CONTENTS OF VOLUME II, NUMBER 8 (continued 2)

Some remarks on the details of the bill were made by different members. No one having opposed its introduction, the members began to move off. It was already night, and the hour for dinner; the candles were not yet lit; the house rose in a body.

An individual in a brown curly wig, and dressed in a blue frock, whose broad shoulders and athletic form displayed great personal strength, descended from the ministerial benches, and stepped in the centre of the hall. The sound of his voice called every one back. Silence ensued. This was the great Irishman, the giant agitator, as he is called—a giant they may well call him. This energetic old man has alone more youth and life than all the young men in the Commons together, than the whole chamber itself.

The darkness of the evening was not sufficiently great to conceal him from my view. I see him now before me, erect on his large feet, his right arm extended, and his body inclined forwards; I seem to hear him speak. His remarks were not long; he said but a few words, but all his power was condensed in them. The lion fondled while he growled. His approbation was imperative and threatening. “So the bill has only looked to England and Wales! Must Ireland then be always forgotten, that its turn never comes but after the other countries of the United Kingdom? Has it not enough of venal and corrupt municipalities? Nevertheless, he would support openly and with all his strength, the plan of ministers. It was a noble and glorious measure; he wished for nothing more for Ireland.”

He did not wish for more, that is to say, he did not order more for Ireland. The wishes of O'Connell are not to be despised. In consequence, Mr. Spring Rice hastened to satisfy him. “He need not give himself any uneasiness,” said the Chancellor of the Exchequer; “the government would equally do justice to Ireland. It should likewise have its corporations reformed, and perhaps during the same session.”

“Thanks!” murmured O'Connell, mixing himself with the crowd of members pouring out of the hall; “I will remember this promise for Ireland.”

Ireland! you should have heard him pronounce its name with that excited, trembling accent, so full of tenderness, which emphasizes and lingers on every syllable of the beloved word; you should have heard him, to comprehend the power of his irresistible eloquence. Pure love of country lends one a super-human strength. A just cause, honestly and warmly embraced, is an irresistible weapon in hands capable of wielding it.

I am not surprised that desperate conservatives, seeing their tottering privileges ready to be trodden under the feet of O'Connell, should treat him as an agitator, madman, destroyer. But how is it, that among the reformers themselves, he has so many inconsistent admirers, who will never pardon him for the bitter violence and inexorable severity of his speeches? Do these moderate and quiet men believe that honeyed phrases, and the submission of prayers, would have obtained the redress of even the least of the Irish griefs? No! had he not struck roughly and pitilessly, the old edifice of usurpation and intolerance would be still entire. Let him go on—let him be pitiless; he has made an important breach in the walls—let him level them with the ground. To overthrow such things is not destruction; it is but the clearing of the ground to build up public liberty.

O'Connell is unquestionably the best speaker, and the ablest politician in Parliament. Friends or enemies, every one acknowledges, at least to himself, that he is the master-spirit; thus he is the true premier. The members of the cabinet are nothing but puppets, dressed up for show, and worked by his agency. His influence over the masses of the people is also immense and universal. He is not the popular idol in Ireland only, but also in England and Scotland. Long life to him! the hopes and future welfare of three nations are centered in his person.

I have nothing further to say of the sitting of the 5th of June, except to remark, that a sufficient number of working members were left in the room to continue for many hours the despatch of business of secondary importance. It is but justice to the House of Commons to state, that great political questions do not retard the execution of local and private business. They will often get through in a single night, more work than the French Chamber of Deputies would in a month of thirty days.

You have seen that the opposition of the conservatives gave way before the corporations bill. It was not without deep mortification, as you may imagine, but prudence rendered it indispensable. It is necessary, at any sacrifice, to assume the appearance of not hating too violently the principles of reform. The plan is not without cunning.

But the opposition counts with confidence on regaining its ground on the question of Irish tithes and their appropriation. It is on this question that it has halted and offers combat. “We have abundantly proved,” say their proclamations, “that we are reasonable reformers, but our love of change cannot induce us to sacrifice the church.” And their church, that ungrateful and unnatural daughter, which has denied and plundered its mother, invokes with all its power the old prejudices of the Protestants to the aid of its champions; it sounds the tocsin with its bells taken from Catholic steeples. Every where it stations its bishops in its temples without altars, and makes them preach a new crusade against Catholicism. Hear them: Of the innumerable religious sects which encumber the three kingdoms, taking them in alphabetical order, from the Anabaptists to the Unitarians, there is not one so hateful and dangerous as the Catholic church. The Popish sect is the only one that endangers the state, the throne and the property of individuals. It is necessary to burn again the Pope in effigy and in processions, as formerly under the reign of Queen Elizabeth; and it would not be bad to burn on the same occasion that impious majority in the Commons, who wish to appropriate a part of the Protestant tithes in Ireland to the education of the poor of all religions! God be praised, the selfish and insensate voice of the conservatives has only cried in the desert. Their fanaticism will not succeed against the general good sense of the nation. Within as without the chamber, their defeat is inevitable. To use the beautiful metaphor of Mr. Shiel, the first Irish orator after O'Connell, the church of Ireland will be the cemetery of toryism and Protestant intolerance.

THIRD LECTURE

Of the Course on the Obstacles and Hindrances to Education, arising from the peculiar faults of Parents, Teachers and Scholars, and that portion of the Public immediately concerned in directing and controlling our Literary Institutions.

On the Faults of Teachers.

It will be recollected, my friends, that my last effort was to expose the vices and faults of parents, so far as they obstruct the progress of education. Those of instructers shall next be exhibited, since they are certainly entitled at least to the second in rank in their power to do mischief. I might sum up all their faults in one sweeping condemnation, by saying that they render the persons guilty of them enemies to themselves, to their professional brethren, and to the public. But specifications are wanting, and such I propose to give, as minutely and distinctly as I can.

In the first place, they injure themselves by the style and language often used when they tender their services to the public. The expressions are frequently such as to encourage the idea, already too prevalent, that they are the only party to be obliged—they alone to be the receivers of favors never to be adequately compensated. Whereas the truth is, if they are really fit for their business, and desirous to perform it faithfully, they never receive the millionth part of a cent for which they do not make a most ample return—a return, the real value of which can never be measured by mere dollars and cents. But the language in which they seek or acknowledge employment, often expresses a degree of humility below the lowest gospel requirement—a doubt of their own qualifications to teach, which, if true, ought forever to exclude them from the class of instructers. It sometimes, in fact, deserves no better name than a servile begging for patronage, as if they considered it a species of gratuitous alms. Ought it to be wondered at, when this is the case, that the public should understand them literally, and treat them accordingly? If they avoid this extreme in tendering their services, it by no means follows, as a necessary consequence, that they should run into the other, which is also very common, of making themselves ridiculous by extravagant pretensions. The middle course in this, as in many other things, is best. Let them always state plainly and explicitly, without exaggeration, what they believe they can do—their willingness to make the attempt with persevering fidelity, and the pecuniary compensation expected for their services. If this were always fairly and fully done, there could not be even the shadow of a pretext on the part of any who might then choose to accept their offers, for underrating their labors, and talking or acting as persons who had conferred obligations beyond all requital, by giving much more than they had received, or could be paid. When teachers are treated in this way, it is, in a great measure, their own fault, and it arises chiefly from the causes just stated. To render their intercourse with their employers what it ought to be, and what it certainly might become, there should be not only a feeling of entire reciprocity of benefit as to the money part of their dealings, but a mutuality of respect and esteem well merited on both sides. This kind of regard can never be felt towards teachers who receive such civilities as may be paid to them, like unexpected and unmerited favors; for if they themselves do not appear to hold their own profession in the honor to which it is justly entitled, who else can they expect to rate it any higher?

In the second place, teachers are often enemies to their professional brethren in the jealousy manifested towards each other—in a restless and ill-restrained propensity to depreciate each other's qualifications, and a too frequent co-operation with the slandering part of the community, when they find the children sent to them from other schools ignorant and ill-disposed, to ascribe it all to the defective manner in which they have been taught, rather than to the real and very frequent causes of incapacity, bad temper, or bad early habits. By such practices, many foolishly imagine that they are promoting their own particular interests, when, in fact, they are deeply injuring the general interests of the whole class of teachers, by contributing to impair the public confidence in all schools whatever. For what can more effectually do this with the majority of mankind, than to hear those who set up for their instructers in morals, as well as in general science, continually finding fault with each other, or silently acquiescing in its being done by persons not of their own profession? Such conduct places them in this desperate dilemma; if what each says of every other be false, the public must think them all base calumniators: if it be true, the conclusion is inevitable that they are all incapable; and either alternative would speedily and most deservedly strip the whole of employment.

Lastly, teachers are often enemies to the public in so many particulars that I scarcely know with which to begin; not that I mean to charge them with being intentionally so—for it frequently happens with the best people in the world, that they are among the last to see their own greatest defects. Some of the faults of teachers may be considered as belonging exclusively to themselves, and for which they can find no excuse whatever in the faults of others—such, for example, as the two first enumerated. But those which I have now to expose, are so intimately blended with the faults of their employers, of their children, and of that portion of the world with which they are more immediately connected, that, like the reciprocating action of the various parts of certain mechanical contrivances, these faults must be viewed as causing each other. Thus, the parental fault of blindness to their children's defects, both natural and moral, and their consequent injustice to the instructers who ever blame or punish them, give birth to the equally fatal fault in teachers of carefully avoiding every hint of incapacity, and studiously concealing the ill-conduct of their pupils, because well aware that they probably will not be believed. If compelled to make communications on so perilous and ungrateful a subject, they are so softened and frittered away, as to produce a far less pardonable deception than entire silence, since a sensible parent would ascribe the last to its proper motive, when the glossing and varnishing process might lead them entirely astray. The same knowledge of the self-delusion, and consequent injustice of parents, leads teachers to the frequent commission of another fault, in which they often engage their particular friends as participators. At their public examinations (where they have any) they contrive a sort of Procrustes' bed, which all their pupils are made to fit, but rather by the stretching than by the lopping process. This is usually managed so adroitly, that the public will see numerous goodly advertisements, with many imposing signatures, taking their rounds through all the newspapers, by which it clearly appears that every scholar in the school, however numerous they may be, even to the youngest child, performed to the entire satisfaction and admiration of all who saw or heard them. It is utterly impossible that these examinations, if fairly made, could have any such uniform and favorable result; for the difference of natural capacity alone must inevitably produce a great inequality of performance in the pupils. Every body with five grains of experience, knows that many other causes are constantly operating to increase this inequality. Such reports, therefore, of examinations, fail entirely with the reflecting, well-informed part of the community, to produce any thing but ridicule, disgust, or pity, while the ignorant and inexperienced are most unjustifiably imposed upon. The most deceived of any will generally be the parents who are absent, whose natural partiality for their own children so blinds their judgment, as to make them believe in any eulogium bestowed upon them, however extravagant. Little else is ever accomplished by these truly delusive spectacles, unless it be most injuriously to inflate the vanity of the poor pupils. The desire to be puffed in the newspapers, and talked about in public, is substituted for the love of learning for its own sake, and thereby one of the most important objects of education is greatly obstructed. This is, or ought to be, to excite in all persons under pupilage an ardent desire to gain knowledge, because they love it for itself, and for the power which it confers of promoting human happiness.

The reciprocal faults just stated in teachers and parents, co-operate, not to promote in any way, but to destroy the great ends of instruction, so far at least as they can contribute to the work of destruction. Let it not be understood, from the foregoing remarks, that I am opposed to public examinations in all schools whatever; although I certainly wish it to be understood that, as generally managed, they are worse than useless. But I do object to them altogether in schools for females—unless, among our other marvellous advances towards perfectibility, we should take it into our heads to make lawyers, doctors, statesmen, and soldiers of our daughters, instead of modest, unassuming, well-informed, home-loving, and virtuous matrons. Then, indeed, it will be necessary to give them that kind of early training, continually aided by public examinations at school, which will inure them to the public gaze, and enable them, in due time, to meet the searching eyes of multitudes with unabashed hardihood of countenance; and entirely divested of such a very needless incumbrance as that retiring, timid, indescribable modesty, heretofore deemed one of the most lovely, fascinating, and precious traits of the female character. I will not go so far as to assert that none can possess this trait who have been accustomed to be publicly examined—for I have the happiness to know many from whose hearts neither this ordeal, nor all the other corrupting influences of the world united, have had power to banish those admirable principles and qualities which constitute at once the most endearing ornaments and highest glory of their sex. But I will say, that they are exceptions, forcibly illustrating the truth of the general principle, which is, that modesty, or indeed any other good quality, must, in the end, be destroyed by causes continually operating to work its destruction.

Another sore evil of incalculable extent, in relation to this subject of education, is the frequent discordance between the precepts and the lessons which must necessarily be taught in all well-regulated schools, and the examples witnessed, the opinions heard, and the habits indulged in at home. This often places conscientious teachers in a most puzzling and painful dilemma, from which many shrink altogether, while others vainly endeavor to compromise the matter in such a manner, as completely to nullify (if I may use a very current phrase) every effort to do good. The dilemma is, that in discharging the duty to the child, the parent, although indirectly, is unavoidably condemned, every time the teachers warn their pupils, as they continually ought to do, against any of the faults and vices most prevalent in society. Desperate, indeed, and almost hopeless, is the task of teaching, when this most deplorable, but very common case occurs. For what is the consequence of imparting virtuous principles and habits to the children, admitting the possibility of it, where none but vicious examples have been seen under the parental roof? Their eyes are inevitably opened to the wretched moral destitution of those to whom, under God, they owe their existence; and they are thus plunged into a state of perpetual suffering, if not actual misery—for the better the children become, the greater will be their distress and affliction at the condition of their parents. What fathers or mothers are there, having either hearts to feel or understandings to discern the awful responsibilities they live under in regard to their children, but must tremble at the bare thought of setting them bad examples, and thus becoming a source of double misery to their own offspring—misery here, even if they escape the contagion of these vicious parental practices and habits—and misery hereafter, should they be so deeply infected as to prove irreclaimable?

Another highly pernicious fault, of which multitudes of teachers are guilty, is continually to act as if they took upon themselves no other responsibility than that of a mere formal attendance in their schools for the number of hours prescribed, to hear prescribed lessons repeated in a parrot-like manner. Any thought of being accountable for the influence exerted in forming the characters of so many fellow-beings, seems never to enter their minds, although this is beyond all calculation the most important part of the whole process of education.

Another fault of frequent occurrence among instructers is, to have such an overweening, extravagant sense of their own dignity, as to be incessantly on the watch for offences committed against it. Thus even a single muscular contortion of a pupil's face, whether natural or accidental, and even if he be but nine or ten years old, will be construed into a most grievous and flagrant insult, not to be expiated but by some signal punishment, usually of a corporeal kind, and inflicted in such a manner as to prove that the operators are rather working off their own wrath than endeavoring to cure the scholar's defects. By this truly ridiculous sensitiveness, they are certain so to expose themselves as either to become laughing-stocks or objects of scorn and contempt to all their older scholars, or of the most perfect hatred to the younger ones. In all such cases these teachers become real nuisances—for the injuries done by such conduct to the tempers of their pupils, far exceed any possible benefit they can gain at such schools.

There are some faults of teachers which greatly impair, if they do not entirely destroy, a proper subordination among their scholars. One is the want of a dignified manner, equally removed from a proud, haughty, imperious demeanor, and too much familiarity. Another is the excessive fear of offending the parents, and perhaps losing the pupils, by complaint. In every case of the kind, the child, of course, escapes all effectual reproof or adequate correction, especially if the parent be very wealthy, very weak, or extensively connected with what are usually called “great people.” Invidious distinctions are thus created in such schools, and the influence of all punishment is lost, even over those upon whom it may be inflicted, sometimes in double or quadruple proportions, to compensate for the omission in the cases of the favored culprits.

Another fault, little, if any less destructive of the influence which teachers should possess over their pupils, is their general carelessness in the all-essential duty of striving to convince their scholars that they are really and deeply interested, both as social beings and as christians, in leading their juvenile minds to the sublimest heights of knowledge and virtue. No instructer who fails to do this, whatever may be his or her other qualifications, can possibly succeed well in the main objects of education. They may, indeed, cram their pupils' heads with words, and even get into them a very showy stock of ideas; but in regard to the great, vital principles of human action, piety and virtue, these pupils will be in little better condition, as to true moral worth, than so many automata, having the power of uttering articulate sounds, and repeating what they have been taught, but devoid of all generous, benevolent, and virtuous motives of conduct. The notion constantly present to their minds will be, that they pay their money for a quantum of reluctant service, to a selfish and mercenary being, whose constant study is, to perform no more of such service than barely sufficient to secure the pupils' continuance at school, for the sake of the pecuniary compensation alone. Ought there to be any wonder if the scholars themselves, under such circumstances, contract the same selfishness, the same base love of lucre, which they find often so productive of profit, and which they believe to be the governing principle of their teacher's conduct? Should the general propensity to extravagance in the use of money, so fatally common among young people, or their better feelings imbibed at home, protect them from contracting principles similar to those of such instructers, they are in danger of adopting another opinion equally destructive of the chance of deriving intellectual or moral improvement from any school whatever. This is, a firm belief that the whole class of teachers are destitute of every thing like generous and noble sentiments, and are consequently utterly undeserving of deference, respect, esteem, or affection.

Another thing which greatly impairs the influence of teachers with their pupils, is the very common practice of giving way to their own faults and bad habits in the presence of their scholars. Those who take upon them to instruct others in practical duties, must so act on all occasions as to be able to say, “Not only do as I tell you, but do as I do;” for without good examples in teachers, all their precepts go for nothing, or will be obeyed from no other principle but fear.

Another fault much too common among teachers, is, that many will enter into the profession, who are exceedingly deficient in all the requisite qualifications; and whose sole object is to support themselves at other people's expense, while preparing for some other pursuit, to which the business of teaching is made a kind of convenient stepping-stone. For all the mechanic arts—even the most simple—a particular training and appropriate education is deemed essential. But for that most difficult of all arts, next to governing a nation—I mean the art of preparing youth successfully to fulfil all their various duties in life—no peculiar adaptation of talent seems ever to be looked for; no course of study or instruction, specially suited to this all important profession, is scarcely any where systematically pursued, or required. We will not trust even a tinker to mend a hole in a dish or basin, unless we believe that he has been regularly bred to his business; yet we fear not to trust both the souls and bodies of our children—both their temporal and eternal happiness—to persons of whom we often know nothing, but that they profess to teach a few sciences, a foreign language or two, and possibly some ornamental art; as if the mere professing to do these things was necessarily accompanied by the full power and skill to accomplish that infinitely greater object of all education—the forming the hearts, minds, and principles of youth, to the love of knowledge and the practice of virtue! This last all important qualification, without which every other will be unavailing, is so far from being the inseparable concomitant of what is usually called “learning,” that it is rarely ever found in those who have had no practical experience in teaching: not that practice alone will give it, for it seems to be the result of a combination of circumstances and qualities not often uniting in the same person. These are—perfect self-control—great benevolence—much forbearance—a quickness in distinguishing all the various shades and diversities of character in children—sound judgment in selecting the best means of instruction—with unwearied perseverance in applying them. Many an humble mother, who scarcely understands even the meaning of the terms grammar, science, and literature, possesses vastly more of this highly essential art, than thousands of the most erudite scholars; and are as far superior to them for all the most valuable purposes of education, as Sir Isaac Newton was to Swift's ideal clown, whom he represents as ignorantly calling this incomparable philosopher, “one Isaac Newton, a maker of sun dials.” Not that I would undervalue learning in teachers; no, very far from it, for a large portion of it is indispensable. But I mean to assert, that there is a peculiar art of teaching, not necessarily connected with, nor the result of, what is usually called learning. It is the art, as I before remarked, of forming the hearts, minds and principles of children, to the love of knowledge and to the practice of virtue, which mere learning can never confer. It is an art, in fact, which must have for its basis strong natural sense and feelings—a heart full of the milk of human kindness—sound, moral, and religious principles—a clear, discriminating judgment, a considerable portion of scholastic learning, and some practical experience. Those alone who possess and love to exercise this art, are capable of imparting “that education which bears upon the machinery of the human mind, which is truly practical—that which breaks up the ‘fallow ground’ of the human heart—that which brings forth the fruits of intelligence and virtue.” In other words, (to borrow the language of an admirable article on popular education, in a late North American Review,) every teacher, when entering upon the discharge of his duties, should be able most conscientiously “to say with himself—‘now, my business is to do what is in my power, to rear up for society intelligent and virtuous men and women: it is not merely to make good arithmeticians or grammarians, good readers or writers, good scholars who shall do themselves and me credit—this, indeed, I have to do; but it is still farther, to make good members of society, good parents and children, good friends and associates; to make the community around me wiser and happier for my living in it: my labor, in fine, must be, to ingraft upon these youthful minds that love of knowledge and virtue, without which, they cannot be happy, nor useful, nor fitted for the greatest duties; and without which, indeed, all their acquisitions will soon drop like untimely blossoms from the tree of life.’”

We bind lads to hatters, shoemakers, and tailors, to learn their trades, lest our miserable bodies and limbs should not receive their due share of decoration—nay, we often make the mere fashion of these decorations an object of the most anxious concern, of the deepest imaginable interest; while the artizans who are to adorn our minds with their appropriate embellishments, are left to pick up their qualifications as they may; frequently too, they are persons without any inclination, or talents, or temper, or principles, to fit them for this all important business; and not unfrequently, with so slender a stock of the requisite knowledge and learning, as to be much more suitable subjects for receiving, than for imparting instruction. True it is, that such charlatans and impostors are soon found out; but they contribute greatly to degrade the profession, and do infinite mischief in other respects; for they are free to roam every where, without any testimonials of their fitness, and rarely fail to find some new field for their fatal empiricism.

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. 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 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 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 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 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 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.

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?

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.

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!!

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.

“The Philadelphia was captured from the barbarians when she was, and after she had long been, in their secure possession, in their own harbour, and under the guns of their own fort, and where she was kept fully manned and armed, as their pride, as well as defence, and where she was a monument at once for barbarian triumph, and for American humiliation. This protecting fort was armed with more than a hundred guns, and backed, it was said, by an army in camp of twenty thousand men. The banks of the harbor were lined with land-batteries throughout, and armed also with more than a hundred guns, and its waters were guarded by a thousand seamen. Still this little gallant band, the recaptors, in the dead of night, with Decatur at their head, made their way to this frigate, boarded her, cut down every barbarian on board, or drove him over her sides into the water; then, in obedience to orders to set fire to her in different parts, they burnt her down to the water's edge, and made their retreat in safety; and all this in the face and fire of the artillery of that fort and of those land-batteries.

“Let it be recollected that this daring enterprise was out of the routine of the regular naval service; it was, indeed, permitted, but not directed by the commanding officer on that station; it was wholly a volunteer enterprise. It was originally suggested by the gallant and ever-to-be-lamented Decatur, then a lieutenant, and but a youth, as it were. He saw that the thing was practicable to spirits daring like his own, and that the achievement, though full of danger, would be full of honor. He saw the brilliant page it would make in history; but he did not foresee that it would be but the title-page to that volume of brilliant exploits, which subsequently were to illustrate our naval annals, of which this was to be the precursor and animating model. He soon collected his volunteer band of congenial spirits, all young, like himself, and, like him, burning with a thirst for distinction. Confiding in themselves, they went to the enterprise, confident of success, and did realize what to colder minds would seem but the dream of romance. It is pleasing to note the number of our naval heroes, who afterwards so much distinguished themselves in our naval battles, who gave their juvenile and first proofs of heroism in this heroic enterprise.”

Thirty-two years have elapsed since this achievement took place, and the halls or Congress have, probably, witnessed twenty or thirty frivolous debates on this simple question, whether a great, a powerful, a wealthy nation, lying under heavy obligations to some of its heroic citizens, should honorably discharge the debt, or, through an unworthy species of chicane, delay or evade the payment—debates, which, in addition to the dishonor they inflicted on the nation, probably cost full as much as would have satisfied the claimants, and rescued them from the distress and embarrassments caused by the delay of justice. A delay of justice is often equivalent to a denial of it, and, for aught we know, it may be somewhat the case in the present instance. The justice of the claim has, I apprehend, never been disputed. The difficulty, so far as I understand the subject, is on the apportionment of the sum acknowledged to be due, among the different claimants. But what character would an individual deserve, who owed a sum of money to a number of persons, and delayed, or refused to pay any of them, under pretence that he could not precisely fix their respective quotas? Would he not be set down, and with justice, as a sharper. And are the rules of morality less obligatory on nations than on individuals?

If a proper disposition to do justice prevailed with Congress, the difficulty might have been easily obviated, by passing an act awarding the whole sum to the mass of the captors, subject to an apportionment by an arbitration, or by a jury.

If the widow of the illustrious Decatur, and her fellow-claimants, whoever they may be, are not common paupers, supported by eleemosynary aid—are not tenants of hospitals, or alms-houses—their escape from this frightful result, attaches no merit to those majorities whose cold-blooded and heartless votes are recorded against the act of paramount justice involved in this question.

Lieutenant Webster and Lieutenant Newcomb.

It cannot for a moment be doubted that the gallant attack on the British, in their attempt on Baltimore, by a six gun battery, called Fort Patapsco, and by another small battery called Fort Covington, the former commanded by Lieutenant Webster, and the latter by Lieutenant Newcomb, were the chief means of saving the city from capture. The British contemplated a simultaneous attack by land and water; and, while the troops were landing at North Point, a flotilla, consisting of sixteen ships including five bomb vessels, proceeded up the Patapsco. At one o'clock, A. M. on the 14th of September, 1814, twelve hundred picked men were detached with scaling ladders, to land on the south side of the city. They had eluded Fort M’Henry by a somewhat circuitous route. As they approached the shore, the two small forts, of whose existence, it is believed, they were ignorant, opened a most destructive fire upon them, which sunk some of their barges, and killed many of their men. These unexpected disasters wholly deranged all their plans, and made them retreat in a state of discomfiture. In their retreat they came within gunshot of Fort M’Henry, which raked them with great havoc.

Had they passed the two small forts, and debarked their men at the contemplated point, nothing could have saved Baltimore from falling a prey to those who had so recently taken Washington; and sharing in the ignominious fate of that city, as, even without this co-operation, the former, Baltimore, was in most imminent danger.

For this invaluable service, which would be cheaply purchased by millions of dollars, the two Lieutenants received the thanks of the City of Baltimore, and each a gold-hilted sword, which cost between three and four hundred dollars. To Lieutenant Webster, whose circumstances were humble, a donation of an equal sum in l'argent comptant would have been infinitely more useful. Sometime afterwards he opened a grocery store, nearly opposite the Indian Queen, in Market street, the principal thoroughfare in Baltimore, a city which was so largely indebted to him, and whose inhabitants ought to have vied with each other in their encouragement of him. But, alas! so slender was their support, that he was unable to maintain himself by his business, and finally failed. What has become of him since, I have no means of ascertaining with precision, but have some reason to believe that he is now in the service of the United States.

“Ingratitude! thou marble-hearted fiend!”

DIARY OF AN INVALID.

NO. II.

THE PORTRAIT.

My life, during the last three years, has been as variable as the seasons. My own habits and manner of existence often remind me of those gregarious birds, whose mysterious and far off voices we hear, singing the requiem of dying pleasure, as they journey from one climate to another. As soon as I have made an agreeable settlement in one place, and begin to enjoy the sympathies of society, (for believe me, gentle reader, my heart was not cast in the misanthrope's mould,) either a blast from the north, or a fiery dart from the south, warns me that I am out of my proper latitude. On consulting with my physician on the fittest location for my approaching winter quarters, he suggested Charleston, in South Carolina, as offering the twofold advantage of a regular and mild temperature of climate, and all the pleasures arising from intercourse with the most polished and interesting society in the United States. Knowing something of the querulous, desponding disposition attendant on protracted disease, he encouraged me to the removal, by remarking that he had himself spent a winter in that city, under circumstances much more depressing; and he could truly say, he retained none but the most delightful reminiscences of the place or its inhabitants. He had formed many valuable and enduring friendships among its citizens, and on some of them he should confer a favor, by recommending his friend to their hospitable courtesies. He furnished me with several letters of introduction; among them was one to Col. H. B. Ashton; in handing me which, he paused, exclaiming with enthusiastic emotion, “Oh! that I could take the place of this letter—that I could grasp again that hand, the pledge of as true a heart as ever beat in a human breast.” He continued—“His address you will readily ascertain, as he is a man of some distinction there. You have only to forward this, and I will warrant that you never repent the trouble of presenting it.”

On the first day of November, I took passage in a commodious packet, bound from New York to Charleston. The day of embarkation was fine, and my feelings of regret, on leaving my native city, gave place to an exhilarating superiority, as, in clearing her port, I saw her proud ramparts spurn the encroaching billow, while the flag of every nation swept by me, seeking her free and rich commerce.

We had a fair and pleasant voyage to Charleston, which (except in contrast with my own imperial city,) I should pronounce both an interesting and handsome looking town from its harbor. On landing, I had more than enough very civil offers to take me to the best hotel, in the best coach, on the very best terms. This matter was soon settled, and away I was whirled into the heart of the town, and set down before a spacious and ancient looking building, not exhibiting all the Corinthian ornament of our northern style of architecture, but sumptuous in its accommodations. There was an ease and an elegance in all its “appointments,” very gratifying to the flesh, as I can say from experience. Either I was in the humor to be pleased with every thing, or every thing was in the humor to please me. The very attendants, to the lowest menial, evinced the most perfect delight in waiting my pleasure, or doing my bidding; unlike our northern gentry, who by their impertinent empressement, show that they are working “for a consideration.”

The first morning after my arrival opened with smiles so bland, that I was tempted to walk to the post office and deposit my letters of introduction; for I soon learnt that the etiquette here is not to force yourself upon the acquaintance of any one. The following day brought a number of calls in answer to my letters. The gentlemen were all courteous and prepossessing, but none came up exactly to my idea of Ashton. It was late in the evening, and I was getting a little miffed, that my claims on his attention had not been acknowledged with the promptitude my importance demanded, when a quick rap at the door announced a visiter. Before I had time to smooth down my ruffled temper into any thing like complacency, in walked a tall and elegant gentleman, who, addressing me, said, “May H. Ashton claim the privilege of a friend, in greeting Mr. M—— with a heartfelt shake of the hand?” He went on to say, that an unexpected call into the country had prevented his receiving intelligence of my arrival until late in the evening, which, he remarked, must account for his apparent neglect. But as soon as I saw the man, every unworthy thought was gone. He could not be mistaken. Nature had set her stamp upon him, as one of her premium productions, when she makes the moral attributes correspond and harmonize in beautiful proportions with noble external lineaments. He had passed the zenith of life, being then perhaps sixty years old, yet time had not extinguished the fires of youth; tempered and mellowed in the school of experience, they beamed still in the smile of benevolence, and were practically illustrated in every virtue. I could dwell on the charming traits of his character forever—but lest I should tire my reader, I will hasten on to the incident which gave rise to the following interesting narrative.

It was soon settled, that I should spend as much of my leisure time as I found agreeable, at the house of my new friend. He gave me a sort of running history of what I might expect to encounter, of noise and confusion, in a castle populous with brats of all ages and sizes; but, concluded he, “good humor, like charity, hides all their failings, in my eyes, at least.” With these prepossessions, you will not be surprised to learn, that I found his family not only pleasant, but interesting. Mrs. Ashton was a lady, whose polished and dignified manners showed that she had moved in the select circle of society, which she still adorned by the charms of her conversation and the sweetness of her disposition. Her two eldest sons were settled in life, and the youngest daughter at a boarding school; but the six little rioters of grand-children were sufficiently uproarious, to show that the tranquillity of the house must not depend on silence.