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The eventful morning came, and at an early hour Captain Thompson's
chaise was at his sister's door. His family had anticipated his
advent some eight or ten minutes. Tom came out to hold his horse,
while he went in. “No, I won't light, Tom,” said he. “Go and
bring out William's trunk, and let us be off, for we have no time to
lose.” The Captain had no idea of witnessing the parting scene.
He waited and shivered for it was cold. “Come on, William, my
brave boy—come on; we've a long road and a bad road to travel;”
bawled out the Captain to the vacant entry.

No response came, but sobs and blowing of noses.

“Tom! Tom!” cried the Captain.

Tom was waiting his turn to bid “mas' William” good-by, and
mingling his tears with those of the two families, of course, he had
forgotten the trunk. The wind began to rise a little, and the Captain
began to backslide rapidly from his conversion of the evening
before.

“John!” cried the Captain. No answer.

“Sal!” “Lotty!” “Nance!”

They were all around “mas' William;” nothing doubting but
that the saturnal of the preceding evening would be extended to the
catastrophe of the occurrence which produced it. The wind rose a
little higher, and the Captain's impatience rose a great deal higher.
At length, it gave way entirely; and, lighting from the vehicle, he
bolted into the mourning-hall, with a step, and a tongue, and a passion,
exceedingly unbecoming the solemnities of the occasion, and
exceedingly opposite to his recent experience. The first object that
met his eye was Tom, repeating precisely the part he played the
night before, when the Captain was so much affected, i. e. with
swimming eyes, and mellowed heart, contemplating William. “You
black rascal,” vociferated the Captain; “what do you stand sniveling
here for? (John, go to my horse!”) Didn't I order you to bring
out the trunk?”

“Kigh, mas' David!” said Tom, retiring a little briskly; “Nigger
got feeling well as white folks!” You feel, too, sometimes.”

“You impertinent scoundrel! if you aint off for that trunk pretty
quick, I'll make you feel worse than white folks.”

There was a lurking comparison in this reply of Tom, between

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himself and “mas' David,” decidedly favorable to himself; and a
plain intimation in it that he regarded the Captain as a clear case of
apostacy or inconsistency. But the Captain was in too great a hurry
to analyze, argue, or resent. “I have been out there for a quarter
of an hour,” continued he, “freezing, and bawling, and squalling
for every negro on the plantation, and not one could I find.”
(Excunt blacks, as from patrol.) “I have now hardly time to reach
old Smith's, before night; and to be caught in the night, on such
roads, will be awful. Anna, is William ready?”

“Just a moment, brother, till I tie this handkerchief over his ears;
the weather's bitter cold.”

While the Captain was awaiting this process, ten distinct thumps
from the stair-case fell upon his ear, and then a harsh, raking sound
of terrible import, when Tom announced: “Here's the trunk, mas'
David.” The Captain turned, and beheld one of the biggest trunks
of the day. He ran to it and hefted it, as the Yankees say, and
grunted furiously.

“Anna,” said he, “that trunk can't go on the chaise—it's impossible.”

“It is the very smallest I could get to hold the boy's things,
brother.”

“What have you got in it?”

“Nothing, but William's clothes, and a few little nick-knacks.”

“Well, you'll have to divide them, and put them in two small
trunks—one to be lashed on behind, and the other to go in the foot;
and it's a pretty time to begin that work!”

The Captain was too snappish to be reasoned with; so, by contributions
from the girls, the small trunks were soon furnished, and the
unpacking and re-packing commenced.

We will not detain the reader with a detail of the wardrobe. Suffice
it to say, that after stopping in transitu three shirts, three pair
of stockings, two under-shirts, one full winter suit, and two summer
suits, the Captain saw the two small trunks filled to their utmost capacity
with hard pressing; and yet there was a thin layer of clothing
on the ceiling of the basement story of the large trunk; we must
explain. Mrs. Mitten, with Tom's help had placed two blocks of
wood in the bottom of the trunk, upon which she laid a nice, clean,
thin white-pine board, that was so neatly adjusted to the measure of
the trunk, that it divided it into two apartments. The board was
lifted, and disclosed one pound cake, one dozen sugar-biscuits, one
ditto doughnuts, two pounds raisins, two ditto almonds, (shelled,) one
ditto prunes, with chinking of sugar-plums innumerable.

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“William, son,” said his mother, “I reckon you'll have to leave
these; I don't know how you can carry them.”

It seemed to be a hopeless case to all, and Bill surrendered with
a long deep sigh, which touched the Captain's heart a little; and
casting his eyes to William, who looked like a week's washing of
clothes piled together, he said, with a slight smirk: “There's nothing
in the chaise-box but a snack, and a little bundle of under-clothing
for myself; you can put as many of these things in that as it will
hold; but be quick about it!”

This was refreshing. It was regarded as a full atonement for all the
petulance, impatience, and crustiness that the Captain had exhibited.
One of the girls bounced into the chaise; and by the aid of the rest
of the company, she was soon enabled to stow away in the box a
goodly portion of all the varieties of nick-knacks just mentioned. In
the meantime the trunks took their places, the final kisses were disposed
of, and a minute more found the Captain and William on their
way. Nothing of special interest occurred on the journey. The
Captain gave William much encouragement and good advice, and
fretted a little at having to travel a half hour in the night to make
his first stage, but, as no accident occurred, he was easily reconciled
to it. Four o'clock the next day (Saturday,) found them at the
public house, or rather boarding house, of Mr. Nelson Newby, Abbeville
District, South Carolina. It was a rude log-house, with two
rooms, about sixteen feet square each, and an entry nearly as large,
between them. In the rear of it was another building of the same
material, somewhat shorter and narrower than the first. This was
the dining room. Six or seven small edifices of the same kind scattered
around, with little order, served as students' lodges. A rail
fence (or rather the remains of one,) three feet high, enclosed the
whole. About twenty boys of various sizes, were busily engaged in
cutting, splitting, and piling wood, at the doors of their respective
tenements—the roughest looking set of students that ever repeated
the notes of Homer and Virgil since the world began. The prospect
looked gloomy, even to the Captain, and terrific to William.

“Uncle,” whispered he, “these can't be big people's sons!”

“Well—don't know—they're pretty rough looking fellows—but—
they seem to be very industrious boys.” Poor comfort to William.
The Captain and his landlord, of course, soon became acquainted;
and the first expressing a wish to see Mr. Waddel, the last kindly
offered to escort him to the teacher's residence.

“It is not far out of the way to go by the Academy; would you
like to see it?” said Mr. Newby.

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“Very much,” replied the Captain.

They set forward, and at the distance of about two hundred and
fifty yards from Mr. Newby's premises, they entered a street, shaded
by majestic oaks, and composed entirely of log huts, varying in size
from six to sixteen feet square. The truth of history demands that
we should say, that there was but one of the smallest size just indicated,
and that was the whimsical structure of a very whimsical fellow,
by the name of Dredzel Pace. It was endangered from fire
once, and four stout students took it up by the corners, and removed
it to a place of safety.

The street was about forty yards wide, and its length was perhaps
double its width; and yet the houses on either side did not number
more than ten or twelve; of course, therefore they stood generally in
very open order. They were all built by the students themselves, or
by architects of their hiring. They served for study-houses in cold
or rainy weather, though the students were allowed to study where
they pleased within convenient reach of the monitors. The common
price of a building, on front row, water proof, and easily chinked,
was five dollars—the chinking was generally removed in summer for
ventilation. In the suburbs, were several other buildings of the
same kind, erected by literary recluses, we suppose, who could not
endure the din of the city at play-time—at play-time we say, for
there was no din in it in study hours. At the head of the street,
eastward, stood the Academy, differing in nothing from the other
buildings but in size and the number of its rooms. It had two; the
smaller devoted to a primary school of a few boys and girls, over
which Moses Wadded Dobbins, a nephew of the Rector, presided.
These soon left, and Mr. Dobbins became assistant-general to his
uncle. The larger, was the recitation room of Mr. Waddel himself,
the prayer room, court room, (see infra) and general convocation
room for all matters concerning the school. It was without seats,
and just large enough to contain one hundred and fifty boys standing
erect, close pressed, and leave a circle of six feet diameter at the
door, for jigs and cotillons at the teacher's regular soirees, every
Monday morning.

A delightful spring gushed from the foot of the hill on which the
school-house stood; and at the distance of but a few paces, poured
its waters into a lovely brook, which wound through a narrow plain,
covered with stately beeches.—Venerable old chroniclers of revered
names and happy days, where are ye!—It was under the canopy of
these beautiful ornaments of the forest, by the side of that whisper

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ing brook, that we felt the first gleam of pleasure that we ever derived
from anything in Latin. And here are the words which
awakened it:

Our party having taken a hasty survey of these things bent their
way to Castle Carberry. As they journeyed on, Mr. Newby pointed
out the ground over which Sam Shanklin and Mr. Waddel had a
notable race. Sam had offended “Old Moses” (so he were called,
even in his prime which he had now hardly left,) and as the latter
approached him whip in hand, Sam, took to his heels, not dreaming
that old Moses would follow him. But he was mistaken; he did
follow him, and gained upon him at every step, a little—Sam, finding
his pursuer too fleet for him sought safety in lofty leaping; so he
made for a brush heap. Just as he reached it, old Moses fetched
him a wipe upon the legs that energized his activity to unmatchable
achievement, and he cleared the brush heap at a bound. Here the
race ended. The Captain laughed heartily at the story; but William
saw no fun in it.

Castle Carberry stood on the highway leading from Augusta,
Georgia, to Abbeville Court House, South Carolina, and about equi-distant
from Mr. Newby's and the Academy. By whom it was
erected, we are not informed; probably, by Samuel Shields, an assistant
of Mr. Waddel, who had occupied it for two years, previous
to the time of which we are speaking, and who was just now gathering
up his goods and chattels for his final departure from the place,
and for a much more interesting engagement.* Its name was doubtless
derived from Maria Roche's novel—The Children of the Abby,
which had a great run in that day; but to tell wherein the two
Castle Carberry's were alike, would puzzle the greatest connundrumsolver
that ever lived. Upon the retirement of Mr. Shields, Alexander
B. Linton succeeded to his possessions, and James L. Petigru
to his office (not as some have most erroneously supposed, the Mr.
Pentigall, of the `Georgia Scenes,') though it was in this very castle
that the great question was discussed: “Whether at public elections
should the votes of faction predominate by internal suggestions or
the bias of jurisprudence?” Mr. Petigru had been in Columbia
College, a year or more before the discussion came off.

Some two or three students always boarded themselves at Castle

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Carberry. It served as a nucleus around which other edifices of like
kind and for like purposes gathered, all built of the common material.
We think its tenants were, in Mitten's day, Alex. B. Linton,
Henry Rasenel, Samuel Weir, and William D. Martin.

At Castle Carberry the promenaders re-entered the big road which
they had left at Newby's, having now seen all of Willington proper;
Willington common embraced every house within three miles of the
Academy. As they entered the road, a messenger called for Mr.
Newby to return home on some special business. He gave the Captain
directions to Mr. Waddel's, and returned. The directions were
simply to keep the road to the next house. A walk of a quarter of a
mile, or a little over, brought the Captain and his charge to the residence
of the renowned teacher. It was a comfortable, framed
building, two stories high, neatly, but plainly paled in—very rare
things in that vicinity.

Some six or eight more boys, like the Newbyites, were differently
employed about the premises.

“Do you know, my son,” said the Captain, addressing one of
them, “whether Mr. Waddel is at home?”

“Yes sir,” said the youth, springing to the door, and opening it,
“Walk in, take seats, and I will call him.”

He disappeared, and in a moment returned with Mr. Waddel.

“Mr. Waddel, I presume,” said the Captain.

“Yes, sir.”

“Thompson, sir, is my name, and this is my nephew, William
Mitten, whom I have brought to place under your instruction.”

“It is rather chilly, here,” said the teacher, shaking their hands
cordially, “walk into my study, where I have a good fire.” Won't
you go in, David?” added he to the guide, who was about retiring.

“No, I thank you, sir, said David.

“That's a sprightly youth,” said the Captain, as he moved towards
the study, “and he is a namesake of mine.”

“Yes,” said the teacher, “he is a clever boy—the son of the celebrated
Doctor Ramsay.”

“What! Doctor Ramsay, the patriot, statesman, and historian—
who married the accomplished daughter of the renowned Henry
Laurens, President of the first Congress of the United States, Minister
to Holland, and father of the gallant John Laurens, the beloved
of Washington?”

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This was a clear splurge* for William's benefit.

“The same,” said Mr. Waddel.

“Well, I feel myself honored in bearing the boy's name.

Before this conversation ended, all were seated in the teacher's
study. It was crowded with books—partly the teacher's private
library—partly, books laid in for the students which he furnished at
cost and charges on Philadelphia prices.

“Have you studied Latin, William?” enquired Mr. Waddel.

“Yes, sir.”

“How far have you gone?”

“I was reading Virgil, when I quit school.”

“Well, I have a large Virgil class, which will be divided on
Monday. I have found that some of them are keeping others back;
and I have ordered them to get as long a lesson as they can for
Monday morning. Those who get the most and recite the best, will
be put in one class and the rest in another. Now, you can take
either division of this class that you may be found qualified for, or
you may enter the Selectœ class, which will commence Virgil in two
or three months. Meet me at the Academy on Monday morning,
and we will see what will be best.”

“How many pupils have you, Mr. Waddel?” inquired the Captain.

“About one hundred and fifty.”

“Where do they board?”

“Just where they please, among the neighbors around. They all
take boarders, and reside at different distances from the academy,
varying from a few hundred yards to three miles.”

“Have the students to cut and haul their own firewood, and make
their own fires?”

“Not always. At some of the boarding houses the landlords
have these things done for them, and at all, they may hire servants
to perform them, if they will, or, rather, if they can; but, as at
every house there is at least a truck-wagon and horse at the service
of the students, and wood is convenient and abundant, and to be had
without stint or charge, they generally supply themselves, and make
their own fires.”

During this conversation, which from the beginning to end, was
of the most alarming interest to William, his eyes wide open, were
fixed on Mr. Waddel, who was an object of still more alarming

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interest to him. He had never seen—we have never seen—a man of
sterner features than Mr. Waddel bore. From the time that William
entered the house to the time that he left it, “shadows, clouds, and
darkness” were gathering and deepening upon his mind; relieved
only by one faint gleam of light from young Ramsay, whom he regarded
as the concentrated extract of all that was august, and great,
and gifted, and good in the United States, if not in the world; and
an ample verification per se of all that his uncle had told him about
“big men's sons.”

William was entered in due form a student of Mr. Waddel's
school; and the Captain having enquired of the post office at which
the students received their letters, and pressed Mr. Waddel to give
him early information of William's conduct, standing, and progress,
he left with his charge for Mr. Newby's. A long silence ensued.
At length it was broken by William.

“Mr. Waddel is the grummest looking man I ever saw.”

“Pretty sour,” said the Captain. “But I don't reckon he is as
bad as he looks to be. The boys seem cheerful around him; and
David Ramsay seemed perfectly easy in his presence.”

The truth is, the Captain was sore pressed for encouragements
himself, and it was the luckiest thing in the world for him that he
happened to fall in with young Ramsay just when he did.

“I had an idea,” continued the Captain, “of proposing to Mr.
Waddel to take you to board with him; but it occurred to me that
you might prefer to board somewhere else; and I am perfectly willing
to accommodate you in this matter.”

“Uncle, I wouldn't board with him for five hundred thousand
dollars!”

“Well, my son, I will not place you with him. I think the best
way will be for you to board at Mr. Newby's, for the present. After
you become acquainted with the other boarding houses, you can take
your choice among them.”

Silence ensued, which we fill up with a more particular account
of Mr. Waddel. As he was made a Doctor of Divinity soon after
the time at which we are speaking of him, we will anticipate a little,
and call him henceforth Doctor Waddel.

He was about five feet nine inches high; of stout muscular frame,
and a little inclined to corpulency. In limb, nearly perfect. His head
was uncommonly large, and covered with a thick coat of dark hair.
His forehead was projecting, and in nothing else more remarkable.
His eyes were grey and overshadowed by thick, heavy eye-brows,

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always closely knit in his calmest hours, and almost over-lapping in
his angry moods. His nose was bluntly acquiline. His lips were
rather thick, and generally closely compressed. His complexion
was slightly adust. His tout ensemble was, as we have said, extremely
austere; but it was false to his heart; for he was benevolent,
affectionate, charitable, hospitable, and kind. He was cheerful, and
even playful, in his disposition. Good boys felt at perfect ease in
his presence, and even bad ones could, and did, approach him with
the utmost freedom. He never whipt in a passion—indeed, he
seemed to be in his most pleasant moods when he administered correction,
and hence, a stranger to him would naturally suppose that he
took pleasure in flogging. It was not so, however. He hardly ever
whipt, but upon the report of a monitor; and after a year or two
from Master Mitten's introduction to him, very rarely, but upon a
verdict of a jury of students. His government was one of touching
“moral suasion;” but he administered it in a new way. Instead of
infusing it gently into the head and heart, and letting it percolate
through the system, and slowly neutralize the ill humors with which
it came in contact, he applied it to the extremities, and drove it
right up into the head and heart by percussion. He seemed to regard
vices as consuming fires, and he adopted the engine process of
extinguishing them. One would suppose that moral reforms, so
hastily produced could not last; but we have living cases to prove
that they have lasted for fifty-three years, and are still fresh and vigorous.
It is a very remarkable fact that Doctor Waddel never
flogged a boy for a deficient lesson. To be “turned off,” as it was
called—that is, to have to get a lesson over a second time, was considered
such a disgrace by the students, that if this did not cure the
fault, whipping, he well knew, would not. He would often mount
his horse at eight o'clock at night, and visit the students at their
boarding houses. Sometimes he would visit them incognito, and recount
his observations the next day to the whole school, commending
such youths as he found well employed, and censuring such as he
found ill employed. And what were the fruits of this rigid but
equitable discipline? From under the teachings of this man have
gone forth one Vice President, and many Foreign and Cabinet Ministers;
and Senators, Congressmen, Governors, Judges, Presidents,
and Professors of Colleges, eminent Divines, Barristers, Jurists, Legislators,
Physicians, Scholars, Military and Naval officers, innumerable.

Captain Thompson returned to Mr. Newby's. His name had been

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made known to the boys during his absence. One of them introduced
himself to him as the son of Doctor Hay, a near and dear
friend of the Captain, in times gone by. The youth was made acquainted
with William—offered him a part of his bed and study,
which were accepted. Before retiring to rest, the Captain paid a
hasty visit to William's new dormitory. He found him at a table,
with three others, who were studying their lessons before a rousing
fire. They seemed very cheerful and happy. After a few questions,
he withdrew, and left them to their studies. An early hour the
next morning found him on his way homeward.