Part 4

Good teachers are not long in finding good scholars in a new class. They look for them as a miner watches for gold, and prize them as highly. There was such a teacher in the faculty at Washington, and to Professor Murray Mr. Blaine feels a deep and lasting debt of gratitude.

Like all good teachers, he felt the dignity and power of his profession. He could help the weakest into strength, and put a window in the darkest mind by his varied questionings, illustrations, suggestions, and explanations. He was quiet, but forceful, genial, but severe if laziness or wanton disregard showed its hydra head. In his own peculiar way, by virtue of an immense personality, he would light up and enthuse a whole class-room.

The Professor found in young Blaine a pupil to his mind, and James found in the teacher just the man of his heart. He learned to love him. A genuine teacher can incarnate himself in his pupils, just as Napoleon seemed to reproduce himself in his armies, firing them with his spirit, arming them with his purpose, so that they would move with the solid impetuosity of his own daring, scaling the Alps, triumphing at Austerlitz, until they came to look, and breathe, and act him out long after; but Professor Murray was training men and citizens of the great Republic. His was a solemn, sacred work, of grave responsibility. It was worthy of life and manhood’s strength and prime, as the great ideals which burned in the heat of his glowing life fully assured him.

To sit in such a light, to dwell in such a presence, was to be lead over the fields of conquest by the hand of Alexander after he had conquered the world. No wonder this man is loved and honored, and his memory cherished sacredly.

Outside of the regular college course, Mr. Blaine read through the New Testament in Greek with him three times. This was a Sunday Bible-class exercise, and shows how deeply his mind became imbued with the truths of the Christian religion, which have since made him a devoted member of the Congregational Church in Augusta, Maine.

James was no book-worm in college. He was a severe, close student. This was his chief business there. He was on his honor, and loved his work, and so did it well.

Prof. E. B. Neely, superintendent of schools in St. Joseph, Mo., an old class-mate, says of him:--

“James G. Blaine was always looked up to as a leader, by his class-mates, being universally recognized as such. While a close student, he was genial in his habits, and decidedly popular with all, being the very reverse of what is known as a book-worm.”

This is just what those who know him now have reason to expect was the case, and yet it is very remarkable, from the fact that he was seventeen and a half years of age when he graduated, and in a large class of thirty-three, seventeen of whom entered the Christian ministry.

At the end he was one of those to divide the honors of his class, and here again we are indebted to Professor Neely.

“Third, by reference to my class-book you will see that at the time he graduated Mr. Blaine was given the second of the three honors of the occasion. The first, the Latin salutatory, was delivered by Jno. C. Hervey, of Virginia; the second, English salutatory, by James G. Blaine, of Pennsylvania; and the third, Greek salutatory, by T. W. Porter, of Pennsylvania.”

When Mr. Blaine graduated he delivered a masterly oration, most of which he can speak to-day, after a lapse of thirty-seven years. The subject was,--“The Rights and Duties of American Citizens.” How fitting such a theme for such a man, and how admirably it shows his trend of mind!

During his course at college, in 1844, occurred the great campaign of Henry Clay. It had been Mr. Blaine’s privilege to meet Mr. Clay, and he took the liveliest interest conceivable in the contest. He was a very positive man, decided and aggressive, especially in his political opinions. Of course the great question of the day was debated in the college-society, and Mr. Blaine was on hand. He usually was on such occasions, and had a large part in the discussion. He was so well read in the history of the country and of parties, had entered so into the merits of the campaign of General Harrison, four years before, that with all his growth and acquisitions since, he was well qualified to take his position and maintain it against all who chose a tilt with him. His was the force of accumulated strength, the weight of reserved power. He was so full of his subject, that it seemed to require no effort to bring out the facts and figures and formulate the arguments that demolished his antagonist. He joined, as if by instinct, the fresh young Whig party of progress and of power. Clay was their idol, and this was the hour of his destiny. No young life was ever given with more ardent devotion to any cause than did the young collegian give heart and thought, sympathy and endeavor, to the star so surely rising. He lead in the fight among the boys, and won the day; and wherever voice or influence could reach, he energized others with the wholesome truths of political equity, justice, and common sense that filled his soul. No wonder his theme on Commencement day was so near the nation’s life. It was near his heart, and so his first great triumph was celebrated by considering, back in those times of the slave-power, _Rights and Duties of American Citizenship_.

Washington and Jefferson College was famous in those days for sending forth great men. It was a great institution of the times. Indeed, it was two colleges united. Jefferson College had been located at Connersburgh, some four miles distant, and was merged into Washington College at Washington.

This gave increased advantage in picked teachers, fuller endowment, larger classes, and better appliances. To go to such an institution, a mere boy and a total stranger, and take the lead and keep it through his entire course, argues for the mental power and furnishing of the boy, as well as his other qualities of heart and character. He led his class in mathematics, as a fellow-student testifies, and thus showed the unabated influence of his old Quaker teacher, Solomon Phillips.

The college-library was a great resort for him, a sort of second home. Here he could delve, with no thought of time or weariness. It was his delight and joy. Books seemed a part of him; he was seldom without them, and yet he utilized, by good mental digestion and strong powers of assimilation, the substance of what he read. He ranged over a wide field, principally of English works then, as works of American authors were comparatively few. Indeed, it is only within the last quarter of a century the sneer, “Who reads an American book?” has ceased to sting. Vacation was his busiest time with books. He was never empty, but always full.

But all his study and meditation; all his reading, thought, and observation; all he had gleaned, gathered, and garnered from books, teachings, and associations; all that had come to him from newspapers, periodicals, travel, great men, found their fitting and powerful culmination in the great oration he delivered on Commencement day, in June, 1847. It was sound and convincing, patriotic and manly, and would do credit to any graduate to-day, though twice his age. It was the key-note of a life-long career, which has ever since been urging in a most potent way the rights, and discharging the duties of American citizenship.

IV.

TEACHING IN KENTUCKY.

The world opened grandly to young Blaine at his graduation. His college course had been a triumph, his reception home an ovation. The heart of the great class beat with his; their hopes were justly high, and high especially for him whom they had learned to love and honor. His power to make friends and hold them was remarkable. Those who knew him best loved him most.

One who knew so much of the world must see some of it, and as yet he had traveled but little; but a good rest is taken, and the summer spent at home. Old, familiar scenes are viewed through larger eyes. Books are reviewed, fresh volumes read; the news, home and foreign, is seized with a new avidity by one whose business of life is just beginning. As yet, though, he has not been earning money, he has gained something he can never lose, and that can never be stolen or borrowed from him. It is his fortune; his father’s wise plan has been carried out, and he is ready for business now. A call comes for a teacher in Blue Licks Military Academy, at Georgetown, Kentucky, and he is selected and recommended by the faculty for the place. He has never taught an hour. Shall he go? He knows enough, has good command of himself, and from careful observation, a fair knowledge of methods. He believes he can do it, for, as yet, he has never failed, and has always been able to make himself understood, whether in private conversations and discussions, or society debates in college.

The question is decided. He is to receive a salary of five hundred dollars a year, while boys of his age are working for eight and ten dollars a month. It is a man’s work. He is to start September first, and he will not be eighteen years old until January. There is not a hair on his face. But there is a man within, strong in manly powers, and rich in stores of knowledge.

He had a fine address, clear and strong of speech, large lustrous eyes, fine conversational powers, and in all respects, of good appearance. His youth was in his favor, since it made his accomplishments all the more marvelous. He had been well written up and highly recommended before going, so that anticipations were high on both sides.

It was harder than ever to say good-bye, especially for mother and son, but it must be done. They recalled the time when their ancestors left native land across the seas, to come to this country, and were reconciled. His father and Uncle Will tried the name of Professor on him before he started, and it seemed to fit, though at first it startled him. It weighed him down with the gravity of his position, and drove the last remnant of pedantry from him. He declined a tall hat and discarded a cane. He was simple, genuine, and true, and went for just what he was worth.

The trip to Pittsburgh, and down the river to Louisville, and out to Georgetown by public conveyance, was full of interest to him, because it was his country he was seeing. A steam-boat explosion, and talk of an insurrection among the negroes, made him a little nervous. But the fact that he was going to the state of Henry Clay, gave him a sort of home feeling, and made him feel they were his sort of folks, and then some of the students were from down that way, and he had met several of the public men from Kentucky, besides Mr. Clay.

There happened to be an old Jacksonian Democrat in the stage-coach, who had been attracted to the young professor by his manly bearing, his quiet urbanity, which cost him no effort, and especially by his politeness in giving a lady from the Blue Grass region a back seat, insisting “that she take it” in a most gentlemanly manner, while he took a far less comfortable one, riding backward. This brought him face to face with a full-blooded Kentuckian of the old type.

“You are a native of the soil, I take it, sir?”

“Yes, sir, but not of this state.”

“Of what state, may I ask?”

“The Keystone state of Pennsylvania, sir,” with a suppressed air of pride.

“Indeed, then you are from the North?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Clay has a good many friends up there, has he not?”

“Yes, sir, a great many.”

“Well, it was an awful whipping he got.”

“Yes, and he did not deserve it.”

“Didn’t deserve it?”

“I think not; he is a royal man, and would have made an excellent president, in my judgment.”

“If he had not been a Whig; that spoils him. Strange how much good and smartness a man may have, and not have good sense.”

“But he has good sense, in my judgment, if you will pardon me.”

“Young man, slavery is a Divine institution. That is fixed; the Bible decides that!”

These words were said with great emphasis.

“Then what of the Declaration of Independence; does that conflict with the Bible? Is that a Divine institution?”

The man was puzzled, but finally said,--

“Well, the Bible don’t have to agree with everything.”

James had just finished the study of the Constitution, of Political Economy, of Moral Science, was thoroughly posted regarding political parties and all the great questions of the day, and slavery had a black, villanous look to him. Some of the sights he had witnessed had roused his blood, and taking it altogether he was ready for quite a campaign.

He had never been placed under any particular restraint, but had talked right out the best he knew how, and so followed the person up who encountered him pretty closely, until the questions were all answered to their satisfaction, and a few difficult ones asked to his satisfaction. But when the identical lady whom he had favored with a seat, asked right out,--“Would you marry a nigger?” he seemed lifted from his moorings all at once, and replied almost instantly, without inspecting his words,--“No, ma’am, would you?” A fair amount of indignation was in the air, without any perceptible delay, and sundry epithets, so common in those days, such as “nigger-lover,” “nigger-stealer,” and “black abolitionist,” found expression. James’ only apology was,--

“Madame, I only asked you the very respectful and lady-like question you had so kindly asked me.”

“I admire your courage and independence of character, sir,” said a young lady opposite, with some warmth, who, though rather large, and with a look of rare intelligence, and a voice of peculiar sweetness and volume, was evidently still in her teens,--possibly sweet sixteen, in its fullest glory.

The driver stopped at the foot of a big hill, and, as was their privilege, several passengers got out to walk up the hill. James was among their number. It was a real relief to be in the open air.

“Give us your hand, young man,” said a fellow-passenger, as the stage passed on. “I like yer pluck; brains is good, but it ain’t much without pluck. I tell you, you sot the truth right home that time. You are a right smart kind of a boy. Do they raise meny sich up in the old Keystone or Yellowstone--What did you call it? I reckon that that Missis was right down put out when you axed her what she axed you. But, then, they do say a heap of jokers don’t like to be joked. But my rule is, tit-for-tat. I tell you, a little nip and tuck now and then is a mighty edicating sort of thing, and I guess you’ve been educated, haven’t you?”

James shook hands and followed up the conversation until the top of the hill was reached.

All had a good dinner, and felt better.

It was a simple act of courtesy which the occasion demanded, to help the young lady of sixteen, more or less, from the coach, as she was ready to step out after James had alighted, and as she thanked him very graciously he could but offer to escort her to the table, and with rare good grace she assented.

James had done such things before, and done them very handsomely, in connection with their college-exhibitions and socials in the town, to which he occasionally went.

Kentucky is a great country for quail, and the colored cook had broiled and buttered them that day exactly to the taste of an epicurean. They were simply delicious, and just in season. They enjoyed them hugely, and chatted with the cheer and gusto of old friends, mostly speaking of the glories of the North, in which they perfectly agreed, and upon their homes. “One touch of nature makes the whole world kin” may be true or not, but that little touch of nature in the stage-coach had made them kin.

Another fresh brace of the savory quails had just been placed before them, when the coach dashed around to the door, and the lusty voice of the driver crying “All aboard!” resounded through the hall and open door of the dining-room.

There was no alternative, so without delay they resumed their old seats, and conversation was discontinued.

The political status of the company had been pretty well defined, and James had made two friends, the names of neither of whom, however, he had learned.

There was a lull in the conversation, and James was going over his scheme of study and recitations for the twentieth time, when at three o’clock Georgetown was announced. He bade his two friends good-bye, and expressed the hope that all would enjoy their journey.

The stage had but just started, when the old Jacksonian said, “I dunno but the boy is more n’r half right, anyhow.” The young lady knew he was, but the lady number one did not know about it.

“Well, it’s mighty sartin the Declaration is agin’ Slavery, and the Bible can’t stand up for both, nohow,” said the man who walked up the hill with James.

James was now in his lodgings, and liked the looks of things. He had just brushed and dusted up when he heard the tap of a drum, and looking out he saw a line of cadets forming, and ascertaining that that was the academy, he walked over and saw one hundred and fifty fine-looking young men, handsomely uniformed, each with a musket, marching to music of fife and drum. They stood erect and stepped together. It was a fine sight to him. They went through the evolutions, marked time, marched, and countermarched.

The entire faculty were present. He ventured in, and soon heard a messenger announce that Mr. Blaine had come, but he had missed him. He simply said, “I am Mr. Blaine,” and the Principal grasped his hand with evident delight, placing his left hand upon his shoulder and saying, “I am glad to see you, Mr. Blaine,” and introduced him to the other teachers, and then turning to the students he said, “Battalion, permit me to present to you our new professor, James G. Blaine, of Washington, Pennsylvania; you will please receive him at present arms”; instinctively Mr. Blaine removed his hat in recognition of his reception. “Perhaps you have a word for the boys,” said the Principal, and the battalion was brought to a “shoulder arms,” an “order arms,” and then to a “parade rest,” when, stepping forward, he said,--“I am glad to see you, gentlemen, in such fine form and spirit, and so accomplished at your drill, for I watched you several moments yonder, unobserved. We had nothing of this kind where I studied, but I think it must be a fine thing for you. I hope you will never be needed in your country’s service, though it does begin to look a little as though there might possibly be war with Mexico. But as I have been nearly two weeks on my journey, and as we shall have ample time to get acquainted, I will not detain you longer.”

Three cheers were proposed for Professor Blaine, and given with a will. The Professor was the lion of the hour.

The Principal said, “You will take tea with me, Professor Blaine?”

“With great pleasure.”

And to the other professors, “You will please take tea with Professor Blaine, at my house.”

The hour spent in the study with the Principal was not without a purpose on his part. It confirmed all that Doctor McConaughy and Professor Murray had written about him, and afforded certain knowledge that they had drawn a prize. By an adroit, yet careless method of conversation, introducing a general discussion of the textbooks of the day, with their general contents, their defects and excellences, the great knowledge of the new man was made evident, and it was not restricted to the mere curriculum of studies.

“Surely,” thought he, “I am in for it now in earnest,” as he was left alone for a few moments while his host went down to receive his other guests.

There was not a soul within three hundred miles who would think of calling him Jim Blaine, or Jimmy, nor dare to, if by some strange, unnatural process it did occur to him.

He was treated, respected, and honored as a man and a scholar. The world had opened to him, and he had entered. It was well there was no show or shoddy about him, and he knew it. The stamp of the mint was on him, and he passed at par, with the ring of honest coin.

There is a power in some men to meet any emergency when it is fairly on them. They rise with the tide, become a part of the occasion, and adjust themselves to it with a quiet dignity. He had this power, and felt it on him now. As he was going down-stairs to be presented to the ladies, he said to himself, as he threw back his hair with a quick, decided toss, “No politics to-night”; and this prolific subject was mentally abjured.

They received him as an equal, spoke of the favorable opinion they all entertained of him, and the joy his coming had given them.

He thanked them, and spoke of the pleasure he experienced in coming to a state so great in the nation’s life.

It was a matter of conscience with Professor Blaine to know where he was going and where he had been, so that he had made his own state as well as that of Ohio where he had spent the term at school, and the state of Kentucky, a special study; so that when they were fairly seated at table, and after repeated questions had been asked, he fairly eclipsed all his former attempts at conversation, by the brilliancy of his historical allusions, extending far back into colonial days.

He had learned, by his early drill in Plutarch’s Lives, where a brief biography of a Roman and a Greek are alternately given, and then comparisons and contrasts between them introduced, so to deal with states and individuals. He had thus dealt with political parties and their leaders, but not to-night. This method helped him greatly.

Events, dates, names, places, fell into line and were marshalled like troops just when the drum tapped, or the word of command was given. They all seemed amazed; an hour passed by; material sufficient for a half-dozen Fourth of July orations had been given. A veritable panorama of those three great states, three of the greatest in the Union, seemed to march before them in sections and decades.

The members of the faculty, who understood very well what it was to know and to talk, had some very complimentary things to say. He had won them all, so unobtrusive was he, and entirely at his ease, withal.

Monday morning, at nine o’clock, twenty-eight young men marched into the school-room and faced him as their teacher, twelve of them older than himself. They had taken his measure when on drill, and felt honored to call him teacher.

They were from the best families of the state, were clad in bright uniforms, and sat erect. Mathematics was the first recitation. He looked around almost instinctively for Solomon Phillips or Professor Murray, but they were not there. He was on the platform, not in the seats. He must lead off. A list of names had been furnished him. As he read them over, calling each name by itself, the scholar came forward and received a hearty shake of the hand, and was photographed at once in the mind of the teacher. This was the work of but a few minutes, yet it recognized each one of them, and made them feel acquainted. No other teacher had done this, but it was something they could tell of, write home about, and made them say,--“He is a fine man; I like him.”

He then told them many things about mathematics as a science, its power in intellectual development, and its great value in the practical business of life; its place in astronomy and engineering, in naval and military operations, and the certainty with which it assures the mind.