CHAPTER VI.
We left William Mitten just after his introduction to Mr. Cosby
Smith, his fourth teacher. Smith, but recently from college, and
coming in competition with Mr. Markham, of course, did not receive
much patronage, though few men of his age better deserved
patronage than he did. He commenced with sixteen scholars, a
fourth of whom were entered by Mrs. Glib and Mrs. Mitten.
William, without trouble, and with little study, went immediately
to the head of this school; and he went there only to breed trouble
to his teacher, and mischief, vice, and insubordination among his
schoolmates. Of all the pests that can be thrown into a school, the
smart boy, without a rival in it for talents, and without principle, is
the greatest. His talents give a charm to his vices which is irresistible
to most of his young companions. School-boys make too
little distinction between virtue and vice, anyhow. They never
seem to think that their own character is involved in their association
with the wicked; nor that they are under any obligation to
discountenance sin, in any of its forms, provided it does not invade
their own rights. Hence, the vicious are admitted to all the rights,
privileges, and immunities of the little republic, as fully and freely
as the most virtuous. Look at the students of a school on the play-ground—
mark their intercourse with each other generally, and you
will find it impossible to discover from their conduct which of them
stands highest, or which stands lowest, in point of moral character.
But you will not find much difficulty in discovering who are the
master-spirits among them in their studies. To these there is a
marked deference and respect shown, even in their sports. For the
most part, their word is law, and whether it be on the side of good or
evil, it is equally authoritative. What can be worse than such lawgivers,
when their hearts are constantly set on mischief!
For some months before William had entered this school, his applications
to his mother, for money, had become alarmingly frequent;
but he always quieted her alarms by representing to her that the
funds desired were for some benevolent, or praise worthy object. His
representations brought from her many excellent lectures upon
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indiscriminate charities, and the danger to which his benevolent nature
was exposed from imposters and worthless vagrants, who choose
rather to beg than to work—to which he generally gave substantially
the same reply, namely, “that he was always very particular in
seeing who he gave his money to.” In this he told the truth, at
least, since he generally gave his money to one of the Glibs, whom
he had become very particular in seeing too frequently at the card-table.
He had been at Smith's school but a few months, before
the fountains of his charity suddenly dried up; and what may seem
very strange to some, dried up just as he began to acquire the means
of more enlarged benevolence. His growing fortune first exhibited
itself in a profusion of pen-knives, which he carried about him, from
the most costly and elegant down to the cheapest and most worthless
kind.
“William,” said his mother, “where do you get those elegant
pen-knives?”
“This one was given to me by Mr. Jones; and this one I found;
and this one was given to me by one of the school-boys.” William
did not show his mother his whole assortment, by three or four.
“I hope, my son, that these gifts are but just returns for the many
acts of charity which you have recently done to the poor. One
never loses anything in the end by this kind of charity; but you
should have excused yourself from accepting the last, on the ground
that you had two elegant knives already; and that your young
friend needed it more than you did.”
“I did tell him so; but he said I must take it to remember
him by.”
“Well, my son, put that away as a sacred keepsake, and never
use it but in case of necessity.”
The next signs which William exhibited of his growing fortune,
were books, fishing-poles, shinny-sticks, bunches of quills, breast-pins,
and cakes of divers kinds.
“William,” said his mother, “where did you get those articles?”
“They were given to me by the boys for doing their sums for
them; and taking them over their lessons—”
“Oh my son! my son! You surely did not take pay for these
little kindnesses, from your school fellows! I am ashamed of you—
deeply mortified. Where did you learn that groveling sordid spirit?
I would rather have given you twenty dollars, to buy all these things
than to have seen you guilty of such ignoble acts.”
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“Well, Ma, I didn't wish to take 'em; but they would make me
take them.”
“No matter what they said, you should not have received them.
As a gift you might have taken them; but as a reward for such little
favors as these to your young friends, you should have rejected
them.”
These were new lights to William; for he thought his mother
would be delighted to hear of his superiority over his schoolmates,
and that he was already turning his talents to good account.
“And where did you get the two breast-pins?”
“I sold one of my pen-knives, and bought this.”
“Not the one, I hope, that your friend gave you”
“Oh, no ma'am; the one I found!”
“Why, William, you surely have not sold a found knife! It was
not your property, but the property of him who lost it; and you
should have kept it, to restore it to him as soon as he could be discovered;
and you should have used your best exertions to find the
owner, in order that you might restore it to him. I am deeply mortified
at this act of yours; and if you have any regard for my feelings,
or your character, never do tho like again. It alarms me, and
pains me deeply to discover such principles in you. Where did you
learn them? Not from any who carries the blood of your father or
mother in his veins, I am sure. I fear your intimacy with the Glibs
is ruining you. Nothing but dire necessity could have induced me
to put you to the same school with them; but I charge you, as I
have often charged you before, to have as little to do with them as
possible.”
“Where did you get the other breast-pin?”
William was saved a great deal of trouble and mortification in
answering this question, by an exclamation of his sister Jane, who
no sooner cast her eyes upon the breast-pin, than she exclaimed:
“Why, Ma, that is Flora Glib's breast-pin. Let me look at it
William, yes, here are her initials on it: F. C. L. G.—Flora
Claudia Lavinia Glib. I knew it as soon as I saw it; for I have
seen her wear it a hundred times.”
“William!” ejaculated his mother, with manifest alarm and indignation,
“where did you get that pin?”
“Jeff. Glib gave it to me!”
“Go immediately to him, and return it; and tell him to give it
back to his sister.”
The truth of the matter is that William had made such rapid
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improvement in card-playing, that he had become an over-match for
the Glibs, and he was now indoctrinating as many of his school-mates
into the mysteries of the card table as he could find willing to
become his pupils; and for the reasons already given, he found nearly
the whole school ready to take lessons from him. Most of his articles
of merchandize, (and we have not named all of them) were the
fruits of his industry in this department of science; though some of
them were, as he said, rewards for his better services to his fellow
students. It would have been bad enough, had his evil influence
stop here; but it did not. He had already become mean enough to
tempt his school-fellows to sin in a hundred forms; and artful
enough to put them always forward to the post of danger in the
commission of it. The consequence was, that, while he got the
booty, they got the floggings and disgrace.
The iniquities of the school were most unrighteously visited upon
the head of the preceptor, who, at the end of year, was compelled
to quit the village, for want of patronage.
“And what,” said Captain Thompson, to his sister, “are you
going to do with your hopeful son now, Anna?”
“Heaven only knows! I fear he will bring my grey hairs with
sorrow to the grave. Brother David, why do you not talk to him?”
“Talk, the devil! I have talked to him, in all ways that I
can think of; and what good does it do? He has got so of late
that when I talk to him I can hardly keep my hands off of him. I
can see in the looks and actions of the young rascal, that nothing
but fear keeps him from laughing outright in my face.”
“Oh, brother, I think you judge him too harshly. I know he has
got into bad habits; but still, I am sure he respects and loves you.”
“And he respects and loves you, too, don't he?”
“He must be a brute if he does not.”
“Well I suppose he does love you; but I assure you he cares no
more for your counsels than he does for mine; and that hardly a day
goes over his head that he does not practice some deception, upon
you.”
“There, brother, I think you judge him a little too hardly again.
He generally does what I tell him.”
“Well, tell him to quit playing cards, pilfering from gardens and
orchards, cursing and swearing, smoking segars, drinking spirits,
frequenting kitch—
“Oh, mercy on me, brother David! what enemy of my child has
filled your ears with these calumnies? He is bad enough, I know,
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but he is not a devil yet. I cannot believe he is near as base as you
represent him to be.”
“Very well; what are you going to do with him?”
“I do not know. Will you take him under your charge? for I
confess I fear he is getting into bad habits.”
“Yes, I'll take him, and clothe him and feed him at my own expense,
if you will only give me your word that you will not interfere
with my management of him. Will you do it? If you will, I'll
perhaps save your boy from ruin and you from a broken heart.”
“Where would you send him to school? To Mr. Markham?”
“I should prefer him; but as I know you object to him, I will
engage that Bill shall not be sent to Markham. Indeed, he must be
got out of this place; or forty bushels of salt, and as many pounds
of saltpetre wouldn't save him. I'll send him to Mr. Waddel.
He'll fetch him straight.”
“I'm told Mr. Waddel is very severe.”
“Not a whit more than he ought to be, I'll warrant you. I am
told his pupils generally like him, and improve wonderfully under
him. Now, Anna, if I take him, remember the terms. You are to
have nothing to do with him. You surely ought to know, that I can
have no object in taking charge of him, but his good and your peace.
If, therefore, my conduct seems unkind, or severe to him, don't
let your maternal partialities lead you to interfere in any manner
with my authority over him. By this time, you are surely convinced
of the utter futility of your mode of managing him, and that
if some new course of discipline be not adopted towards him, he will
bring himself and you to an untimely grave. You must not only
make up your mind to give me unlimited control over him, during
his pupilage, but you must pledge me your word, that you will show
me every letter that he writes to you during his absence from you at
school, or I will have nothing to do with him. Why do you weep,
Anna?”
“Brother,” said Mrs. M., “it is a hard thing for a mother to
wean herself from her own child—to tear him from her bosom, and
hand him over as property to another. I know, my dear brother,
that your intentions are good—that you have the interests of my
child deeply at heart, and that all your aims are for his good and
mine; but I fear that you have so often been provoked by William,
and have become so prejudiced and embittered against him, that you
cannot judge of his conduct impartially, you cannot make the due
allowances for his faults, and that you will lean as much too far on
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the side of severity in your government as I have leaned on the side
of lenity in mine. Why cannot you act a father's part by him,
without usurping exclusive authority over him?”
“I had a long answer to what you have said, Anna; but your last
remark suggests a very brief one, which I think is conclusive. Now
all I ask is that you put me exactly in his father's place. Had his
father lived, he would have exercised absolute authority over William
in all matters touching his education. He would have demanded—
or rather you would have freely granted to him, the perusal of all
your son's letters to you. In all else you would have ruled the boy
conjointly. Now, give me the absolute control of him in the matter
of his education, let me see his letters to you, and in all else you
shall have unlimited control of him. I need not tell you why I
exact these terms of you. They are indispensable to the proper
management of your son.”
This reply brought Mrs. Mitten to a dead silence; and while she
was pondering upon it, very opportunely for its success, in steps
Master William, with his beautiful face “pretty considerably” disfigured
with bruises and scratches.
“Why, William!” exclaimed his mother, almost at the fainting
point, “who upon the earth has treated you in that manner?”
“Jim Fox,” muttered William.
“What did you fight about?”
“We were playing and he got mad, and insulted me, and I struck
him.”
This was strictly true, but not quite the whole truth. The playing
was with cards, and the insult was, “Bill Mitten, you're the
biggest cheat that ever played a card in this town.”
Captain Thompson said nothing, peradventure, he might at this
critical period strengthen his sister's convictions that he was unduly
prejudiced and embittered against her son. With the promise
to call the next day for her decision upon his proposition, he left
rather abruptly.
As soon as he retired, Mrs. M. addressed her son as follows:
“William, I'll have to send you away from this village, or wicked
associates will be the ruin of you. I find that it is vain to counsel
you against keeping bad company, and the only alternative left me
is to remove you from it. I have concluded, therefore, to send you
to school to Mr. Waddel, an excellent—”
“I'll not go,” said Billy, crustily.
This was Bill's first indication, when sober, of open revolt against
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the authority of his mother, and she met it with becoming spirit.
“Well, sir,” said she, “I see you are getting too stout for my
government, and, therefore, I will turn you over to your uncle, and
see whether he cannot make you go. Now, sir, my word is out, and
you know I'll keep it.”
“Ma,” said William, in a subdued tone, “I'll go any where else
but to Mr. Waddel's school. Everybody says that he is the severest
man that ever kept a school. He whips boys just for the fun of it,
for he laughs all the time he's doing it. You know Uncle David
hates me, and he'll put me there just to have me whipped.”
“No, William, it is unreasonable to suppose that any man can
take pleasure in punishing his pupils. Mr. Waddel's school has a
high reputation, which it could not have if he were the man you
take him to be. Your uncle does not hate you; but the town keeps
him constantly excited with reports of your misdeeds, and, therefore,
he sometimes seems cross to you; but he has a kind heart,
and desires nothing more than my happiness and your good. Oh!
that I had followed his advice sooner!”
“Well, Uncle may take me to Mr. Waddel's, but he'll not keep
me there; for I'll run away and come home as soon as his back's
turned.”
“That matter, sir, I'll leave to be settled between you and him.”
Here William saddened and wept; and his mother did likewise.
The next day the articles proposed were agreed to, without qualification,
save as to expenses of clothing and tuition, which were to
fall on the mother.
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Longstreet, Augustus Baldwin, 1790-1870 [1864], Master William Mitten, or, A youth of brilliant talents, who was ruined by bad luck. (Burke, Boykin, & Co., Macon, GA) [word count] [eaf460T].
