Chapter V: Letter III (3)

Another crying fault among teachers is, that many still make rods and sticks their chief—if not the sole reliance, for restraining their pupils from doing what they prohibit, or for compelling them to do what they command; as if the only sure method of informing the mind, or curing the deep-rooted diseases of the soul, was by the barbarous quackery of bruising the head, or scarifying the body. Under the old _regime_, there were some punishments, (possibly still in use) of which it is hard to say, whether the cruelty or folly was greatest. For instance—one was to beat the collected ends of the fingers with an implement, sometimes made like a butter stick, at other times like a broad, flat rule. This served the double purpose of inflicting the first punishment, and for administering a second, which was to smack the palms of the open hands until they were often black and blue with bruises. I can speak experimentally of a _third_ punishment, not less novel, I believe, than ingenious; but whether it was ever practised by any other than a master of my own, (God rest his soul!) “this deponent sayeth not.” It was unquestionably a favorite one with him, and well do I remember it, having occasionally suffered it in my own person. There was one thing which the scholars thought much in its favor—it could only be conveniently applied in the season for fires, as it consisted in igniting the end of a stick, extinguishing the blaze after a sufficient quantity of charcoal was formed, and then smoking the boys' noses, who were compelled to stand as still as statues, from the dread of something still more painful. How it may be with such of my school fellows and fellow sufferers as are still living, I cannot tell; but I confess my own nostrils have always taken unusual alarm at smoke ever since, although it has been more than forty years since they have received any in this way. What could have been our worthy tutor's object I never could conjecture, unless it might have been to give himself lessons in physiognomy, while contemplating the various contortions into which he could throw the human countenance, by the application of so simple, so cheap an agent, and thus coming at a better knowledge of the dispositions and characters of his pupils. I have it from several unquestionable authorities, that other punishments, still more cruel, irrational, and unjustifiable, _were once_, if they are not yet, common in some schools. Among these, I will here mention one, which a highly estimable gentleman told me, that he himself saw inflicted on his own brother, many years ago, in a celebrated eastern school, which was always full to overflowing. The poor little fellow, for some offence not recollected, was actually suspended from the floor by his thumbs, and suffered to hang so long, that several weeks elapsed before he recovered the perfect use of his hands. This was kept a profound secret from the father, doubtless through fear of their barbarous tyrant, lest he should inflict some equally cruel punishment on the informer.

In proof of farther deficiency in the requisite qualifications to perform, even what teachers themselves often promise—to say nothing of what the public have a right to expect from all who profess to teach—I will notice two or three advertisements which I myself saw several years ago. The schools, by the way, no longer exist. I rely upon these public annunciations as conclusive evidence of incompetence, because, with ample time to prepare such notices, if persons who offer to undertake the business of instruction, do not, even with the assistance of friends, put forth an advertisement in passable English, the failure is a clear demonstration, that much more is promised than the individual is capable of performing. The first advertisement contained a promise “to teach English Grammar _orthöepically_.” The second notice informed all whom it might concern, that the gentleman would “_learn_” (instead of teach) all children all the branches which he enumerated, comprehending nearly the whole circle of sciences; but, notwithstanding this palpable proof, that he was ignorant of his own language, he soon obtained from seventy to eighty pupils. The third advertisement proclaimed, that all the various branches in which instruction was given by the subscribers, “were taught upon _reasoning principles_.” Many more examples might be given of public promises to teach, which were falsified by the very terms in which they were made, but these, I hope, will suffice. {481} For this evil of incompetent teachers there seems to be no corrective but public opinion. This, however, must be more enlightened—must be better educated, before it can interpose effectually. Something, perhaps, might be beneficially done, by a law forbidding any persons from acting as teachers without certificates of fitness from well qualified judges. This is done in other countries, and in some parts of our own, as to the professions both of law and medicine. But in these parts, as with us, it would seem as if bodily health and property were esteemed of infinitely higher value, than all the faculties of the mind and endowments of the soul put together. These last are left defenceless—so far, at least, as _law_ is concerned: the glorious privileges of ignorance are in all respects equal to those of knowledge, as regards the right to teach, or rather _to attempt_ its exercise: and he who proposes to vend nonsense—nay, mental poison, like the vender of damaged goods and quack medicines, stands precisely on the same footing with the wisest, the best man, and the fairest and the most honest dealer in the nation. Not a solitary obstacle exists to the success of either, but the difficulty of procuring customers, and this is easily overcome, simply by the proclamation of “cheap goods! cheap physic! cheap schooling!” It has been said in vindication of such unrestrained, and often highly pernicious practices, that “every one has a right to do as he pleases with his own.” But this is true, only so long as we do nothing injurious either to ourselves or to others. The first species of injury is clearly, undeniably prohibited by the laws of God, the last is forbidden both by God and man. But we violate both divine and human laws, in offering to undertake so sacred a trust as that of teaching, if we know ourselves to be incapable of fulfilling it; and the parent who accepts such offer, incurs still deeper guilt, if he either knows or strongly suspects the incompetency of those who make it. Another argument is, that no person, however unfit, should be prevented from attempting to teach, because, if really incapable, this will soon be discovered; and, of course, such would-be teacher would get no employment. But those who use such arguments appear to forget entirely, that until our whole population be far better educated, than at present, the merest pretender to science and literature, who ever made the offer to instruct others, will always have some pupils sent to him “_upon trial_,” (as I have often heard it said,) especially if care be taken to call the new establishment “_a cheap school_.” The inevitable consequence of this _sending upon trial_, is, that the whole time the experiment lasts, is literally thrown away, if nothing worse. The poor children, who are the defenceless victims of the process, sustain the immediate loss; and indirectly, the public at large is injured to the full amount of the deficiency of that knowledge which the pupils might have gained under suitable instructers, and which might avail them, at some future period, to serve their country in some useful capacity or other. _If knowledge be power, time is wealth_, and wealth too, of the most precious kind; since to misapply it ourselves, or wilfully to make others do it, whose conduct our duty requires us to direct, is to expose to forfeiture our _own_ chance of happiness in both worlds, and to place _them_ in similar danger.

Even among very competent teachers, there is frequently a fault of very pernicious tendency, in which they are encouraged, particularly by those who patronize them. It is often, probably, committed without design to deceive; but in this, as in many other matters, innocence of intention does not prevent the mischief of the act. Dr. South, I believe, somewhere says, “Hell itself is paved with good intentions.” The fault to which I allude is, that they, and their friends for them, often promise _too much_. Thus the teachers make out a very specious and flourishing epitome of their respective institutions, promising at one and the same time, both to shorten the period of instruction, and to augment the stock of knowledge imparted, in some most surprising manner, by means of various wonder-working contrivances. Upon this, probably, some partial and over zealous friends are consulted. These, in order to repay the compliment paid to their judgment, feel bound to flourish away in their turn; when, behold, the joint product of this mutual flattery is a marvellous statement running through our public journals, by way of epilogue to the prospectus of these schools, representing the conductors of them as all so many Edgeworths, Pestalozzis, and Fellenburgs; their pupils all docile and talented; or, if perchance a stray black sheep should get among them, it is speedily made as white as the best of them, either by the force of example, or by an admirable system of rules and regulations of such sovereign potency, as to effect _that_ for a school, in a few weeks or months, which all the moral and religious teachers who have existed since the birth of our Saviour, have failed to accomplish for the christian world in eighteen hundred and thirty-six years. In these magic seminaries, by the wonder-working inventions of their conductors, all the crooked paths of education are speedily made straight—all the rough places smooth, and every old difficulty, which in times of yore, rendered the business of teaching and learning so irksome, tedious and puzzling, is made to vanish with a “presto, begone, thou mischievous imp of exploded and despised antiquity!” All the movements of these modernized and Utopian institutions, are represented as going on like clock-work, smooth as oil, and regular as the planetary system itself. Here, are never to be heard of any unmanageable children—any dunces—any mules who _can_, but _will not_ learn. Here the fabled Parnassus is realized, with all its charming prospects of verdant slopes, odoriferous flowers, delicious fruits, and immortalizing laurels: and here, the splendid portals of the august temple of science bear upon their ample fronts, the soul-cheering invitation of, “ask and ye shall have, knock and they shall be opened unto you;” the mere reading alone of which, is to obtain for the scholars as ready an admittance to all their exhaustless treasures, as the repetition of the cabalistic word “sesame,” used to gain into the robber's cave of the Arabian Nights' Entertainments. These truly marvellous facilities invented by us moderns, to expedite the manufacture of profound scholars and immaculate moralists, as far surpass the clumsy contrivances of our ancestors, to accomplish the same ends, as that most palatable expedient for teaching the famous Martinus Scriblerus his alphabet, exceeded in ingenuity and delectable adaptation to the designed end, every other scheme devised for a similar purpose. It consisted simply, in coaxing the little genius to eat his letters cut out of gingerbread. Oh! the profundities and the altitudes of these {482} wondrous improvements! when shall we all learn to estimate them as they deserve? Not that I mean to deny the real advances made in the arts of teaching, as well as in the general system of education. These certainly have been very great, and are justly entitled to much praise. But I believe the facts will warrant me in asserting, that they fall far short of what they are generally represented to be; and that, if stripped of all exaggeration, of all false pretension, so as to be estimated exactly for what they are worth and no more, they will be found to have gained more in show than use: in other words, that they are, in no small degree, calculated to make vain, superficial pretenders to true knowledge, rather than profound scholars and real proficients in any art or science whatever—unless it be in the art of puffing, which seems now to have reached its acme of perfection. If the amount of these improvements were nearly equal to what is claimed for them, we should scarcely be able to walk along the streets of our towns and cities, without running our heads against such men as Pythagoras, Socrates, Aristotle, and Plato. But what is the plain, stubborn matter of fact? Why, that it is very doubtful, whether the number of such illustrious men (if such can be found at all,) now bears an equal proportion to the present population of the world, that the number did to the population of the period in which the philosophers just mentioned immortalized their names. There must be some reason for this, if true, as I confidently believe it to be; and it must lie much deeper, and have much more force, than the zealous advocates for the vast superiority of modern over by-gone times in the arts of teaching, will be willing to allow. May it not be found in the remarkable fact, that in ancient times, no men occupied a more elevated rank than _teachers_, while the all important business of teaching youth was confined to men of the highest order of talent—the most profound knowledge, and the greatest respectability of character; whereas, in our days, this indispensable occupation—this profession, so vitally necessary to human happiness, is permitted to be exercised by any one who chooses to attempt it? Nay, more, in these times, men of the highest order of talent and greatest acquirements, very rarely devote themselves to it. Hence, in public estimation, it has fallen nearly into the lowest ranks, whereas it once held, and ought again to occupy at least an equal grade with the highest of all the professions. None, I presume, will deny that the proportion of human talent is much the same in all ages. But education being the great moving power which enables this talent to exert itself efficaciously, the evidences of this exertion must always increase both in number and degree, if the modes of culture improve as fast as the subjects increase, upon whom they are to be exercised. Is this the fact?—_if it is_, where are the proofs in regard to the present times? Let those who have them bring them forward. There can be no doubt that a most delightful and fascinating picture might be given of the present state of society by any one who would exhibit all the good which is to be found in it, leaving entirely out of view every thing which is bad. But this last must even grow worse in education, as in every thing else, if it be not exposed with an unsparing hand.

Having spoken, as some perhaps may think too harshly, of the fault committed by teachers who claim for themselves any great and novel discovery in teaching, let me endeavor equally to expose those who tempt them to the commission. It is with modes of instruction as with schools themselves—the newest are generally believed to be the best; and this seems often to be taken for granted, even by those who ought to know better. Not that novelty alone should constitute a valid objection to any thing; but surely it never should be considered of itself a sufficient recommendation to any scheme or project, the obvious design and effect of which will be, to subvert something long established and well approved. Yet in regard to schools, it is often sufficient to insure abundant patronage to utter strangers who offer to instruct young persons of either sex, if they will only profess to teach _old things_ in a _new way_, or something purporting to be altogether new, and will dignify with the name of “_system_” what they are pleased to claim as a method of their own, or of some person equally unknown to the solicited patrons or patronesses. This fascinating term “_system_” settles all doubts, and the new broom sweeps all before it. I say not this with the slightest view of discouraging the establishment of new schools. Nothing, indeed, is farther from my thoughts—for I wish with all my heart that a good one could be fixed in every neighborhood throughout the United States. But the remarks have been made to inculcate the absolute necessity for avoiding all precipitation in the choice of schools, and for adopting some better measure of their merits than their own pretensions. It is true that parents and guardians must run some risk in sending to any school whatever, not immediately under their own eyes, and well known to them. But surely such risk need not be near so great as it often is, if they would always seek something beyond mere novelty in making their choice. How, and from whom, to seek is the great difficulty; for the characters of schools and their teachers are among the most uncertain things in the world—since they depend infinitely more on the prejudices and partialities of those who undertake to give them, than on their own real merits. Thus the parents and guardians of children who are either too stupid or too perverse to learn, will almost always ascribe their want of information to the teachers, and censure them in the most unqualified terms. On the other hand, where great progress has been made by the pupils, their friends and relatives will be equally profuse in praising their instructers. Strangers who are to decide, will rarely ever consider, or even inquire what is the relative situation of the eulogizers and censurers in regard to the schools and their teachers whose characters are given; although it is obvious, on the slightest reflection, that we cannot possibly judge correctly of any opinions affecting the reputation of others, without knowing thoroughly the motives of the persons who deliver these opinions, as well as their credibility. There is another important circumstance affecting the character of schools, which is very rarely attended to as it should be. The last to which the pupils go, although it be only for a few months or weeks, bears all the blame, or receives all the praise, for whatever habits they are found to possess—for whatever knowledge or ignorance may be discovered in them. It never appears for a moment to cross the brains of these character-coiners, that habits, either good or bad, cannot possibly be of such quick growth; or that much {483} ignorance cannot be removed, nor much knowledge imparted, within a period utterly insufficient for communicating even the simplest elements of moral and scientific instruction.

The last fault which I shall notice among teachers, is, their not unfrequent practice of endeavoring to make a kind of compromise between that system of instruction based upon the unchangeable, eternal principles of the Gospel of Christ, and that which is preferred by the world at large. Few things, if any, can differ more; few in fact, are so utterly irreconcileable to each other: yet many teachers act as if they believed that their amalgamation must be attempted, cost what it may. The mere worldly portion of society, who compose a most fearful majority in every country, must be persuaded that their children will be educated according to their own principles and views; while the religious part of the community, small as it seems by comparison, must likewise be regarded as worthy of the teacher's attention. It is easy to infer what must be the result of any attempt to form this oil and water amalgam—this hotchpotch of contrarieties, where the worldly influence preponderates so much. The morality of the pupils will very rarely, if ever, reach beyond the external man, as it is not implanted in its only appropriate soil—the heart. Its cardinal maxim will be—not the admirable christian rule of “doing as you would be done by,” but—“do as others do; always wear a specious outside; ever keep well with the world, by conforming to all its fashionable practices;” while their religion will consist almost solely, in a mere formal and reluctant attendance at places of public worship, and in a seeming abstinence from scandalous vices.

It may be alleged as some small excuse perhaps, for this compromising spirit in teachers, that a very large portion of those who employ them are really incompetent to decide correctly, either how or what their children should be taught, although such persons are often most apt to interfere with the teacher's views; and are most liable to be governed by their own prejudices and passions rather than by reason and judgment. If the instructer, in any case, subjects his principles to their guidance, he degrades himself, he loses his self-respect by offending against his own conscience; on the other hand, if he obeys _that_, he risks the loss of their patronage by offending against their self-conceit, and few there are with moral courage enough to brave this danger. To what source therefore can we look with any rational hope of success for that reform in teachers—in schools—and in the relative merits of the matters taught, which is so demonstrably essential both to individual and national happiness? The disease is in a vitiated public opinion; and where are the moral physicians who have hardihood enough to attempt, and influence sufficient to administer the necessary remedies?

In my endeavors to expose the faults of parents, I gave one female example of ignorant interference with teachers. Having again just spoken of this pernicious practice, let me here cite an instance of a father, whose power to direct will best appear after the following statement. I once breakfasted, some thirty years ago, with one of those utterly incompetent parents, accompanied by two fine-looking little boys, apparently about eleven and twelve years of age. The father was more than half drunk, early as it was in the morning, and told me, with a look of most ineffable self-complacency, that “he had brought his boys from school to town, to see”—what think you, my friends? why, “a negro hanged,” adding, “that it had always been _his opinion_, you could not too soon _give boys a knowledge of the world by showing them everything that was to be seen_.” Can we wonder that this world should be what it is, when such animals in the form of men, direct the education of so large a portion of it? They possess the legal right of directing, and none can control them. The consequence is, that thousands of youths who might have proved ornaments and blessings to their country, are utterly lost to every valuable purpose in life.

To judge better how far it is possible for teachers to mingle a worldly with a Christian system of instruction, let us endeavor briefly to state what we believe to be the only true and justifiable objects of education. These are—to insure, as far as human means can accomplish it, that there shall be “sound minds in sound bodies;” which can only be effected by fully developing the powers of both. If this be true, and not a rational man in the world, I think, will deny it, the merit of every plan of instruction must depend on its competency to achieve this great purpose by the direction which it gives to natural talent, and by its power to restrain or encourage the natural dispositions; to inculcate every species of useful knowledge; and to perfect all those corporeal powers, the exercise of which is essential to the procurement of health and the means of subsistence. Unless all these be done, and judiciously too, there cannot possibly be, _sound minds in sound bodies_. There may be abundance of science, a great knowledge of languages, a splendid assortment of accomplishments; but so far as depends upon scholastic instruction, there will be few or none of those great principles of human conduct which are to bear us triumphantly through all the perils both moral and physical of the present life, and lead us to heaven. The fashionable systems of the present day, can no more accomplish this, than they can teach children to fly. Religious principle, constantly demonstrated by religious practice, must, aye _must_ be the first and last thing taught and required; or all the science and literature of the schools will be utterly unavailing to human happiness. But how many schools have we, where this is done? How many are there wherein not even _a pretence_ is made of either public or private worship—of either moral or religious instruction? Numerous, deplorably numerous are the instances in which the poor pupils are all left to seek God or not, according to their own fancies; and where the miserable pretext for such criminal neglect is, that the Liberals of the present times, than whom, by the way, there are no greater bigots upon earth—bigots I mean in _unbelief_—would probably deem it an improper interference with the religious creeds of the scholars, if one word were ever uttered about religion at all. Every thing of the kind they denounce as sectarian—even Christianity itself; as if there was not just as much sectarianism in infidelity, as among any sect of Christians to be found in the world. Nay more, as if the dangers of error in either party were not most fearfully greater on their side than on the side of the Christians.

The foregoing faults are not confined to boy schools; but too often appear in female schools also. In regard to these last, there is one peculiar fault committed by {484} many teachers which cannot be too much exposed. If much retirement be essential to successful study, nothing can well be more preposterous, than frequently to give girls the choice between the attractions of company and those of their schoolrooms: for not one in a hundred will then choose the latter. The great mischief of this indulgence is, that not only their places of study, but the studies themselves are brought into continual danger of becoming both irksome and disgusting to them. If it be said that they must go into company to form their manners, the answer is, that even manners may be too dearly bought. But admitting their high value, the teachers should be the exemplars of their pupils in _this_ as in other matters, or they are not entirely fit for their office. It may also be added, that manners formed by much company-keeping are not such as would be most sought after in a wife—the destined head, and greatest ornament of a domestic circle: for if these manners have become the subject of much admiration, the possessor is rarely ever known to be content, unless she can have many other spectators besides her husband and family to witness their display. Wonderful indeed, would it be, if women who were trained one half their lives to acquire some accomplishment for the sake of having it admired, should be perfectly satisfied to spend the other half with only a husband, and now and then a relation or two to act the part of admirers. I will not deny that what are called “elegant manners,” can rarely be acquired without mixing much with good society. It is also admitted that there is nothing in their acquirement at all incompatible with the attainment of all other good qualities or acquisitions; and that many of the most agreeable and estimable women are to be found among those who have seen most of the world. But are these most likely to be happy in the retirement of that domestic life, which is the destiny of ninety nine women in a hundred? _If they are not_, then far too much has been sacrificed for “elegant manners.” _If they are_, should we not see many more of them to unsettle our faith in the truth of the general rule, that all who are destined to spend the longest portion of their existence in private life, should necessarily be so educated, as to acquire a decided preference for it, or we do them a great and irreparable injury by giving them a different taste? That such education is altogether incompatible with that which requires much going into company, as one of its essential parts, seems to me as clear as the light of a meridian sun in a cloudless day. It is scarcely in human nature for young ladies who have reigned as the belles of society, as idols in public, to become exemplary, happy matrons in private life. The two characters are so entirely unlike, their tastes, their highest gratifications so entirely dissimilar, that the same persons can rarely, if ever, fill both characters. _When they do they are moral wonders._ The natural modesty of the sex, which always inclines them to shun rather than to seek general admiration; and consequently to prefer home, with all its tranquil pleasures, and rational enjoyments, to the bustle, the notoriety and highly exciting gratifications of the world, will not be altogether subdued in every case, by what is called a fashionable education; but assuredly, there is nothing in any part of the whole process calculated to give this greatest charm of the female character its proper culture and highest embellishment. This embellishment is _piety_ towards God, and active benevolence towards the whole human race. Let me not be misunderstood—let me never be deemed so illiberal, so inexperienced, as to believe that no ladies fashionably educated, can be pious or benevolent, or happy in private life; _no, far from it;_ but I do assert that the whole tendency of fashionable education is to prevent their being either. It is, in truth, as little suited to the things of time, as to those of eternity. A very brief argument, I think, will prove this assertion to be true.

If the general principle of adapting the early education of our children to the profession we expect them to follow—to the situations and circumstances in which we think it likely they will be placed—be correct in every case, where _boys_ are concerned; why, in the name of common sense, should it be incorrect in regard to _girls_? Are _they alone_ to be trained for _one thing_, while they are probably destined for _another_? Is it not the height of cruelty, as well as injustice, to give them tastes and expectations which can be gratified only for a few months, perhaps for a year or two, after which they will almost certainly have to spend the remainder of their lives, however long, in nearly utter destitution of the opportunities, if not the means also, to use and to realize these parental gifts? Desperate surely is the folly, or far above all reason is the wisdom of such a plan; if indeed the only legitimate plan of all education be—permanently to promote the real happiness of the individuals educated.

Few, I believe, if any, will deny, that the common fault just pointed out—of so illy adapting the education of girls to the situations in which they will probably be placed, deserves all the reprehension which can be bestowed upon it. But those who are most apt to commit it, are often guilty of another, if possible still worse. For the same falsely calculating spirit which neglects to provide for the domestic happiness of the child, so far as that can be secured by the culture of tastes, sentiments, and habits suitable for domestic life, will often exert parental influence and authority, after what _they_ call education is finished, to wed the poor victims of their mismanagement to some husband who is deemed a good match, (to use a slang phrase among matrimonial negotiators,) solely on account of his wealth. After making it almost absolutely necessary to the happiness of the helpless daughter that she should marry a man of polished manners, refined taste and liberal education, she is forcibly united to one entirely destitute of all these accomplishments—to one who will snore an accompaniment to her sweetest music—will gaze, if he looks at all, “with lack-lustre eye,” on her finest paintings; and flee from her elegant dancing to the gambling house and the bottle: to one in fine whose capability of participating with her in the pleasures of reading, or of literary conversation, will probably be but a few grades above that of the most illiterate clown. Such, alas! is too often the reward of a fashionable education; especially in cases where in procuring it, the fortunes of the poor girls have all been expended with confident anticipations that ample compensation would be found in the wealth of their future husbands. It not unfrequently happens that one of the effects of this worldly training is, to make the girls full as great calculators as their parents in regard to matrimonial connexions. When this occurs, they well deserve all the {485} misery that so often follows a marriage contracted from such mercenary and truly despicable motives; although the parents themselves if they had their due, would undergo tenfold suffering for having been the original cause of the calamity, in first placing their daughters where such principles were to be imbibed; and afterwards co-operating with might and main to encourage their very complying teachers in accomplishing so glorious a work.

My purpose in commencing this lecture, was to confine it solely to the “faults of teachers;” but I have been led insensibly to blend with them certain parental faults. Although this is a departure from the order which I had prescribed to myself, I hope it may serve to strengthen all my objections to the faults of both parties; since the influence and authority of parents superadded to the exertions of teachers in a wrong course, must be incalculably more dangerous and fatal. It has been forcibly remarked in regard to some of the practical evils of a certain government, that, “if men _suffer_, what matters it, whether it be by the act of a licensed or an unlicensed robber—a Janizary or a Jonathan Wild.” And well may it be asked in relation to the practical defects of our systems of education, what matters it whether they are legalized as in corporate schools, or submitted to as in private ones, or whether parents or teachers are most to blame for them, so long as they are quietly suffered to work all the mischief which they so constantly produce? However innocent either, or both parties may be of intentional harm to the sufferers from these defects, their influence on human happiness is not therefore the less baneful. Innocence of intention, which I doubt not may generally be pleaded in this case, is no excuse, but a great aggravation of the evil, since there can be no hope of any remedy until the perpetrators of the mischief can be convinced of its real character, its full extent, and that they alone are its authors—that they only have both the power and the right to apply the proper corrective. If _they_ would take the matter in hand; if _they_ would co-operate earnestly and perseveringly in a right course, only for a few years, the moral condition of our society would soon be as different from what it now is, as our fondest hopes could possibly anticipate. The vast improvement which such co-operation might effect, the incalculable private and public blessings it would certainly produce, cannot, I believe, be better illustrated on my part, than by giving you in conclusion, the last two paragraphs of the excellent article on popular education already quoted from the North American Review for January. In speaking of the absolute necessity of inculcating moral and religious principles as the groundwork of all really useful education, the author remarks:

“There are few departments of scholastic instruction, whether higher or lower, that may not be found to yield constant suggestions for virtuous and religious excitement. The teacher who should skilfully avail himself of such opportunities, would produce effects upon society the most extensive and lasting, and the most delightful. Sir James Mackintosh says of Dugald Stewart, and we can scarcely conceive of a higher eulogium, that ‘few men ever lived perhaps who poured into the breasts of youth a more fervid and yet reasonable love of liberty, of truth and of virtue. How many (he adds) are still alive, in different countries, and in every rank to which education reaches, who, if they accurately examined their own minds and lives, would not ascribe much of whatever goodness and happiness they possess to the early impressions of his gentle and persuasive eloquence.’ Few men indeed possess the powers or opportunities of the Edinburgh Professor. But, to every instructer of youth, a sphere is opened for the exertion of the noblest talents and virtues. It is a most mischievous and absurd idea, but one that has prevailed, if it do not still prevail, that such a man is not required to possess great talents—that he may be a dull and plodding man—that he may be dull in his moral sensibility—that he need not be a religious man—and yet may very well discharge the duties of his station. But if heaven has given to any man talent and enthusiasm, or virtue, or piety, let him know that it is all wanted _here_, and that he can scarcely choose a nobler field for its action. Let a man enter this field, therefore, not to go through the dull round of prescribed duty; let him throw himself into this sphere of action with his whole mind and heart—with every wakeful energy of thought and kindling fervor of feeling; to think and to act, to devise and to do, all that his powers permit, for the minds that are committed to him; to develope and exhaust his whole soul in this work; to labor _for_ and _with_ his pupils—to win their affection—to quicken in them the love of knowledge, to inspire with every noble impulse the breast of ingenuous youth; to raise up sound scholars for literature, and devoted pastors for the church, and patriotic citizens for the country, and glorious men for the world: let him do _this_, and none shall leave brighter signatures upon the record of honored and well spent lives. Let him do _this_, and whether he sit in the chair of a university or in the humblest village school—whether as a Stewart or a Cousin, or as an Oberlin or Pestalozzi, he may fill the land with grateful witnesses of his worth, and cause a generation unborn to rise up and call him blessed.

“To the friends of education, as well as to the actual laborers in its cause, let us say in fine, _press onward_. The spread of knowledge has given birth to civil liberty; the increase and improvement of knowledge must give it stability and security. The fortunes of the civilized world are now embarked in this cause. The great deeps are breaking up, and the ark that is to ride out the coming storm must have skill engaged in its construction, and wisdom to preside at its helm. The warfare of opinion is already begun; and for its safe direction, knowledge _must_ take the leading staff. In _this_ war, not the mighty captain but the schoolmaster, is to marshal the hosts to battle. It is _he_ that is to train the minds which are to engage in this contest. It is _he_ that is to train up orators and legislators, statesmen and rulers; and _he_ too is to form the body politic of the world. Would the free spirits of the world look to the defence and hope of their cause? It is no dubious question where they must look. Their outposts are _free schools_; their citadels are _universities_; their munitions are _books_; and the mighty engine that is to hurl destruction upon the legions of darkness, is the _free press_. Other ages have struggled with other weapons; but the panoply of _this_ age _must be knowledge_; the gleaming of _its_ armour must be the light that flashes from the eye of free, high minded public opinion. Call {486} this complimenting, call it complaisance to the base multitude, call it visionary speculation, call it what you will—but the doctrine is true: and, over the liberties of the world, whether prostrate or triumphant, _that truth_ must arise brighter and brighter for ever.”

NATIONAL INGRATITUDE.

BY MATHEW CAREY.

Every American, actuated by a due regard for the honor of his country, must feel deep regret at one feature in the proceedings of our government, which is equally impolitic and discreditable. I mean the neglect, or, what is near akin to neglect, the very long delay of an acknowledgment of those brilliant services, which not only add lustre to the national character, but often produce the most solid, substantial advantages. In this respect, I am afraid, we are more delinquent than any other nation in Christendom—so far, at least, as regards delay. This conduct is, I say, discreditable, as it manifests a deficiency of gratitude, one of the noblest of national virtues.

It is, moreover, impolitic, and may often produce most pernicious and disastrous results in moments of difficulty and danger. There is a vast difference between the efforts of two men, in such crisis, one of whom may rationally anticipate having his merits duly appreciated, and to a certain extent remunerated, if he perform any very gallant or brilliant exploit—the other almost equally certain, that do what he may, he will probably be overlooked altogether, or, if his exploit be commemorated, it will be after a tedious delay of ten, fifteen or twenty years. In such great emergencies, as I referred to above, the former is stimulated to volunteer his services as one of a forlorn hope, where the chances are twenty to one against his escape—the other, if detailed for the service, will doubtless perform his duty, but will have had little temptation to offer himself as a volunteer.

Doubtless such considerations have great influence on the conduct of British military and naval officers. Whenever they perform any very signal or glorious exploit, they are morally certain of due and prompt attention being paid them. With us, if an officer victoriously defends a fort against an overwhelming superior force, as Colonel Croghan did—if he intrepidly destroy an important vessel of war, belonging to an enemy, and by that glorious act spread the fame of his country in remote nations, as Decatur, and his brave companions did—if he defeat a numerous army, as Scott and Brown have done—if he preserve a vessel of war by a rare union of ardor, tact, and energy, as Hull did when pursued by a fleet—if he capture or destroy an entire fleet, as Perry and M’Donough have done—what is his reward? Perhaps nothing. Perhaps after a lapse of ten, a dozen, or twenty “lingering, lagging years” of suspense, he is, at a time when the exploit by which it was earned is almost forgotten, rewarded with a gold-hilted sword!

By-the-bye, swords are, except for officers in actual service, a very injudicious mode of testifying national gratitude. To such officers they may be very appropriate, as they may carry them on their persons, and their appearance will recall the recollection of the action for which they were awarded.[1] But a service of plate, which might not cost as much as a gold-hilted sword, lying on a sideboard, or used by the party in his entertainments, would more effectually tend to gratify that laudable pride and ambition, which, say what we may, have a powerful tendency to produce almost every thing estimable in human conduct.

[Footnote 1: Lieutenant Webster, in a letter received from him some years since, corroborated this idea: “I keep the sword generally in my closet, unless a friend should request to see it.”]

Of the striking cases in our history, which have called forth, and which justify these strictures, I shall present those of General Starke, Commodore Decatur, and Lieutenant Webster.

_General Starke_.

That the acknowledgment of the Independence of the United States by, and the treaty of alliance with, France, accelerated the acknowledgment on the part of Great Britain, is a point admitted on all hands. Those arrangements with France probably saved the country the horrors of two or three years additional warfare—and this at a time when its resources were nearly exhausted, and a fearful gloom had for a long time pervaded the horizon.

It is equally true, that the battle of Saratoga and the capture of a powerful, well-disciplined army, commanded by an enterprising general, decided the hitherto wavering councils of Louis XVI. to admit the United States into the fellowship of nations.

Should there be any doubts on the subject, they will be removed by an attention to the chronology of that period.

Dr. Franklin arrived in Paris, in December, 1776, and used his utmost endeavors to obtain an acknowledgment of American Independence from month to month, in vain. He was fed with those vague promises, of which courtiers can be so lavish, but which, however specious, mean little or nothing. At length was fought the important battle of Saratoga, on the 17th of October, 1777. The news probably reached the Court of Versailles early in December. The treaties of alliance and acknowledgment of independence were signed on the 7th of February, 1778, after a lapse of only eight or nine weeks from the arrival of that intelligence. This time was probably employed in concocting the terms and was by no means too much for such a mighty business.[2] Could the Jew Apella, for a moment, doubt the cause that led that court to the recognition of American Independence?

[Footnote 2: “In the midst of this supposed gloomy state of affairs in America, the news of the surrender of the British army commanded by General Burgoyne, to that of the Americans under General Gates, at Saratoga, on the 17th October, 1777, arrived in France; and at the very moment when the French cabinet was as yet undecided in regard to the steps to be adopted relative to the United States. This memorable event immediately turned the scale, and fixed the French nation in their attachment to the infant republic.”—_Memoirs of Franklin_, p. 382.]

This preface appeared necessary to shed a proper blaze of light on the glorious battle of Bennington, the turning point of the war to the northward, which directly led to the triumph at Saratoga, and to the capture of the bombastic British commander. National gratitude could, at its utmost stretch, scarcely overpay an achievement pregnant with such all-important consequences.

{487} General Carleton, who commanded the British forces in Canada, being regarded as not sufficiently energetic, was superseded by General Burgoyne, who stood in high estimation for energy, military skill and bravery. How far he answered expectation remains to be seen. He started from Canada early in December, 1776, and met with little resistance in his destructive and marauding career some hundred miles, till he arrived at Saratoga.

He issued his braggart proclamation on the 6th of December, in which he denounced extermination, through the instrumentality of the hordes of Indians, whom he had in his pay, against all who dared oppose his Majesty's arms. The prospect to the north was then to the last degree gloomy—defeat and disaster had marked the progress of the Americans. Those were “times that really tried men's souls.” Despondency had spread extensively. General Schuyler, who commanded the northern army, gives an appalling description of the state of things. “The torpor, criminal indifference, and want of spirit which so generally prevail, are more dangerous than all the efforts of the enemy.” On the 4th of July he resumes the subject—“We have not above four thousand continental troops; if men, one-third of whom are negroes, boys, and men too aged for the field, and indeed for any other service, can be called troops. The States, whence these troops came, can determine why such boys, negroes, and aged men were sent. A great part of the army took the field in a manner naked, without blankets, ill armed, and very deficient in accoutrements.”

Such was the deplorable state of affairs to the north, a few weeks previous to the time when Starke made his appearance on the arena. General Burgoyne, being considerably straitened for provisions of every kind, and having learned, by his spies, that there was a large supply of flour, corn, and cattle, collected at Bennington, guarded only by militia, of whom he entertained great contempt, despatched a body of five hundred Germans with one hundred Indians, under the command of Colonel Baum, to seize them. The Germans, being heavily armed, and the roads greatly obstructed, were several days in marching between thirty and forty miles.

General Starke, who had for some time previously employed all his influence and energies in collecting as many militia as possible, commenced an attack on Baum's troops, immediately on their arrival; but, after a short struggle, had to retire to some little distance; meanwhile, Baum, finding his situation perilous, fortified himself within a double breast-work, and sent for assistance to Burgoyne. On the other hand, Starke, having received a reinforcement on the 16th of August, renewed his attack on Baum; and, notwithstanding the strength of his defences, and the bravery of his troops, carried the fortifications, and made prisoners of all that were not killed. This battle was just ended when a reinforcement of five hundred Germans, under Breyman, made its appearance. The Americans, though extremely fatigued by the assault, and a battle of two hours, attacked the new enemies with such determined bravery, that their efforts were crowned with a most complete victory, after a hard fought battle of several hours. The results of the two battles were, the capture of about seven hundred prisoners, one thousand stand of arms, four brass field-pieces, twelve brass drums, two hundred and fifty dragoon swords, four ammunition wagons, eight loads of baggage, and twenty horses. Among the prisoners was Colonel Baum, who shortly afterwards died of his wounds. There were killed in the two battles about three hundred men, of whom, it is supposed, one third were Americans.

As a reward for this glorious triumph of patriotism and heroic bravery, Congress _liberally passed a resolution of thanks to General Starke and his brave soldiers! and promoted him to the rank of brigadier-general!_ WERE NOT THESE THANKS AND PROMOTION ABUNDANT REWARD?

Whether this veteran received a pension or not, cannot now be ascertained. But be that as it may, he was, in his old age, I believe about ninety, reduced to penury. On the 18th of March, 1818, forty years after his exploits, he petitioned Congress for a pension (perhaps an additional one.) The petition was referred, in the House of Representatives, to a committee, who reported a bill on the 19th, which, conformably with the usual procrastinating routine of Congress proceedings,[3] lay over untouched for five weeks, till the 18th of April, when it was passed and sent to the Senate, who referred it to the committee on pensions, who reported it that day, without amendments. It was read in committee of the whole, on Monday the 20th, and agreed to _with amendments_. It being against the rules of the Senate to pass a bill the same day on which it has undergone amendments, Mr. Fromentin moved to suspend the rule. But, regardless of the services, the claims, and the sufferings of the hero, the motion, alas! was rejected—Congress adjourned next day—and, of course, the bill was lost. Next session it passed. Starke received one year's pension, but died before another came around—covered with glory, but steeped in penury!!

[Footnote 3: To this general censure, there was one remarkable exception. The bill, to render members of Congress salary officers, at the rate of fifteen hundred dollars per annum, was hurried forward with an engine of high pressure. It was read the first and second time, March 6th, 1815—the third time, and passed the 9th. Received and read first time in Senate, the 11th, second time 12th, third time, and passed, the 14th. Laid before the President, and passed, the 18th. Thus, this bill, so extremely obnoxious, was hurried through, from its initiation till its final ratification in twelve days.]

_The Capture and Destruction of the Philadelphia frigate_.

History furnishes few instances of heroic daring—ardent zeal—unconquerable energy—and nice tact and skill, equal to the capture and destruction of the frigate Philadelphia, in the harbor of Tripoli—and, all the circumstances of the case duly considered, it may be doubted whether any thing superior to it can be found on record. Never was there a much more hazardous enterprize—never was there a greater disparity between the means of attack and the means of defence. Indeed, it must be confessed, that all the dictates of prudence were opposed to the undertaking. But I will not enfeeble the interest of the reader, by attempting to describe the affair, when it is so transcendently better done in the glowing and eloquent speech of the Hon. Mr. Robbins, one of the senators from the State of Rhode Island.