Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1873-01-25

tfssm tAs Autobiography IF a coH.sry ksai.tsr.
Attic age Of n, new scenes and new employ
Meso were opened 20 me. My father s1ok
some nifty others, and who, Of course was the
great man Of the town. He got these farms by
lending . little money on them, which he fore
s ssS ens P poor norfowers could never pay, and
ally regarded as very hard landlord And il
seems to me. As i look back over those times,
that men generally were much harder, more ex-
acting, and unfeeling in their business transac-
lions than they are now. Fathers of large fam
ilies were dragged from their homes and long
kept In jails for small debts; the towns poor
der; and there was a general seifishness, or i'm
humanity, which no public opinion would now
The poor farm which we took upou ..balvss,
/. G., to give the owner half of all we could get
from II. had been skinned by former tenant;
bat as my father and older brothers were very
efficient workers, we managed to get along bet
The scene of this poor life was in the same
town, two miles from the others already de-
scribed, Our house was old and unpsinted; two
stories In fiont and one behind, with q chimney
that literally occupied the center. Therewas
dark, uhveHtilated hole, called cellar, which I
have sPeciaa reasons for remembering, and with
which have some terrible associations. There
were no closets with doors, where things could be
put away, but q few nitches in the great Chin
ney. and shelves IN the corners of the rooms
suppose this old construction Of house grew out
Of the fact that people then had so little furni-
ture OF any kind, they wanted to give cOnspicu-
Gus places to everything they had got Why
have closets to shut things away, when there is
nothing to put in thefsi when people ate OFF
pewter platter, and carried their whole wardrobe
ON their backs, without being burdened, or, in
any present sense, half-clOthed?
In this old fashioned farmhouse, 1 lived this
third chapter of life. The work was hard hoe
ing corn, chopping wood, taking cal e cattle
and AL the usual heavy farm work; but IL was
out in the freedom of the air and sunshine,
with the variety and reality of nature; and this,
ligbtful.
Then by walking two miles 1 could attend
school two or three months every winter. Here
was another great source of Improvement and
happiness, which, through past experience I was
school, which now, after half century, see Ems
so poor in itself and 50 mean in all il surround
ings, was the best thing then known 10 me. 1t
without reference to any accommodation of the
majority Of the inhabitants, alone, on a bleak
hill, at considerable distance from the ground
". with only q stone post undereach corner, like
the oid-fashloned corn-barns. Ii was square
room, with low ceiling, single floor, with many
cracks. and its only door opened from the cold
northwest corner. SO, with the coming in and
going out Of the scholars, the bringing In OF
great quantities of wood to supply the large
open al-tlevouring fireplace there was no lack
Of ventilation; and need not aud, there was |
plenty of freezing and thawing many flushed 1
h, ads and cold feet. in that little boxy room.
Then we had different teachers almost every
season. several of whom 1 had occasion to re-
member without much interest or affection; |
coarse, rough, ignorant men, rude in manner,
and ungrammatical in speech, chosen partly be- |
cause they were large and strong, and not likely
schools were not graded in those days. All the |
youth of the district from four to II years, at
tended, and were under one teacher. Many Of |
the boys who went in these short winter terms |
were strong, full-grown young men: and the |
strength Of the master was often called into |
requisitiOn. But what scenes those schoOi-rOws |
presented to children OF tender and impressible |
age!
remember, one very stormy day. when only |
few went home at noon, and many were stand |
ing round the fire at the close of the hour recess,
i came in just as the order had been given for |
the scholars to take their seats; / did not hear
the order, and remained moment, unconcious |
Of any disobedience, the master came up put his /
hand in nay hair, and jerked me backward to I
the floor, then pulled me up, and ordered me TO /
hold out my hand for a feruling. This happened |
1t time when the patience of the school wtss
by the tyranny and brutality of the |
master. Two of the largest boys came to my |
lefense and thrusting the tryant from the house |
ocked the door against him. Another soon took |
ais place and the school went on; but, as a gem
eral rule, order was kept in those days by force
,n one side and fear on the other.
OF the books and instruction of that period, |
perhaps the least said the better. 1t would be /
iifi cult to decide which were the more arbitrary
and mechanical, the geography and arithmetic |
Dr. the methods of teaching them. But we learned |
Hence and order. We learned by Difference to
Dne another, by greater social friction, larger |
degree of courtesy. We learned to love our |
school, poor as it was, as the best of our bless
ngs. There were yOnth and health and ir- |
repressible human nature in it. There was |
"a warm blood in our veins. and as fresh life |
in our hearts. as can be found in any Of the lux
nriOus palatial schoOl-h0uses OF theiprescnt gem
Grafton.
So we managed to get good out Of what was |
not good in 1self, as we have often done ever |
since. We were "building better than we |
knew" The best Of any mans real practical /
never comes from the school: and We |
turn in our next chapter to to the real experience
of life.