Having thoroughly secured his prisoner, Grayson, who was something of a wag, poured out a small quantity of the seductive liquor, and coming round in front of the ill-used official, smiled graciously in his face, and drank "a health"—

"Success to you, Mr. Driscol," said he, "and long may you continue an ornament to the distinguished company of which you are an honored officer!"

Driscol ground his teeth, but made no reply, and the toast was drunk, like some of those impressive sentiments given at public dinners, "in profound silence!"

Having drained the cup, Grayson deposited it upon the table and himself in a chair; and, drawing the latter up toward his companion, opened the conference thus:—

"I think I have you pretty safe, Driscol: eh!"

The lieutenant made no reply.

"I see you are not in a very sociable humor," continued Grayson; "and, to tell you the truth, I am not much that way inclined myself: but I am determined to get to the bottom of this affair before you shall leave the house. I am sure you know all about it; and if you don't, why the worse for you, that's all."

"What do you mean?" demanded Driscol, speaking for the first time.

"I mean this," Grayson answered sternly: "I did not take that horse from Elwood's—but you did: I saw you do it. But since my testimony will not be received, I am determined that you shall give me a certificate in writing that such is the fact. You needn't look so obstinate, for by the God that made us both! you shall not leave that chair alive, unless you do as I say!"

Grayson was a large, rather fleshy man, with a light complexion and blue eyes; and, though good-natured and hard to arouse, when once in earnest, as now, like all men of his stamp, he both looked, and was, fully capable of carrying his menaces into execution. The imprisoned functionary did not at all like the expression of his eye, he quailed before it in fear and shame. He was, however, resolved not to yield, except upon the greatest extremity.

"Come," said Grayson, producing materials for writing; "here are pen, ink, and paper: are you willing to write as I dictate?"

"No," said Driscol, doggedly.

"We'll see if I can't make you willing, then," muttered his captor; and, going to the other end of the cabin, he took down a coil of rope, which hung upon a peg, and returned to his captive. Forming a noose at one end, he placed it about Driscol's neck, and threw the other end over a beam which supported the roof.

"Are you going to murder me?" demanded the official in alarm.

"Yes," answered Grayson, drawing the loose end down, and tightening the noose about Driscol's throat.

"You'll suffer for this," said the lieutenant furiously.

"That won't help you much," coolly replied Grayson, tugging at the rope, until one leg of the chair gave signs of rising from the floor, and Driscol's face exhibited unmistakable symptoms of incipient strangulation.

"Stop! stop!" he exclaimed, in a voice reduced to a mere wheeze—and Grayson "eased off" to hear him.

"Won't anything else satisfy you but a written certificate?" he asked—speaking with difficulty, and making motions as if endeavoring to swallow something too large to pass the gate of his throat.

"Nothing but that," answered Grayson, decidedly; "and if you don't give it to me, when your regulator friends arrive, instead of me, they will find you, swinging from this beam by the neck!" And, seeing his victim hesitate, he again tugged at the rope, until the same signs were exhibited as before—only a little more apparently.

"Ho—hold, Grayson!" begged the frightened and strangling lieutenant; and, as his executioner again relaxed a little, he continued: "Just let me up, and I'll do anything you want."

"That is to say," laughed Grayson, "you would rather take the chances of a fight, than be hung up like a sheep-stealing dog! Let you up, indeed!" And once more he dragged the rope down more vigorously than ever.

"I—didn't—mean that—indeed!" gulped the unhappy official, this time almost strangled in earnest.

"What did you mean then?" sternly demanded Grayson, relaxing a little once again.

"I will write the certificate," moaned the unfortunate lieutenant, "if you will let one arm loose, and won't tell anybody until the ten days are out—"

"Why do you wish it kept secret!"

"If I give such a certificate as you demand," mournfully answered the disconsolate officer, "I shall have to leave the country—and I want time to get away."

"Oh! that's it, is it? Well—very well."

About an hour after this, Driscol issued from the house, and, springing upon the horse, rode away at a gallop toward Elwood's. Here he left the animal, but declined to enter; telling Hannah, who happened to be in the yard, to say to her father that "it was all right," he pushed on toward home—tenderly rubbing his throat, first with the right hand and then with the left, all the way. Three days afterward, he disappeared from the settlement, and was heard of no more.

Grayson waited until near nightfall, and then took his way, as usual, to a little clump of trees, that stood near Elwood's enclosures, to meet Hannah. Here he stayed more than an hour, detailing the circumstances of the accusation against him, and laughing with her, over the ridiculous figure cut by her father's respectable lieutenant. Before they parted their plans were all arranged, and Grayson went home in excellent humor. What these plans were, will be seen in the sequel.

Eight days went by without any event important to our story—Hannah and Grayson meeting each evening, in the grove, and parting again undiscovered. On the ninth day, the former went to the house of a neighbor, where it was understood that she was to remain during the night, and return home on the following morning. Grayson remained on his farm until near sunset, when he mounted his horse and rode away. This was the last of his "days of grace;" and those who saw him passing along the road, concluded that he had yielded to the dictates of prudence, and was leaving the field.

On the following morning, the regulators assembled to see that their orders had been obeyed; and, though Elwood was a little disconcerted by the absence of Driscol, since it was understood that Grayson had left the country, the meeting was considered only a formal one, and the presence of the worthy lieutenant was not indispensable. They proceeded in high spirits to the premises, expecting to find the house deserted and waiting for an occupant. Elwood was to take immediate possession, and, all the way across the prairie, was felicitating himself upon the ease and rapidity of his triumph. What was their surprise, then, on approaching the house, to see smoke issuing from the chimney, as usual—the door thrown wide open, and Grayson standing quietly in front of it! The party halted and a council was called, but its deliberations were by no means tedious: it was forthwith determined, that Grayson stood in defiance of the law, and must be punished—that is, "lynched"—without delay! The object of this fierce decree, all unarmed as he was, still stood near the door, while the company slowly approached the fence. He then advanced and addressed them:—

"I think the ten days are not up yet, gentlemen," said he mildly.

"Yes, they are," answered Elwood quickly; "and we are here to know whether you intend to obey the authorities, and leave the country?"

"I think, Elwood," said the young man, not directly replying, "this matter can be settled between you and me, without bloodshed, and even without trouble. If you will come in with George and John [his sons], I will introduce you to my wife, and we can talk it over, with a glass of whiskey."

Another consultation ensued, when, in order to prove their dignified moderation, they agreed that Elwood and his sons should "go in and see what he had to say."

Elwood, the elder, entered first: directly before him, holding her sides and shaking with laughter, stood his rosy daughter, Hannah!

"My wife, gentlemen," said Grayson, gravely introducing them. Hannah's laughter exploded.

"O, father, father, father!" she exclaimed, leaning forward and extending her hands; "ain't you caught, beautifully!"

The laugh was contagious; and though the elder knit his brows, and was evidently on the point of bursting with very different emotions, his sons yielded to its influence, and, joining Hannah and her husband, laughed loudly, peal after peal!

The father could bear it no longer—he seized Hannah by the arm and shook her violently, till she restrained herself sufficiently to speak; as for him, he was speechless with rage.

"It's entirely too late to make a 'fuss,' father," she said at length, "for here is the marriage-certificate, and Grayson is your son!"

"I have not stolen your horse, Elwood," said the bridegroom, taking the paper which the father rejected, "though I have run away with your daughter. And," he added, significantly, "since if you had this land, you would probably give it to Hannah, I think you and I had better be friends, and I'll take it as her marriage-portion."

"If you can show that you did not take the horse, Grayson," said George, the elder of the two sons, "I'll answer for that: but——"

"That I can do very easily," interrupted the young husband, "I have the proof in my pocket."

He caught Elwood's eye as he spoke, and reassured him with a look, for he could see that the old man began to apprehend an exposure in the presence of his sons. This forbearance did more to reconcile him to his discomfiture than aught else, save the influence of George; for, like all passionate men, he was easily swayed by his cooler children. While Hannah and her brothers examined the marriage certificate, and laughed over "the stratagem," Grayson drew Elwood aside and exhibited a paper, written in a cramped, uneven hand, as follows:—

"This is to certify, that it was not Josiah Grayson who took Robert Elwood's horse from his stable, last night—but I took him myself, by arrangement, so as to accuse Grayson of the theft, and drive him to leave his new farm.

"THOMAS DRISCOL."

Elwood blushed as he came to the words "by arrangement," but read on without speaking. Grayson then related the manner in which he had entrapped the lieutenant, and the joke soon put him in a good humor. The regulators were called in, and heard the explanation, and all laughing heartily over the capture of Driscol, they insisted that Hannah and her husband should mount, and ride with them to Elwood's. Neither of them needed much persuasion—the whole party rode away together—the "lads and lasses" of the neighborhood were summoned, and the day and night were spent in merriment and dancing.

Grayson and his wife returned on the following morning to their new home, where a life of steady and honorable industry, was rewarded with affluence and content. Their descendants still live upon the place, one of the most beautiful and extensive farms upon that fertile prairie. But on the spot where the disputed cabin stood, has since been built a handsome brick-house, and I pay only a just tribute to amiable character, when I say that a more hospitable mansion is not to be found in the western country.

This was the last attempt at "regulating" in that region, for emigration came in so rapidly, that the supremacy of the law was soon asserted and maintained. Whenever this came to be so, the regulators, of course, ceased to be types of the state of society, and were succeeded by other characters and institutions.

To these we must now proceed.

[NOTE.—The following is a copy of a compact, such as is spoken of in the story of the "The First Grave," entered into by a company of regulators in somewhat similar circumstances. I am not sure that I can vouch for its authenticity, but all who are familiar with the history of those times, will recognise, in its peculiarities, the characteristics of the people who then inhabited this country. The affectation of legal form in such a document as this, would be rather amusing, were it not quite too significant; at all events, it is entirely "in keeping" with the constitution of a race who had some regard for law and its vindication, even in their most high-handed acts. The technical phraseology, used so strangely, is easily traceable to the little "Justice's Form Book," which was then almost the only law document in the country; and though the words are rather awkwardly combined, they no doubt gave solemnity to the act in the eyes of its sturdy signers:—

"Know all men by these presents:

"That we [here follow twelve names], citizens of —— settlement, in the state of Illinois, have this day, jointly and severally, bound ourselves together as a company of Rangers and Regulators, to protect this settlement against the crimes and misdemeanors of, all and singular, every person or persons whomsoever, and especially against all horse-thieves, renegades, and robbers. And we do by these presents, hereby bind ourselves, jointly and severally as aforesaid, unto each other, and to the fellow-citizens of this settlement, to punish, according to the code of his honor, Judge Lynch, all violations of the law, against the peace and dignity of the said people of —— settlement; and to discover and bring to speedy punishment, all illegal combinations—to rid the country of such as are dangerous to the welfare of this settlement—to preserve the peace, and generally to vindicate the law, within the settlement aforesaid. All of which purposes we are to accomplish as peaceably as possible: but we are to accomplish them one way or another.

"In testimony whereof, we have hereunto set our hands and affixed our seals, this twelfth day of October, Anno Domini, eighteen hundred and twenty.

"(Signed by twelve men.)

"Acknowledged and subscribed in the presence of "C—— T. H——n, "J—— P. D——n,"

and five others, who seem to have been a portion of "the fellow-citizens of this settlement," referred to in the document.]

FOOTNOTES:

[77] See note at the close of this article.

[78] The "Sangamon country," as the phrase was then used, included all the region watered by the river of that name, together with the counties of Cass, Morgan, and Scott, as far south as Apple creek.



VI.

THE JUSTICE OF THE PEACE.

"I beseech you, Wrest once the law to your authority: To do a great right, do a little wrong."—

MERCHANT OF VENICE.

The reign of violence, when an evil at all, is an evil which remedies itself: the severity of its proceeding hastens the accomplishment of its end, as the hottest fire soonest consumes its fuel. A nation will endure oppression more patiently immediately after a spasmodic rebellion or a bloody revolution, than at any other time; and a community requires less law to govern it, after a violent and illegal assertion of the law's supremacy, than was necessary before the outbreak. After having thrown off the yoke of a knave—and perhaps hung the knave up by the neck, or chopped his head off with an axe—mankind not unfrequently fall under the control of a fool; frightened at their temerity in dethroning an idol of metal, they bow down before a paltry statue of wood.

Men are not easily satiated with power, but when it is irregular, a pause in its exercise must eventually come. And there is a principle of human nature, which teaches, that whatsoever partakes of the mob-spirit is, at best, but temporary, and ought to have a speedy end. This is especially true of such men as first permanently peopled the western country; for though they sometimes committed high-handed and unjustifiable acts, the moment it was discovered that they had accomplished the purposes of order, they allowed the means of vindication to fall into disuse. The regulator system, for example, was directed to the stern and thorough punishment of evil men, but no sooner was society freed from their depredations, than the well-meaning citizens withdrew from its ranks; and, though regulator companies still patrolled the country, and, for a time, assumed as much authority as ever, they were not supported by the solid approbation of those who alone could give them lasting strength. They did many outrageous things for which they were never punished, and for some years, the shield which the good citizen had raised above his head for protection and defence, threatened to fall upon and crush him. But the western people are not the first who have been temporarily enslaved by their liberators, though, unlike many another race, they waited patiently for the changes of years, and time brought them a remedy.

As the government waxed stronger, and public opinion assumed a direction, the regulators, like their predecessors, the rangers, found their "occupation gone," and gradually faded out from the land. Proclamations were issued—legislatures met—laws were enacted, and officers appointed to execute them; and though forcing a legal system upon a people who had so long been "a law unto themselves," was a slow and difficult process, it was powerfully assisted by the very disorders consequent upon their attempts at self-government. They had burnt their hands by seizing the hot iron-rod of irregular authority, and were, therefore, better inclined to surrender the baton to those who could handle it. Like Frankenstein, they had created a power which they could not immediately control: the regulators, from being their servants, had come to be their masters: and they willingly admitted any authority which promised deliverance. They had risen in wrath, and chastised, with no hesitating hand, the violators of their peace; but the reaction had taken place, and they were now content to be governed by whatsoever ruler Providence might send them.

The state governments were established, then, without difficulty, and the officers of the new law pervaded every settlement. The character which I have selected as the best representative of this period, is one of these new officers—the early justice of the peace.

So far as history or tradition informs us, there was never yet a country in which appointments to office were invariably made with reference only to qualification, and though the west is an exception to more than one general rule, in this respect we must set it down in the common category. The lawyer-period had not yet arrived; and, probably, there was never an equal number of people in any civilized country, of whom a larger proportion were totally ignorant of legal forms. There were not three in each hundred who had ever seen the inside of a courthouse, and they were quite as few who had once looked upon a law-book! Where such was the case, some principle of appointment was of course necessary, other than that which required fitness, by training, for the office conferred; and it is probable that the rule adopted was but little different to that in force among those who have the appointing power, where no such circumstances restrict the choice.

Men were appointed conservators of the peace, because they had distinguished themselves in war; and he who had assumed the powers of the law, as a regulator, was thought the better qualified to exercise them, as a legal officer! Courage and capacity, as an Indian-fighter, gave one the prominence requisite to his appointment; and zeal for the preservation of order, exhibited as a self-constituted judge and executioner, was a guaranty for the faithful performance of new and regular duties.

Nor was the rule a bad one. A justice of the peace chosen upon this principle, possessed two qualities indispensable to an efficient officer, in the times of which we write—he was prompt in the discharge of his duties, and was not afraid of responsibility. To obviate the danger, however, which might arise from these, he had also a rigid sense of justice, which usually guided his determinations according to the rights of parties in interest. This, the lawyers will say, was a very questionable trait for a judicial officer; and perhaps it is better for society, that a judge should know the law, and administer it without reference to abstract justice, than that his own notions of right and wrong should be taken, however conscientiously, as the standard of judgment: for in that case, we shall, at least, have uniformity of adjudication; whereas, nothing is more uncertain, than a man's convictions of right.

But, in the times of which we are writing, society was not yet definitely shaped—its elements were not bound together by the cohesive power of any legal cement—and no better rule was, therefore, to be expected, than the spontaneous suggestions of common sense. The minds of men were, moreover, habituated to a certain course of thought and action—(such as naturally obtains in a new state of society, where the absence of organization remits them to their own exertions for safety)—and it was, therefore, impossible that any artificial system should be at once adopted. The people had been accustomed to such primitive associations, as they had entered into "for the common defence and general welfare" of their infant communities; the rule of action had been swift, and sometimes very informal punishment, for every transgression; and this rule, having very well answered its purpose, though at the expense of occasional severity and injustice, they could not immediately understand the necessity for any other course of proceeding.

One of the characteristics of the early justice, then, was a supreme contempt for all mere form. He called it "nonsense" and could never comprehend its utility. To him, all ceremony was affectation, and the refinements of legal proceeding were, in his estimation, anti-republican innovations upon the original simplicity of mankind. Technicalities he considered merely the complicated inventions of lawyers, to exhibit their perverse ingenuity—traps to catch the well-meaning or unwary, or avenues of escape for the guilty. The rules of evidence he neither understood nor cared for; he desired "to hear all about" every cause brought before him; and the idea of excluding testimony, in obedience to any rule, he would never entertain. He acted upon the principle—though he probably never heard of the maxim—that "the law furnishes a remedy for every wrong;" and, if he knew of none in positive enactment, he would provide one, from the arsenal of his own sense of right. He never permitted anything to obstruct the punishment of one whom he had adjudged guilty; and, rather than allow a culprit to escape, he would order his judgment to be carried at once into effect, in the presence, and under the direction of the court.

He had a strong prejudice against every man accused of crime; and sometimes almost reversed the ancient presumption of the law, and held the prisoner guilty, until he proved himself innocent. He had unbounded confidence in the honesty of his neighbors and friends, and was unwilling to believe, that they would accuse a man of crime or misdemeanor, without very good cause. When it was proven that a crime had been committed, he considered the guilt of the prisoner already half established: it was, in his judgment, what one, better acquainted with legal terms, might have called "a prima facia case," devolving the onus probandi (or burthen of proof) upon the accused. And this may have been one cause of the frequent resort to alibis—a mode of defence which, as we have already remarked, is even yet in great disrepute. If a defence, of some sort, was not, then, very clearly and satisfactorily made out, the justice had no hesitation in entering judgment, and ordering immediate punishment; for the right of appeal was not generally recognised, and the justice took original and final jurisdiction, where now his duties are merely those of preliminary examination and commitment.

In civil controversies—where such causes were presented for adjudication, which, however, was not very often—the order of proceeding was quite as summary. The justice heard the statements of the parties, and sometimes, not always, would listen to witnesses, also; then, taking the general "rights, interests, claims, and demands," of both sides into consideration—and viewing himself, not as a judicial officer, but as a sort of referee or arbitrator—he would strike a balance between the disputants, and dismiss them to their homes, with a significant admonition to "keep the peace." He usually acted upon the principle—no very erroneous one, either—that, when two respectable men resort to the law, as arbitrator of their controversies, they are both about equally blamable; and his judgments were accordingly based upon the corollary, that neither deserved to have all he claimed. This was the practice when any decision was made at all; but, in most cases, the justice acted as a pacificator, and, by his authority and persuasion, induced the parties to agree upon a compromise. For this purpose, he not unfrequently remitted both fees and costs—those due to the constables, as well as his own.

An instance of this pacific practice has been related to me as follows: Two neighbors had quarrelled about a small amount of debt, and, after sundry attempts to "settle," finally went to law. The justice took them aside, on the day of trial, and proposed a basis of settlement, to which they agreed, on condition, that all costs should be remitted, and to this the magistrate at once pledged himself. But a difficulty arose: the constable, who had not been consulted in the arrangement, had had a long ride after the defendant, and having an unquestionable right to demand his fees, was unwilling to give them up. The justice endeavored to prevail with him by persuasion, but in vain. Finally, growing impatient of his obstinacy, he gave him a peremptory order to consent, and, on his refusal, fined him the exact amount of his fees for contempt, entered up judgment on the basis of the compromise, and adjourned the court!

The man who thus discourages litigation at the expense of his own official emoluments, may be forgiven a few irregularities of proceeding, in consideration of the good he effects; for although under such a system it was seldom that either party obtained his full and just rights, both were always benefited by the spirit of peace infused into the community. It would, perhaps, be well for the country now, were our legal officers actuated by the same motives; unfortunately, however, such men belong only to primitive times.

But the love of peace was not accompanied, in this character, as it usually is, by merciful judgment, for, as he was very swift in determining a prisoner's guilt, he was equally rigid in imposing the penalty. The enactments of the criminal code were generally so worded as to give some scope for the exercise of a compassionate and enlightened discretion; but when the decision lay in the breast of our justice, if he adjudged any punishment at all, it was usually the severest provided for by the statute. Half-measures were not adapted to the temper of the times or the character of the people; indeed, they are suited to no people, and are signal failures at all times, in all circumstances. Inflicting light punishments is like firing blank cartridges at a mob, they only irritate, without subduing; and as the latter course usually ends in unnecessary bloodshed, the former invariably increases the amount of crime.

Certainty of punishment may be—unquestionably is—a very important element in the administration of justice, but as nothing so strongly disinclines a man to entering the water as the sight of another drowning, so nothing will so effectually deter him from the commission of crime, as the knowledge that another has been severely punished for yielding to the same temptation. The justice, however, based the rigor of his judgments upon no such argument of policy. His austerity was a part of his character, and had been rendered more severe by the circumstances in which he had lived—the audacity of law-breakers, and the necessity for harsh penalties, in order for protection.

It will be observed that I say nothing of juries, and speak of justices of the peace, as officers having authority to decide causes alone. And, it must be recollected, that in the days of which I am writing, resort was very seldom had to this cumbersome and uncertain mode of adjudication. In civil causes, juries were seldom empanelled, because they were attended by very considerable expense and delay. The chief object, in going to law, moreover, was, in most cases, to have a decision of the matter in dispute; and juries were as prone to "hang" then as now. Suitors generally, therefore, would rather submit to the arbitration of the justice, than take the risk of delay and uncertainty, with a jury. In criminal causes, the case was very similar: the accused would as lief be judged by one prejudiced man as by twelve; for the same rigorous spirit which actuated the justice, pervaded also the juries; and (besides the chance of timidity or favor in the justice) in the latter he must take the additional risks of personal enmity and relationship to the party injured. Thus, juries were often discarded in criminal causes also, and we think their disuse was no great sacrifice. Such a system can derive its utility, in this country, only from an enlightened public sentiment: if that sentiment be capricious and oppressive, as it too often is, juries are quite as likely to partake its vices as legal officers: if the sentiment be just and healthy, no judicial officer dare be guilty of oppression. So that our fathers lost nothing in seldom resorting to this "palladium of our liberties," and, without doubt, gained something by avoiding delay, uncertainty, and expense.

The reader will also observe, that I say nothing of higher courts. But the lines between the upper and lower tribunals were not so strictly drawn then as they now are, and the limits of jurisdiction were, consequently, very indefinite. Most of the characteristics, moreover, here ascribed to the justice of the peace, belonged, in almost an equal degree, to the judges of the circuit courts; and, though some of the latter were men of respectable legal requirements, the same off-hand mode of administering the law which distinguished the inferior magistrates, marked the proceedings of their courts also. Both occasionally assumed powers which they did not legally possess; both were guided more by their own notions of justice, than by the rules of law; and both were remarkable for their severity upon all transgressors. Neither cared much for the rules of evidence, each was equal to any emergency or responsibility, and both had very exalted ideas of their own authority.

But the functions of the justice were, in his estimation, especially important—his dignity was very considerable also, and his powers anything but circumscribed. A few well-authenticated anecdotes, however, will illustrate the character better than any elaborate portraiture. And, for fear those I am about to relate may seem exceptions, not fairly representing the class, I should state, in the outset, that I have selected them from a great number which I can recall, particularly because they are not exceptive, and give a very just impression of the character which I am endeavoring to portray.

Squire A—— was a plain, honest farmer, who had distinguished himself as a pioneer and ranger, and was remarkable as a man of undoubted courage, but singularly peaceable temper. In the year eighteen hundred and twenty, he received from Governor Bond of Illinois, a commission as justice of the peace, and though he was not very clear what his duties, dignities, and responsibilities, precisely were, like a patriot and a Roman, he determined to discharge them to the letter. At the period of his appointment, he was at feud with one of his neighbors about that most fruitful of all subjects of quarrel, a division-fence; and as such differences always are, the dispute had been waxing warmer for several months. He received his docket, blanks, and "Form-Book," on Saturday evening, and though he had as yet no suits to enter and no process to issue, was thus provided with all the weapons of justice. On the following Monday morning, he repaired, as usual, to his fields, about half-a-mile from home, and though full of his new dignity, went quietly to work.

He had not been there long, before his old and only enemy made his appearance, and opened upon him a volley of abuse in relation to the division-fence, bestowing upon his honor, among other expressive titles, the euphonious epithet of "jackass." A—— bore the attack until it came to this point—which, it would seem, was as far as a man's patience ought to extend—and, it is probable, that had he not been a legal functionary, a battle would have ensued "then and there." But it was beneath the dignity thus outraged, to avenge itself by a vulgar fisticuff, and A—— bethought him of a much better and more honorable course. He threw his coat across his arm, and marched home. There he took down his new docket, and upon the first page, recorded the case of the "People of the State of Illinois vs. John Braxton" (his enemy). He then entered up the following judgment: "The defendant in this case, this day, fined ten dollars and costs, for CONTEMPT OF COURT, he having called US a jackass!" On the opposite page is an entry of satisfaction, by which it appears that he forthwith issued an execution upon the judgment, and collected the money!

This pretext of "contempt" was much in vogue, as a means of reaching offences not expressly provided for by statute; but the justice was never at a loss for expedients, even in cases entirely without precedent, as the following anecdote will illustrate:—

A certain justice, in the same state of Illinois, was one day trying, for an aggravated assault, a man who was too much intoxicated fully to realize the import of the proceedings or the dignity of the court. He was continually interrupting witnesses, contradicting their testimony, and swearing at the justice. It soon became evident that he must be silenced or the trial adjourned. The justice's patience at length gave way. He ordered the constable to take the obstreperous culprit to a creek, which ran near the office, "and duck him until he was sober enough to be quiet and respect the court!" This operation the constable alone could not perform, but in due time he brought the defendant back dripping from the creek and thoroughly sobered, reporting, at the same time, that he had availed himself of the assistance of two men, Messrs. B—— and L——, in the execution of his honor's commands. The trial then went quietly on, the defendant was fined for a breach of the peace, and ordered to pay the costs: one item of which was two dollars to Messrs. B—— and L—— "for assisting the constable in ducking the prisoner!" But, as the justice could find no form nor precedent for hydropathic services, he entered the charge as "witness fees," and required immediate payment! The shivering culprit, glad to escape on any terms, paid the bill and vanished!

Whatever might have been the prevailing opinion, as to the legality of such a proceeding, the ridicule attaching to it would effectually have prevented any remedy—most men being willing to forgive a little irregularity, for the sake of substantial justice and "a good joke." But the summary course, adopted by these magistrates, sometimes worked even greater injustice—as might have been expected; and of this, the following is an example:—

About the year eighteen hundred and twenty-six, there lived, in a certain part of the west, a man named Smedley, who, so far as the collection of debts was concerned, was entirely "law-proof." He seemed to have a constitutional indisposition to paying anything he owed: and, though there were sundry executions in the hands of officers against him—and though he even seemed thrifty enough in his pecuniary affairs—no property could ever be found, upon which they could be levied. There was, at the same time, a constable in the neighborhood, a man named White, who was celebrated, in those days of difficult collections, for the shrewdness and success of his official exploits; and the justice upon whom he usually attended, was equally remarkable, for the high hand with which he carried his authority. But, though two executions were placed in the hands of the former, upon judgments on the docket of the latter, months passed away, without anything being realized from the impervious defendant, Smedley.

Whenever the constable found him in possession of property, and made a levy, it was proven to belong to some one else; and the only result of his indefatigable efforts, was the additions of heavy costs to the already hopeless demand.

At length, however, White learned that Smedley had traded horses with a man named Wyatt, and he straightway posted off to consult the magistrate. Between them, the plan of operations was agreed upon. White levied first upon the horse then in the possession of Smedley, taking him under one of the two writs: he then levied the other execution upon the horse which Smedley had traded to Wyatt. The latter, apprehending the loss of his property, claimed the first horse—that which he had traded to Smedley. But, upon the "trial of the right of property," the justice decided that the horse was found in the possession of Smedley, and was, therefore, subject to levy and sale. He was accordingly sold, and the first judgment was satisfied. Wyatt then claimed the second horse—that which he had received from Smedley. But, upon a similar "trial"—after severely reprimanding Wyatt for claiming both horses, when, on his own showing, he never owned but one—the justice decided that the property in dispute had been in the possession of Smedley at the rendition of the judgment, and was therefore, like the other, subject to a lien, and equally liable to levy and sale! And accordingly, this horse, also, was sold, to satisfy the second execution, and Wyatt was dismissed by the justice, with no gentle admonition, "to be careful in future with whom he swapped horses!" A piece of advice which he probably took, and for which he ought to have been duly grateful! Fallen humanity, however, is very perverse; and it is at least supposable, that, having lost his horse, he considered himself hardly used—an opinion in which my legal readers will probably concur.

Before leaving this part of my subject, I will relate another anecdote, which, though it refers more particularly to constables, serves to illustrate the characteristics of the early officers of the law—justices, as well as others:—

The constable who figured so advantageously in the anecdote last related, had an execution against a man named Corson, who was almost as nearly "law proof" as Smedley. He had been a long time endeavoring to realize something, but without success. At length, he was informed, that Corson had sued another man, upon an account, before a justice in a distant part of the same county. This, the delinquent officer at once saw, gave him a chance to secure something; and, on the day of trial, away he posted to the justice's office. Here, he quietly seated himself, and watched the course of the proceeding. The trial went on, and, in due time, the justice decided the cause in favor of Corson. At this juncture, White arose, and, while the justice was entering up judgment, approached the table. When the docket was about to be laid aside, he interposed:—

"Stop!" said he, placing his hand upon the docket, "I levels on this judgment!" And, giving no attention to remonstrances, he demanded and obtained the execution. On this he collected the money, and at once applied it to that, which he had been so long carrying—thus settling two controversies, by diligence and force of will. He was certainly a valuable officer!

Thus irregular and informal were many of the proceedings of the primitive legal functionaries; but a liberal view of their characters must bring us to the conclusion, that their influence upon the progress of civilization of the country, was, on the whole, decidedly beneficial.



VII.

THE PEDDLER.

"This is a traveller, sir; knows men and Manners."—

BEAUMONT AND FLETCHER.

Previous to the organization of civil government, and "the form and pressure" given to the times by this and its attendant circumstances, the primitive tastes and habits of the western people, excluded many of those artificial wants which are gratified by commerce, and afforded no room for traders, excepting those who sold the absolute necessaries of life.

In those days, housekeeping was a very simple matter. Neither steam-engines nor patent cook-stoves were yet known, as necessary adjuncts to a kitchen; the housewife would have "turned up her nose" in contempt of a bake-oven: would have thrown a "Yankee reflector" over the fence, and branded the innovator with the old-fashioned gridiron. Tin was then supposed to be made only for cups and coffee-pots: pie-pans had not yet even entered "the land of dreams;" and the tea-kettle, which then "sang songs of family glee," was a quaint, squat figure, resembling nothing so much as an over-fed duck, and poured forth its music from a crooked, quizzical spout, with a notch in its iron nozzle. If its shut-iron lid was ornamented with a brass button, for a handle, it was thought to be manufactured in superior style. Iron spoons were good enough for the daintiest mouth; and a full set of pewter was a household treasure. China dishes and silver plate had been heard of, but belonged to the same class of marvellous things, with Aladdin's lamp and Fortunatus's purse. Cooking was not yet reduced to a science, and eating was like sleep—a necessity, not a mere amusement. The only luxuries known, were coffee and sugar; and these, with domestics and other cotton fabrics, were the chief articles for which the products of the earth were bartered.

French cloths and Parisian fashions were still less known than silver spoons and "rotary stoves." The men wore homemade jeans, cut after the mode of the forest: its dye a favorite "Tennessean" brownish-yellow; and the women were not ashamed to be seen in linsey-wolsey, woven in the same domestic loom. Knitting was then not only an accomplishment, but a useful art; and the size which a "yarn" stocking gave to a pretty ankle, was not suffered to overbalance the consideration of its comfort. The verge of nakedness was not then the region of modesty: the neck and its adjacent parts were covered in preference to the hands; and, in their barbarous ignorance, the women thought it more shame to appear in public half-dressed, than to wear a comfortable shoe.

They were certainly a very primitive people—unrefined, unfashionable, "coarse"—and many of their sons and daughters are even now ashamed to think what "savages" their parents were! In their mode of life, they sought comfort, not "appearances;" and many things which their more sophisticated descendants deem necessaries, they contemned as luxuries.

But, in the course of time, these things began to change, for simplicity is always "primitive," and the progress of refinement is only the multiplication of wants. As the country was reduced to cultivation, and peace settled upon its borders, new classes of emigrants began to take possession of the soil; and, for the immediate purposes of rapid advancement, and especially of social improvement, they were better classes than their predecessors: for, as the original pioneers had always lived a little beyond the influences of regular civilization, these had remained within its limits until the pressure of legal organization began to grow irksome to their partially untamed spirits. There was, indeed, an unbroken gradation of character, from the nearly savage hunter, who visited the country only because it was uninhabited, except by wild beasts, to the genuine citizen, who brought with him order, and industry, and legal supremacy.

The emigrants, of whom we are now writing, constituted the third step in this progression; and they imported along with them, or drew after them, the peculiarities belonging to their own degree of advancement. Their notions of comfort and modes of living, though still quite crude, indicated an appreciable stage of refinement. They were better supplied, for example, with cooking utensils—their household furniture was not so primitive—and in wearing apparel, they manifested some regard to elegance as well as comfort. Social intercourse disseminated these ideas among those to whom they were novel; where, previously, the highest motive to improvement had been a desire for convenience, the idea of gentility began to claim an influence; and some of the more moderate embellishments of life assumed the place of the mere necessaries.

The transition was not rapid nor violent, like all permanent changes, it was the work of years, marked by comparatively slow gradations. First, tin-ware, of various descriptions, became necessary to the operations of the kitchen; and that which had been confined to one or two articles, was now multiplied into many forms. A housewife could no more bake a pie without a "scalloped" pie-pan, than without a fire: a tin-bucket was much more easily handled than one of cedar or oak; and a pepper-box, of the same material, was as indispensable as a salt-cellar. A little tea was occasionally added to the ancient regimen of coffee, and thus a tin-canister became necessary for the preservation of the precious drug. With tea came queensware: and half-a-dozen cups and saucers, usually of a dingy white, with a raised blue edge, were needful for the pranking of the little cupboard.

But it was not only in the victualing department that the progress of refinement could be traced; for the thrifty housewife, who thought it proper to adorn her table, and equip her kitchen with all the late improvements, could not, of course, entirely overlook "the fashions:" the decoration of her person has been, in all ages, the just and honest pride of woman. Linsey-wolsey began to give place to calicoes and many-colored prints; calf-skin shoes were antiquated by the use of kid; and ribands fluttered gracefully upon new-fashioned bonnets. Progress of this kind never takes a step backward: once possessed of an improvement in personal comfort, convenience, or adornment, man—or woman—seldom gives it up. Thus, these things, once used, thenceforth became wants, whose gratification was not to be foregone: and it is one of the principles governing commerce, that the demand draws to it the supply.

There were few "country stores," in those days, and the settlements were so scattered as to make it sometimes very inconvenient to visit them. From ten to twenty miles was a moderate distance to the depot of supplies; and a whole day was usually consumed in going and returning. The visits were, therefore, not very frequent—the purchases for many weeks—perhaps months—being made on each occasion. This was a very inconvenient mode of "shopping," even for the energetic women of that day; and, since the population would not justify more numerous "stores," it was desirable that some new system should be introduced, capable of supplying the demand at the cost of less trouble, and fewer miles of travel. To answer this necessity there was but one way—the "storekeeper" must carry his wares to the doors of his customers. And thus arose the occupation of the Peddler, or, as he called himself, the "travelling merchant."

The population of the country was then almost exclusively agricultural—the mechanic arts belong to a more advanced period. The consequence was, that the first articles carried about from house to house, were such as are manufactured by artisans—and the chief of these was tin-ware.

The tinkers of the rural districts in older countries, were, however, not known in this—they were not adapted to the genius of the people. The men who sold the ware were, scarcely ever, the same who made it; and, though the manual dexterity of most of these ready men, might enable them to mend a broken pan, or a leaky coffeepot, their skill was seldom put in requisition. Besides, since the mending of an old article might interfere with the sale of a new one, inability to perform the office was more frequently assumed than felt.

In the course of time—as the people of the country began to acquire new ideas, and discover new wants—other articles were added to the peddler's stock. Calicoes were often carried in the same box with tin pans—cotton checks and ginghams were stowed away beneath tin-cups and iron-spoons—shining coffee-pots were crammed with spools of thread, papers of pins, cards of horn-buttons, and cakes of shaving-soap—and bolts of gaudy riband could be drawn from pepper-boxes and sausage-stuffers. Table-cloths, of cotton or brown linen, were displayed before admiring eyes, which had turned away from all the brightness of new tin plates; and knives and forks, all "warranted pure steel," appealed to tastes, which nothing else could excite. New razors touched the men "in tender places," while shining scissors clipped the purses of the women. Silk handkerchiefs and "fancy" neckcloths—things till then unknown—could occupy the former, while the latter covetously turned over and examined bright ribands and fresh cotton hose. The peddler was a master of the art of pleasing all tastes: even the children were not forgotten; for there were whips and jew's-harps for the boys, and nice check aprons for the girls. (The taste for "playing mother" was as much an instinct, with the female children of that day, as it is in times more modern; but life was yet too earnest to display it in the dressing and nursing of waxen babies.) To suit the people from whom the peddler's income was derived, he must consult at least the appearance of utility, in every article he offered; for, though no man could do more, to coax the money out of one's pocket, without leaving an equivalent, even he could not succeed in such an enterprise, against the matter-of-fact pioneer.

The "travelling merchants" of this country were generally what their customers called "Yankees"—that is, New-Englanders, or descendants of the puritans, whether born east of the Hudson or not. And, certainly, no class of men were ever better fitted for an occupation, than were those for "peddling." The majority of them were young men, too; for the "Yankee" who lives beyond middle age, without providing snug quarters for the decline of life, is usually not even fit for a peddler. But, though often not advanced in years, they often exhibited qualities, which one would have expected to find only in men of age and experience. They could "calculate," with the most absolute certainty, what precise stage of advancement and cultivation, was necessary to the introduction of every article of merchandise their stock comprised. Up to a certain limit, they offered, for example, linen table-cloths: beyond that, cotton was better and more saleable; in certain settlements, they could sell numbers of the finer articles, which, in others, hung on their hands like lead; and they seemed to know, the moment they breathed the air of a neighborhood, what precise character of goods was most likely to pay.

Thus—by way of illustration—it might seem, to one not experienced in reading the signs of progress, a matter of nice speculation and subtle inquiry, to determine what exact degree of cultivation was necessary, to make profitable the trade in clocks. But I believe there is no instance of an unsuccessful clock-peddler on record; and, though this fact may be accounted for, superficially, by asserting that time is alike important to all men, and a measure of its course, therefore, always a want, a little reflection will convince us, that this explanation is more plausible than sound.

It is, perhaps, beyond the capacity of any man, to judge unerringly, by observation, of the usual signs of progress, the exact point at which a community, or a man, has arrived in the scale of cultivation; and it may seem especially difficult, to determine commercially, what precise articles, of use or ornament, are adapted to the state indicated by those signs. But that there are such indications, which, if properly attended to, will be unfailing guides, is not to be denied. Thus, the quick observation of a clock-peddler would detect among a community of primitive habits, the growing tendency to regularity of life; for, as refinement advances, the common affairs of everyday existence, feeling the influence first, assume a degree of order and arrangement; and from the display of this improvement, the trader might draw inferences favorable to his traffic. Eating, for example, as he would perceive, is done at certain hours of the day—sleep is taken between fixed periods of the night and morning—especially, public worship—which is one of the best and surest signs of social advancement—must be held at a time generally understood.

The peddler might conclude, also, when he saw a glazed window in a house, that the owner was already possessed of a clock—which, perhaps, needed repairing—or, at least, was in great need of one, if he had not yet made the purchase. One of these shrewd "calculators" once told me, that, when he saw a man with four panes of glass in his house, and no clock, he either sold him one straightway, or "set him down crazy, or a screw."

"Have you no other 'signs of promise'"? I asked.

"O yes," he replied, "many! For instance: When I am riding past a house—(I always ride slowly)—I take a general and particular survey of the premises—or, as the military men say, I make a reconnaissance; and it must be a very bare place, indeed, if I can not see some 'sign,' by which to determine, whether the owner needs a clock. If I see the man, himself, I look at his extremities; and by the appearance of hat and boot, I make up my opinion as to whether he knows the value of time: if he wears anything but a cap, I can pretty fairly calculate upon selling him a clock; and if, to the hat, he has added boots, I halt at once, and, without ceremony, carry a good one in.

"When I see the wife, instead of the husband, I have no difficulty in making up my mind—though the signs about the women are so numerous and minute, that it would be hard to explain them. If one wears a check-apron and sports a calico dress, I know that a 'travelling merchant' has been in the neighborhood; and if he has succeeded in making a reasonable number of sales, I am certain that he has given her such a taste for buying, that I can sell her anything at all: for purchasing cheap goods, to a woman, is like sipping good liquor, to a man—she soon acquires the appetite, and thenceforward it is insatiable.

"I have some customers who have a passion for clocks. There is a man on this road, who has one for every room in his house; and I have another with me now—with a portrait of General Jackson in the front—which I expect to add to his stock. There is a farmer not far from here, with whom I have 'traded' clocks every year since I first entered the neighborhood—always receiving about half the value of the article I sell, in money, 'to boot.' There are clock-fanciers, as well as fanciers of dogs and birds; and I have known cases, in which a man would have two or three time-pieces in his house, and not a pair of shoes in the family! But such customers are rare—as they ought to be; and the larger part of our trade is carried on, with people who begin to feel the necessity of regularity—to whom the sun has ceased to be a sufficient guide—and who have acquired some notions of elegance and comfort. And we seldom encounter the least trouble in determining, by the general appearance of the place, whether the occupant has arrived at that stage of refinement."

We perceive that the principal study of the peddler is human nature; and though he classifies the principles of his experience, more especially with reference to the profits of his trade, his rapid observation of minor traits and indications, is a talent which might be useful in many pursuits, besides clock-peddling. And, accordingly, we discover that, even after he has abandoned the occupation, and ceased to be a bird of passage, he never fails to turn his learning to a good account.

He was distinguished by energy as well as shrewdness, and an enterprising spirit was the first element of his prosperity. There was no corner—no secluded settlement—no out-of-the way place—where he was not seen. Bad roads never deterred him: he could drive his horses and wagon where a four-wheeled vehicle never went before. He understood bearings and distances as well as a topographical engineer, and would go, whistling contentedly, across a prairie or through a forest, where he had not even a "trail" to guide him. He could find fords and crossings where none were previously known to exist; and his pair of lean horses, by the skilful management of their driver, would carry him and his wares across sloughs and swamps, where a steam-engine would have been clogged by the weight of a baby-wagon. If he broke his harness or his vehicle in the wilderness, he could repair it without assistance, for his mechanical accomplishments extended from the shoeing of a horse to the repair of a watch, and embraced everything between. He was never taken by surprise—accidents never came unexpected, and strange events never disconcerted him. He would whistle "Yankee Doodle" while his horses were floundering in a quagmire, and sing "Hail Columbia" while plunging into an unknown river!

He never met a stranger, for he was intimately acquainted with a man as soon as he saw him. Introductions were useless ceremonies to him, for he cared nothing about names. He called a woman "ma'am" and a man "mister," and if he could sell either of them a few goods, he never troubled himself or them with impertinent inquiries. Sometimes he had a habit of learning each man's name from his next neighbor, and possessing an excellent memory, he never lost the information thus acquired.

When he had passed through a settlement once, he had a complete knowledge of all its circumstances, history, and inhabitants; and, the next year, if he met a child in the road, he could tell you whom it most resembled, and to what family it belonged. He recollected all who were sick on his last visit—what peculiar difficulties each was laboring under—and was always glad to hear of their convalescence. He gathered medicinal herbs along the road, and generously presented them to the housewives where he halted, and he understood perfectly the special properties of each. He possessed a great store of good advice, suited to every occasion, and distributed it with the disinterested benevolence of a philanthropist. He knew precisely what articles of merchandise were adapted to the taste of each customer; and the comprehensive "rule of three" would not have enabled him to calculate more nicely the exact amount of "talk" necessary to convince them of the same.

His address was extremely insinuating, for he always endeavored to say the most agreeable things, and no man could judge more accurately what would best please the person addressed. He might be vain enough, but his egotism was never obtruded upon others. He might secretly felicitate himself upon a successful trade, but he never boasted of it. He seemed to be far more interested in the affairs of others than in his own. He had sympathy for the afflictions of his customers, counsel for their difficulties, triumph in their success.

Before the introduction of mails, he was the universal news-carrier, and could tell all about the movements of the whole world. He could gossip over his wares with his female customers, till he beguiled them into endless purchases, for he had heard of every death, marriage, and birth within fifty miles. He recollected the precise piece of calico from which Mrs. Jones bought her last new dress, and the identical bolt of riband from which Mrs. Smith trimmed her "Sunday bonnet." He knew whose children went to "meeting" in "store-shoes," whose daughter was beginning to wear long dresses, and whose wife wore cotton hose. He could ring the changes on the "latest fashions" as glibly as the skilfulest modiste. He was a connoisseur in colors, and learned in their effects upon complexion. He could laugh the husband into half-a-dozen shirts, flatter the wife into calico and gingham, and praise the children till both parents joined in dressing them anew from top to toe.

He always sold his goods "at a ruinous sacrifice," but he seemed to have a depot of infinite extent and capacity, from which he annually drew new supplies. He invariably left a neighborhood the loser by his visit, and the close of each season found him inconsolable for his "losses." But the next year he was sure to come back, risen, like the Phoenix, from his own ashes, and ready to be ruined again—in the same way. He could never resist the pleading look of a pretty woman, and if she "jewed" him twenty per cent. (though his profits were only two hundred), the tenderness of his heart compelled him to yield. What wonder is it, then, if he was a prime favorite with all the women, or that his advent, to the children, made a day of jubilee?

But the peddler, like every other human "institution," only had "his day." The time soon came when he was forced to give way before the march of newfangledness. The country grew densely populated, neighborhoods became thicker, and the smoke of one man's chimney could be seen from another's front-door. People's wants began to be permanent—they were no longer content with transient or periodical supplies—they demanded something more constant and regular. From this demand arose the little neighborhood "stores," established for each settlement at a central and convenient point—usually at "cross-roads," or next door to the blacksmith's shop—and these it was which superseded the peddler's trade.

We could wish to pause here, and, after describing the little depot, "take an account of stock:" for no store, not even a sutler's, ever presented a more amusing or characteristic assortment. But since these modest establishments were generally the nuclei, around which western towns were built, we must reserve our fire until we reach that subject.

But the peddler had not acquired his experience of life for nothing, he was not to be outdone, even by the more aristocratic stationary shop-keeper. When he found his trade declining, he cast about him for a good neighborhood, still uninvaded by the Lombards, and his extensive knowledge of the country soon enabled him to find one. Here he erected his own cabin, and boldly entered the lists against his new competitors. If he could find no eligible point for such an establishment, or if he augured unfavorably of his success in the new walk, he was not cast down. If he could not "keep store," he could at least "keep tavern," an occupation for which his knowledge of the world and cosmopolitan habits, admirably fitted him. In this capacity, we shall have occasion to refer to him again; and have now only to record, that in the progress of time, he grew rich, if not fat, and eventually died, "universally regretted."



VIII.

THE SCHOOLMASTER.

"There, in his quiet mansion, skilled to rule, The village master taught his little school.

* * * * *

"I knew him well, and every truant knew:

* * * * *

"Yet he was kind; or, if severe in aught, The love he bore to learning was in fault. The village all declared how much he knew: 'Twas certain he could write, and cipher too."—

GOLDSMITH'S "DESERTED VILLAGE."



In the progress of society, the physical wants are felt before the intellectual. Men appreciate the necessity for covering their backs and lining their stomachs before storing their minds, and they naturally provide a shelter from the storms of heaven, before they seek (with other learning) a knowledge of the heavenly bodies. Thus the rudest social system comprises something of the mechanic arts—government begins to advance toward the dignity of a science—commerce follows the establishment of legal supremacy—and the education of the citizen comes directly after the recognition of his social and political rights. So, the justice of the peace (among other legal functionaries) indicates subjection, more or less complete, to the regulations of law; the peddler represents the beginning of commercial interests; and the schoolmaster succeeds him, in the natural order of things.

It may be possible to preserve a high respect for a calling, while we despise the men who exercise it: though I believe this is not one of the rules which "work both ways," and the converse is, therefore, not equally true. A man's occupation affects him more nearly than he does his occupation. A thousand contemptible men will not bring a respectable profession into so much disrepute, as a contemptible profession will a thousand respectable men. All the military talents, for example, of the commander-in-chief of our armies, would not preserve him from contempt, should he set up a barber-shop, or drive a milk-cart; but the barber, or the milkman, might make a thousand blunders at the head of an army, should extravagant democracy elevate him to that position, and yet the rank of a general would be as desirable, because as honorable, as ever.

It is certainly true, however, that the most exalted station may be degraded by filling it with a low or despicable incumbent, for the mental effort necessary to the abstraction of the employment from him who pursues it, is one which most men do not take the trouble to make: an effort, indeed, which the majority of men are incapable of making. A vicious priest degrades the priestly vocation—a hypocrite brings reproach upon the religious profession—a dishonest lawyer sinks the legal character—and even the bravest men care but little for promotion in an army, when cowardice and incompetency are rewarded with rank and power. But manifest incapacity, culpable neglect of duty, or even a positively vicious character, will not reduce a calling to contempt, or bring it into disrepute so soon, as any quality which excites ridicule.

An awkward figure, a badly-shaped garment, or an ungainly manner, will sometimes outweigh the acquirements of the finest scholar; and the cause of religion has suffered more, from the absence of the softer graces, in its clerical representations, than from all the logic of its adversaries. A laugh is more effectual to subvert an institution, than an argument—for it is easier to make men ashamed, than to convince them. Truth and reason are formidable weapons, but ridicule is stronger than either—or both.

Thus: All thinking men will eagerly admit, that the profession of the schoolmaster is, not only respectable, but honorable, alike to the individual, and to the community in which he pursues it: yet, rather than teach a school for a livelihood, the large majority of the same men would "split rails" or cut cord-wood! And this is not because teaching is laborious—though it is laborious, and thankless, too, beyond all other occupations; but because a number and variety of causes, into which we need not inquire, have combined to throw ridicule upon him, who is derisively called the pedagogue—for most men would rather be shot at, than laughed at. Cause and effect are always inter-reactive: and the refusal of the most competent men, to "take up the birch"—which is the effect of this derision—has filled our school-rooms with men, who are, not unfairly, its victims. Thus the profession—(for such is its inherent dignity)—itself, has fallen into discredit—even though the judgment of men universally is, that it is not only useful, but indispensable.

Nor is that judgment incorrect. For, though home-education may sometimes succeed, it is usually too fragmentary to be beneficial—private tutors are too often the slaves of their pupils, and can not enforce "attention," the first condition of advancement, where they have not the paraphernalia of command—and, as for self-education, logically there can be no such thing: "one might as well attempt to lift himself over the fence, by the straps of his boots," as to educate himself "without a master."

The schoolmaster, then, is a useful member of society—not to be spared at any stage of its progress. But he is particularly necessary to communities which are in the transition state; for, upon the enlightenment of the rising generation depend the success and preservation of growing institutions. Nor does his usefulness consist altogether—or even in a great measure—in the number of facts, sciences, or theories, with which he may store the minds of his pupils. These are not the objects of education, any more than a knowledge of the compartments in a printer's "letter-case," is the ultimate result of the art of printing. The types are so arranged, in order to enable the compositors more conveniently to attain the ends, for which that arrangement is only a preparation: facts and sciences are taught for the improvement of the faculties, in order that they may work with more ease, force, and certainty, upon other and really important things; for education is only the marshalling of powers, preliminary to the great "battle of life."

The mind of an uneducated man, however strong in itself, is like an army of undisciplined men—a crowd of chaotic, shapeless, and often misdirected elements. To bring these into proper subjection—to enable him to bind them, with anything like their native force, to a given purpose—a prescribed "training" is necessary; and it is this which education supplies. If you can give a mind the habit of attention, all the power it has will be made available: and it is through this faculty, that even dull minds are so frequently able to mount the car of triumph, and ride swiftly past so many, who are immeasurably their superiors. The first element of the discipline which develops this power, is submission to control; and without such subordination, a school can not exist. Thus, the first lesson that children learn from the schoolmaster, is the most valuable acquisition they can make.

But it was no easy task to teach this principle to the sturdy children of the early Western "settler;" in this, as in all other things, the difficulty of the labor was in exact proportion to its necessity. The peculiarities of the people, and the state of the country, were not favorable to the establishment of the limited monarchy, requisite to successful teaching. In the first place, the parents very generally undervalued, what they called "mere book-learning." For themselves, they had found more use for a rifle than a pen; and they naturally thought it a much more valuable accomplishment, to be able to scalp a squirrel with a bullet, at a hundred paces, than to read the natural history of the animal in the "picture-book." They were enthusiastic, also, upon the subject of independence; and, though they could control their children sternly enough at home, they were apt to look, with a jealous eye, upon any attempt to establish dominion elsewhere. The children partook largely of the free, wild spirit of their fathers. They were very prompt to resist anything like encroachment upon their privileges or rights, and were, of course, pretty certain to consider even salutary control an attempt to assert a despotism. I believe history contains no record, whatever the annals of fiction may display, of a boy, with much spirit, submitting without a murmur to the authority of the schoolmaster: if such a prodigy of enlightened humility ever existed, he certainly did not live in the west. But a more important difficulty than either of these, was the almost entire want of money in the country; and without this there was but little encouragement for the effort to overcome other obstacles. Money may be only a representative of value, but its absence operates marvellously like the want of the value itself, and the primitive people of those days, and especially that class to which the schoolmaster belonged, had a habit, however illogical, of considering it a desirable commodity, per se.

All these impediments, however, could, in the course of time, be conquered: the country was improving in social tone; parents must eventually take some pride even in the accomplishments they despised; and patience and gentleness, intermingled, now and then, with a little wholesome severity, will ultimately subdue the most stubborn spirit. As for the pecuniary difficulty, it was, as the political economists will tell us, only the absence of a medium at the worst: and, in its stead, the master could receive boarding, clothing, and the agricultural products of the country. So many barrels of corn, or bushels of wheat, "per quarter," might not be so conveniently handled, but were quite as easy to be counted, as an equal number of dollars; and this primitive mode of payment is even yet practised in many rural districts, perhaps, in both the east and west. To counter-balance its inconvenience of bulk, this "currency" possessed a double advantage over the more refined "medium of exchange" now in use: it was not liable to counterfeits, and the bank from which it issued was certain not to "break."

So the schoolmaster was not to be deterred from pursuing his honorable calling, even by the difficulties incident to half-organized communities. Indeed, teaching was the resort, at least temporary, of four fifths of the educated, and nearly an equal number of the uneducated young men, who came to the west: for certainly that proportion of both classes arrived in the country, without money to support, friends to encourage, or pride to deter them.

They were almost all what western people call "Yankees"—born and bred east of the Hudson: descendants of the sturdy puritans—and distinguished by the peculiarities of that strongly-marked people, in personal appearance, language, manners, and style and tone of thought. Like the peddlers, they were generally on the sunny side of thirty, full of the hopeful energy which belongs to that period of life, and only submitting to the labors and privations of the present, because through these they looked to the future for better and brighter things.

The causes which led to their emigration, were as many and as various as the adventurers whom they moved. They were, most of them, mere boys: young Whittingtons, whom the bells did not ring back, to become lord-mayors; who, indeed, had not even the limited possessions of that celebrated worthy; and, thus destitute, they wandered off, many hundreds of miles, "to see the world and make their fortunes," at an age when the youth of the present day are just beginning to think of college. They brought neither money, letters of introduction, nor bills of exchange: they expected to find neither acquaintance nor relatives. But they knew—for it was one of the wise maxims of their unromantic fathers—that industry and honesty must soon gather friends, and that all other desirable things would speedily follow. They had great and just confidence in their own abilities to "get along;" and if they did not actually think that the whole world belonged to them, they were well-assured, that in an incredibly short space of time, they would be able to possess a respectable portion of it.

A genuine specimen of the class to which most of the early schoolmasters belonged, never felt any misgivings about his own success, and never hesitated to assume any position in life. Neither pride nor modesty was ever suffered to interfere with his action. He would take charge of a numerous school, when he could do little more than write his own name, just as he would have undertaken to run a steamboat, or command an army, when he had never studied engineering or heard of strategy. Nor would he have failed in either capacity: a week's application would make him master of a steam-engine, or a proficient (after the present manner of proficiency) in tactics; and as for his school, he could himself learn at night what he was to teach others on the following day! Nor was this mere "conceit"—though, in some other respects, that word, in its limited sense, was not inapplicable—neither was it altogether ignorant presumption; for one of these men was seldom known to fail in anything he undertook: or, if he did fail, he was never found to be cast down by defeat, and the resiliency of his nature justified his confidence.

The pursuit of a certain avocation, for a long period, is apt to warp one's nature to its inequalities; and as the character gradually assumes the peculiar shape, the personal appearance changes in a corresponding direction and degree. Thus, the blacksmith becomes brawny, square, and sturdy, and the characteristic swing of his arm gives tone to his whole bearing: the silversmith acquires a peering, cunning look, as if he were always examining delicate machinery: the physician becomes solemn, stately, pompous, and mysterious, and speaks like "Sir Oracle," as if he were eternally administering a bread-pill, or enjoining a regimen of drugs and starvation: the lawyer assumes a keen, alert, suspicious manner, as if he were constantly in pursuit of a latent perjury, or feared that his adversary might discover a flaw in his "case:" and so on, throughout the catalogue of human avocations. But, among all these, that which marks its votaries most clearly, is school-teaching.

There seems to be a sort of antagonism between this employment and all manner of neatness, and the circle of the schoolmaster's female acquaintance never included the Graces. Attention to personal decoration is usually, though not universally, in an inverse ratio to mental garniture; and an artistically-tied cravat seems inconsistent with the supposition of a well-stored head above it. A mind which is directed toward the evolution of its own powers, has but little time to waste in adorning the body; and a fashionable costume would appear to cramp the intellect, as did the iron-vessel the genius of the Arabian tale. Although, therefore, there are numerous exceptions—persons whose externals are as elegant as their pursuits are intellectual—men of assiduously-cultivated minds are apt to be careless of appearances, and the principle applies, with especial force, to those whose business it is to develop the minds of others.

Nor was the schoolmaster of early days in the west, an exception to the rule. He might not be as learned, nor as purely intellectual, as some of our modern college-professors, but he was as ungraceful, and as awkwardly clad, as the most slovenly of them all. Indeed, he came of a stock which has never been noted for any of the lighter accomplishments, or "carnal graces;" for at no period of its eventful history, has the puritan type been a remarkable elegant one. The men so named have been better known for bravery than taste, for zeal than polish; and since there is always a correspondence between habits of thought and feeling and the external appearance, the physique of the race is more remarkable for rigor of muscle and angularity of outline, than for accuracy of proportion or smoothness of finish. Neither Apollo nor Adonis was in any way related to the family; and if either had been, the probability is that his kindred would have disowned him.

Properly to represent his lineage, therefore, the schoolmaster could be neither dandy nor dancing-master; and, as if to hold him to his integrity, nature had omitted to give him any temptation, in his own person, to assume either of these respectable characters. The tailor that could shape a coat to fit his shoulders, never yet handled shears; and he would have been as ill at ease, in a pair of fashionable pantaloons, as if they had been lined with chestnut-burrs. He was generally above the medium height, with a very decided stoop, as if in the habit of carrying burthens; and a long, high nose, with light blue eyes, and coarse, uneven hair, of a faded weather-stain color, gave his face the expression answering to this lathy outline. Though never very slender, he was always thin: as if he had been flattened out in a rolling-mill; and rotundity of corporation was a mode of development not at all characteristic. His complexion was seldom florid, and not often decidedly pale; a sort of sallow discoloration was its prevailing hue, like that which marks the countenance of a consumer of "coarse" whiskey and strong tobacco. But these failings were not the cause of his cadaverous look—for a faithful representative of the class held them both in commendable abhorrence—they were not the vices of his nature.

There was a sub-division of the class, a secondary type, not so often observed, but common enough to entitle it to a brief notice. He was, generally, short, square, and thick—the latitude bearing a better proportion to the longitude than in his lank brother—but never approaching anything like roundness. With this attractive figure, he had a complexion of decidedly bilious darkness, and what is commonly called a "dish-face." His nose was depressed between the eyes, an arrangement which dragged the point upward in the most cruel manner, but gave it an expression equally ludicrous and impertinent. A pair of small, round, black eyes, encompassed—like two little feudal fortresses, each by its moat—with a circle of yellowish white, peered out from under brows like battlements. Coarse, black hair, always cut short, and standing erect, so as to present something the appearance of a chevaux de frise, protected a hard, round head—a shape most appropriate to his lineage—while, with equal propriety, ears of corresponding magnitude stood boldly forth to assert their claim to notice.

Both these types were distinguished for large feet, which no boot could enclose, and hands broad beyond the compass of any glove. Neither was ever known to get drunk, to grow fat, to engage in a game of chance, or to lose his appetite: it became the teacher of "ingenuous youth" to preserve an exemplary bearing before those whom he was endeavoring to benefit; while respectable "appearances," and proper appreciation of the good things of life, were the alpha and omega of his system of morality.

But the schoolmaster—and we now include both sub-divisions of the class—was not deficient as an example in many other things, to all who wished to learn the true principles of living. Among other things, he was distinguished for a rigid, iron-bound economy: a characteristic which it might have been well to impart to many of his pupils. But that which the discreet master denominated prudence, the extravagant and wrong-headed scholar was inclined to term meanness: and historical truth compels us to admit, that the rigor of grim economy sometimes wore an aspect of questionable austerity. Notwithstanding this, however, when we reflect upon the scanty compensation afforded the benefactor of the rising generation, we can not severely blame his penurious tenacity any more than we can censure an empty wine-cask for not giving forth the nectar which we have never poured into it. If, accordingly, he was out at the elbows, we are bound to conclude that it was because he had not the money to buy a new coat; and if he never indulged himself in any of the luxuries of life, it was, probably, because the purchase of its necessaries had already brought him too near the bottom of his purse.

He was always, moreover, "a close calculator," and, with a wisdom worthy of all imitation, never mortgaged the future for the convenience of the present. Indeed, this power of "calculation" was not only a talent but a passion: you would have thought that his progenitors had been arithmeticians since the time of Noah! He could "figure up" any proposition whatsoever: but he was especially great upon the question, how much he could save from his scanty salary, and yet live to the end of the year.

In fact, it was only living that he cared for. The useful, with him, was always superior to the ornamental; and whatever was not absolutely necessary, he considered wasteful and extravagant. Even the profusion of western hospitality was, in his eyes, a crime against the law of prudence, and he would as soon have forgiven a breach of good morals as a violation of this, his favorite rule.

As might have been expected, he carried this principle with him into the school-room, and was very averse to teaching anything beyond what would certainly "pay." He rigidly eschewed embellishment, and adorned his pupils with no graceful accomplishments. It might be that he never taught anything above the useful branches of education, because he had never learned more himself; but it is certain that he would not have imparted merely polite learning, had his own training enabled him to do so: for he had, constitutionally, a high contempt for all "flimsy" things, and, moreover, he was not employed or paid to teach rhetoric or belles-lettres, and, "on principle," he never gave more in return than the value of the money he received.

With this reservation, his duties were always thoroughly performed, for neither by nature, education, nor lineage, was he likely to slight any recognised obligation. He devoted his time and talents to his school, as completely as if he had derived from it the income of a bishop; and the iron constitution, of both body and mind, peculiar to his race, enabled him to endure a greater amount of continuous application than any other man. Indeed, his powers of endurance were quite surprising, and the fibre of his mind was as tough as that of his body. Even upon a quality so valuable as this, however, he never prided himself; for, excepting the boast of race, which was historical and not unjustifiable, he had no pride. He might be a little vain; and, in what he said and did, more especially in its manner, there might occasionally be a shade of self-conceit: for he certainly entertained no mean opinion of himself. This might be a little obtrusive, too, at times; for he had but slight veneration for men, or their feelings, or opinions; and he would sometimes pronounce a judgment in a tone of superiority justly offensive. But he possessed the uncommon virtue of sincerity: he thoroughly believed in the infallibility of his own conclusions; and for this the loftiness of his tone might be forgiven.

The most important of the opinions thus expressed, were upon religious subjects, for Jews, puritans, and Spaniards, have always been very decided controversialists. His theology was grim, solemn, and angular, and he was as combative as one of Cromwell's disputatious troopers. In his capacious pocket, he always carried a copy of the New Testament—as, of old, the carnal controvertists bore a sword buckled to the side. Thus armed, he was a genuine polemical "swash-buckler," and would whip out his Testament, as the bravo did his weapon, to cut you in two without ceremony. He could carve you into numerous pieces, and season you with scriptural salt and pepper; and he would do it with a gusto so serious, that it would have been no unreasonable apprehension that he intended to eat you afterward. And the value of his triumph was enhanced, too, by the consideration that it was won by no meretricious graces or rhetorical flourishes; for the ease of his gesticulation was such as you see in the arms of a windmill, and his enunciation was as nasal and monotonous as that of the Reverend Eleazar Poundtext, under whose ministrations he had been brought up in all godliness.

But he possessed other accomplishments beside those of the polemic. He was not, it is true, overloaded with the learning of "the schools"—was, in fact, quite ignorant of some of the branches of knowledge which he imparted to his pupils: yet this was never allowed to become apparent, for as we have intimated, he would frequently himself acquire, at night, the lessons which he was to teach on the morrow. But time was seldom wasted among the people from whom he sprang, and this want of preparation denoted that his leisure hours had been occupied in possessing himself of other acquirements. Among these, the most elegant, if not the most useful, was music, and his favorite instrument was the flute.

In "David Copperfield," Dickens describes a certain flute-playing tutor, by the name of Mell, concerning whom, and the rest of mankind, he expresses the rash opinion, "after many years of reflection," that "nobody ever could have played worse." But Dickens never saw Strongfaith Lippincott, the schoolmaster, nor heard his lugubrious flute, and he therefore knows nothing of the superlative degree of detestable playing.

There are instruments upon which even an unskilful performer may make tolerable music, but the flute is not one of them—the man who murders that, is a malefactor entitled to no "benefit of clergy:" and our schoolmaster did murder it in the most inhuman manner! But, let it be said in mitigation of his offence, he had never received the benefit of any scientific teaching—he had not been "under the tuition of the celebrated Signor Wheeziana," nor had he profited by "the invaluable instructions of the unrivalled Bellowsblauer"—and it is very doubtful whether he would have gained much advantage from them, had he met the opportunity.

He knew that, in order to make a noise on the flute, or, indeed, anywhere else, it was necessary to blow, and blow he did, like Boreas! He always carried the instrument in his pocket, and on being asked to play—a piece of politeness for which he always looked—he drew it out with the solemnity of visage with which a tender-hearted sheriff produces a death-warrant, and while he screwed the joints together, sighed blasts like a furnace. He usually deposited himself upon the door-sill—a favorite seat for him—and collecting the younger members of the family about him, thence poured forth his strains of concentrated mournfulness.