors by scouring the physical cosmos for
scientific data, which every living savant devours, assimilates,
and reproduces in dynamic, physiologic, or entomologic
theories, is it not equally laudable in scholars, orators,
and authors—nay, is it not obligatory on them, to subsidize
the vast cosmos of literature, to circumnavigate the
world of belles-lettres, in search of new hemispheres of

thought, and spice islands of illustrations; bringing their
rich gleanings to the great public mart, where men barter
their intellectual merchandise? Wide as the universe, and
free as its winds, should be the range of human mind.”

Yielding allegiance to the axiom that “the proper study
of mankind is man,” and recognizing the fact that history
faithfully epitomizes the magnificent triumphs and stupendous
failures, the grand capacities and innate frailties of
the races, he fostered and stimulated his pupil's fondness
for historic investigation; while in impressing upon her
memory the chronologic sequence of events he not only
grouped into great epochs the principal dramas, over which
Clio holds august critical tribunal, but so carefully selected
her miscellaneous reading, that poetry, novels, biography,
and essays reflected light upon the actors of the particular
epoch which she was studying; and thus, through the subtle
but imperishable links of association of ideas, chained
them in her mind.

The extensive library at Le Bocage, and the valuable collection
of books at the parsonage, challenged research, and,
with a boundless ambition, equaled only by her patient,
persevering application, Edna devoted herself to the acquisition
of knowledge, and astonished and delighted her
teacher by the rapidity of her progress and the vigor and
originality of her restless intellect.

The noble catholicity of spirit that distinguished Mr.
Hammond's character encouraged her to discuss freely the
ethical and psychological problems that arrested her attention
as she grew older, and facilitated her appreciation and
acceptance of the great fact, that all bigotry springs from
narrow minds and partial knowledge. He taught her that
truth, scorning monopolies and deriding patents, lends some
valuable element to almost every human system; that ignorance,
superstition, and intolerance are the red-handed Huns
that ravage society, immolating the pioneers of progress
upon the shrine of prejudice—fettering science—blindly

bent on divorcing natural and revealed truth, which God
“hath joined together” in holy and eternal wedlock; and
while they battle à l'outrance with every innovation, lock
the wheels of human advancement, turning a deaf ear to
the thrilling cry:

If Carlyle be correct in his declaration that “Truly a
thinking man is the worst enemy the prince of darkness
can have, and every time such a one announces himself
there runs a shudder through the nether empire, where new
emissaries are trained with new tactics, to hoodwink and
handcuff him,” who can doubt that the long dynasty of
Eblis will instantly terminate, when every pulpit in Christendom,
from the frozen shores of Spitzbergen to the green
dells of Owhyhee, from the shining spires of Europe to the
rocky battlements that front the Pacific, shall be filled with
meek and holy men of ripe scholarship and resistless eloquence,
whose scientific erudition keeps pace with their
evangelical piety, and whose irreproachable lives attest that
their hearts are indeed hallowed temples of that loving
charity “that suffereth long and is kind; that vaunteth not
itself, is not puffed up; thinketh no evil; beareth all things,
hopeth all things, endureth all things”?

While Christ walked to and fro among the palms and
poppies of Palestine, glorifying anew an accursed and degraded
human nature, unlettered fishermen, who mended
their nets and trimmed their sails along the blue waves of
Galilee, were fit instruments, in his guiding hands, for the
dissemination of his gospel; but when the days of the Incarnation
ended, and Jesus returned to the Father, all the
learning and the mighty genius of Saul of Tarsus were required
to confront and refute the scoffing sophists who, replete
with philhellenic lore, and within sight of the marvellous
triglyphs and metopes of the Parthenon, gathered
on Mars' Hill to defend their marble altars `to the Unknown
God.”