"Child of Genius! in thine eyes,
I can see thy soul arise;
All the poetry of feeling,
In their changeful depths revealing."
The first-born! who can define the world of sensations and emotions that spring into existence at that magic word. Like every other deep impulse of the soul, language is powerless to express it imagination in its loftiest range comes far short of reality. Others may come to share an equal love,—none to excite the same novelty of emotion. The numerous little arts and feats of wisdom common to all children then force themselves on the observation of the parents for the first time. And though those little hands may be motionless in death, and those little lips never more rejoice their ears with their sweet music, that inanimate form has bequeathed an immortal legacy from Heaven,—a new link in the golden chain of the affections.
Rosalind, perhaps, was not a child of remarkable talent in any given direction, but she was certainly an original child. She neither resembled other children, nor imitated herself. She was constantly unfolding some new trait of character, and presenting herself in a new aspect. She inherited her father's physical activity and perseverance, and combined his logical with her mother's contemplative powers. Every thing that came under her observation was subjected to the strictest scrutiny for its why and wherefore. Never weary in her restless activity, she was constantly puzzling that little brain with questions oftentimes beyond the comprehension of much older heads. She combined the dignity of the woman with the artlessness of the child. Appealed to through the reason and the affections, she was gentle and yielding as a snow-flake; approached with a command, or a request that did not suggest its own reason, she was firm and unbending as the oak.
For her father she always manifested a most uncommon affection, reluctantly submitting to any other control, and never was a person better fitted for such a trust than he. He had early perceived her peculiar traits, and the immense importance resting on her early culture for her future happiness and usefulness. She must have a sphere for her activity, or she would grow up a fretful, impatient, discontented woman. She must be guided by a gentle, yet firm and steady hand, to bring into harmony the opposing tendencies of her character, or they might neutralize the good she would otherwise accomplish. It was a delightful task to him to study out her original propensities, and observe the latent germs of future promise whose development might some day require his most careful attention. He often felt what he was instructed as well as amused by the unaffected simplicity she displayed in the perception and correction of her own faults. The mission of children is ever a holy one, though the cares and trials devolving on the parents, blind them frequently to the beautiful naivete with which their unperverted instincts dive at the essence of things, without going the circuitous route which prejudice and the force of habit constrain them to travel, to arrive at the same conclusions.
Great patience and discrimination are required to ascertain how far children shall be indulged in their natural inclinations, in order to develop a healthy, well-balanced character; and when they shall be restrained, that their will may not get the ascendency instead of being the servant of their moral nature.
Mr. Claremont quite thoroughly understood this principle, as well from experience as from observation. He could perceive the difference in the effectual security of obedience between a peremptory command and decision, not necessarily implying a command.
When Rosalind was four years old she was presented with a miniature steamboat which had attracted her attention. It was not a common toy, but made of wood, in external appearance the fac simile of a boat capable of being set in motion. The gentleman to whom it belonged was so pleased at her curiosity to examine it that he gave it to her, although constructed by his son when a little boy, to gratify his passion for mechanical art and invention. One day she insisted on seeing it sail. After several vain attempts to convince her that it was impossible, her mother provided her a place to try the experiment. Pilled with vexation at seeing it remain stationary in the water instead of gliding gracefully on its surface, in a fit of impatience she struck her mother who was standing by. Just then her father entered. Though neither of them said a word, her manner at once indicated that she knew she had forfeited his accustomed kiss. After dinner, instead of returning to her playthings as usual when her father left, she sat with her hands quietly resting in her lap for almost the first time in her life, or stood gazing thoughtfully out at the window. She was evidently in a dilemma, and was exerting all the powers of her mind to extricate herself from it. Love was the very centre of her existence, and especially she could not live without her father's kiss. As the hour drew near for his return she went up softly to her mother, and said in a low voice, "Mother, I want to kiss you."
After receiving the proffered kiss, observing that she still stood with her large, wondering blue eyes fixed upon her, she said, "What is it, Rosa, what do you want to say?"
Leaning her head a little on one side, still looking wistfully at her, she answered, "I wish you would say it, mother, I can't."
"Say what, Rosa, that you are sorry you struck me?"
"Yes, yes, mother, that's it," and, evidently with a feeling of great relief she ran to the window to watch for her father. When she saw him coming, instead of running to meet him she retreated to the sofa, which was her place of refuge in every emergency.
Seeing that she showed no disposition to cOme forward as he entered the room and that he did not notice her; her mother, who had attentively observed her actions all the afternoon, said to him, "I think Rosa is waiting for a kiss from her father."
As he approached she did not move or speak, but fixed upon him an arch, inquisitive expression as if sure of reading in his countenance a confirmation of her own consciousness of having solved a great problem.
When, he asked her what she had done with her boat, she drew herself up with the air of one whose sense of dignity has been offended, and said,
"Father you will please not to say anything more about it."
"Why," said he, "I want to explain it to you, so you will see what was the reason it would not sail as you expected. Now will you get it and let us examine it?"
"No, it is where I cannot get it," speaking with as much decision as if she had been the parent, and he the child, "and so we may as well drop the subject, it isn't pleasant."
"I think it is. I should take a great deal of pleasure in showing my little daughter how it differs from a real steamboat, and I think she will be far happier to receive it back to her favor as we have received her to ours."
With a suppressed smile and much more of humility in her tone, she replied,
"I will show you where it is, if you will get it for me."
Under the attic stairs was a large, dark closet, the general receptacle of such miscellaneous articles as collect in every household, where, behind barrels and boxes the offending boat was found. They were soon both engaged with so much enthusiasm as to remind one of some important interest like the shipping of a valuable cargo rather than the mere amusement of a child. Perhaps it was more important, for who can calculate the result of the slightest impression made on the susceptible mind of the child?
Rosalind's happiness was very much augmented when Walter, her little brother, three years younger than herself, grew old enough to share her sports, and receive her instruction. She was never satisfied with doing a thing for its own sake. She must have an object, a purpose. To impart to him the knowledge she gained, furnished a double motive for acquiring it.
Her strong will sought a mastery over the foibles of the child's intellect, in her eager desire for the attainments belonging to years and experience, and she could not patiently submit to the law of growth and development; but her affections, trusting the love she knew was seeking her best welfare, prompted her to unquestioned obedience, and she tried to reconcile the two. She would have had less reverence for her father if he had been less exacting, or lowered the standard to which he proposed to bring her.
Engaged in one of her puzzling explorations in her father's presence, when Walter was scarcely old enough to talk, she tried in vain to enlist his sympathy, and then vented her vexation upon him by reproaching him for his stupidity.
Mr. Claremont bade her leave the room till she could treat him properly. Looking up to see if there was no alternative, she ran out in great haste closing the door not very gently. The next moment she opened it just far enough to put her head through, and said pertly, "Father, I don't love you." About half an hour after she entered with a soft, light step, and intruding her curly head before the paper he was reading, looked in his face with great affection, saying, "Oh, father, I do love you," and put her arms around his neck for the pardoning kiss.
She looked for reproof oftentimes when she did not get it, and was very jealous of any given to Walter. It required the nicest discrimination to know when to observe, and when to pass by those many faults, which, noticed too often, would have discouraged her efforts to overcome them; and without sufficient and judicious restraint would have produced a capricious but self-willed character. Doubtless many were suffered to go unrebuked, that would have been deemed worthy of censure in Walter. She knew it.
Hearing her father reprove him once for something comparatively trivial, she looked up from the kitten she was arraying in a wreath of clover blossoms, saying, "Why father, I have done worse than that a great many times, and you didn't say anything to me for it."
He was always firm in exacting her obedience to what she knew to be his wish; but it was through love, not fear, he gained her submission. Once he counteracted his decision, which, she frequently said in after life, made one of the greatest impressions ever received,—it was so unexpected. She was in the habit of throwing her playthings at random when any thing puzzled or vexed her. It grieved her as much as it did her parents, but when a fit of vexation came over her it was done quick as thought.
She had a beautiful, large wax doll which she handled with the greatest care. One day in her absence, a child who was visiting there got hold of it and disfigured it sadly, besides tearing its delicate garments in shreds.
The sight of it in this plight, being the first intimation she had of the misfortune that had befallen it, was too much for her. Having a pair of scissors in her hand, she threw them with all the force she could exert across the room where Walter happened to be. Fortunately he escaped with no injury but a slight graze upon the cheek. She rushed into her father's arms and burst into tears, a thing unusual for her. "Oh, Rosa," said he, "I cannot let you go to ride with us to night."
This was a great privation, for there was nothing she enjoyed more than their summer evening drives, but she bore it bravely until she saw him leaving the house, when she burst out crying again, and said, "Oh father, won't you kiss me before you go? I want to kiss you." As he returned she threw her arms so lovingly around his neck that he was overcome, and recollecting that mercy was coeval with justice, he told her to get ready and she might go. She looked at him with astonishment, then with joy sparkling through the tears in her eyes, soon joined them. Her little hands were ever tractable after that.
It was her peculiar characteristic to avoid every thing of unpleasant associations. The doll was entirely neglected, and sadly as she missed it she never spoke of her loss. A poor child once enlisted her sympathies so much that she begged the privilege to give it to her, but upon going to get it, the thought of parting with it forever revived her old attachment, and she replaced it affectionately, telling her mother that it would seem very hard to her if she should want to give her away because something had happened to spoil her looks.
After her father had tested her for six months, he brought her home a new doll, quite equal to the other, which she received very graciously, and after regarding it attentively for some minutes, said, with a look of serious concern,
"Don't you think the other Dolly would feel bad if she thought I loved this one best?"
New trials awaited her. Every new experience revived the old strife between the conflicting elements of her organization, and she had the battle to fight over again. It had been comparatively easy to yield when there was no opposing influence beyond herself. School brought its temptations. Being controlled more through her intellect and affections than by her moral sentiments she was far more the subject of surrounding influences than Walter. Passing from the constant supervision of her parents to the companionship of those who had not been so carefully guarded at home, she grew impatient of restraint, and her father saw with grief that he was losing something of the hold through which he had gained her obedience without asserting his authority.
Near the school she attended lived a very eccentric widow who seemed to have sworn eternal enmity to all children. She would not allow them to set foot on her premises, running out with a broom to drive them off, like a brood of chickens, if she saw them coming in the direction of her domain. This course frequently incited them to little acts of depredation which otherwise they would not have thought of. They lost no opportunity to annoy her, pelting her door with stones which were hurled back at the shortest notice; and the contest generally ended by her going after a policeman, but as she always told them of her intention, they were sure to be missing when he arrived.
Rosalind and her companions never joined this rude set, but they would sit on the steps leading to her house, and if she failed to make her appearance soon began to sing, which brought her out with a vengeance, her gray hairs flying, as she never wore a cap, and her dress not by any means a la mode, so she presented a very unique appearance. Withal, the multiform wrinkles into which she contracted her face when uttering her threats completed the picture,—threats they knew to be perfectly harmless, for she was never known to harm a single living creature, not even to defend the privacy.of her grounds. The stones thrown were never intended to hit those aimed at. To the adventurous nature of children this was great sport, but very exceptionable in the view of Mr. Claremont. He remonstrated with Rosalind and tried to persuade her not to go there, but his reasons were unsatisfactory. There was no intention of mischief, and it could not hurt her in any possible way to sit on her steps, and she was sure that, living such a lonely life, she ought to be very grateful to them for singing her a song occasionally. If it made her cross, it was her fault, not theirs. Thus she argued.
Her father was not a man to be trifled with. He forbade her going, which at first overawed her, but when she joined her companions, who, as soon as school was over urged her to go with them again, she held a council in her own mind, and decided that it was very arbitrary in him to deprive her of enjoyments which were not denied to others, and she accompanied them, not, however, with a very keen sense of pleasure.
At dinner, in answer to her father's inquiry if she had obeyed him, she replied, no, but she had not done any thing wrong or out of the way, she thought, and was very sorry he should think otherwise, but she could not help it. That little will had gained ascendency much faster than he thought, but he did not forget that he had been a child, or that grown people are as unwilling to submit to what seems to them, oftentimes, the arbitrary demands of their Heavenly Father, and he maintained his self-control.
With a child's quick instinct she perceived the sacrifice of feeling it cost him to enforce her obedience, which' was another proof of his tender love,—a love that could suffer as well as enjoy,—and her affection for him was thereby increased. Neither did she ever after manifest so much impatience when any thing baffled her comprehension.
The summer she was fifteen she passed under her father's tuition, which was a source of great enjoyment to both. Her eager desire to fathom every branch of science to which her investigating mind led her, was often the cause of great annoyance to her teachers, for they could not see why a girl need to ask so many questions, who would never have any use for her knowledge. She felt the injustice of the censures sometimes incurred by her inquisitiveness, and could scarcely brook with good grace the partiality that tolerated, seemingly with greater patience, the insensible questions of the most stupid boys. She did not understand the customs of society, far more prevalent then than now, assigning to manhood a career,—to womanhood, marriage or a blank.
Whatever Mr. Claremont's views in this respect, he intended to gratify and assist Rosalind in prosecuting her studies to the extent of his power. Though engaged in a large mercantile establishment, his financial ability and prompt business habits relieved him from many of the cares and perplexities attending men of his class, so that he had more leisure to spend at home and devote to her than usual with business men. He was one of the small company of successful merchants who had a conscience that could not be wrapped up in his Sunday suit, and a religion that he carried into his counting room, practising good will to men on six days out of the seven, thus saving his soul from the all-engrossing vexations and anxieties of trade without detriment to his worldly interests, and redeeming it from the necessity of doubting the old maxim, that honesty is ultimately the best policy under all circumstances. With him the acquisition of wealth was only a secondary consideration, honorable as the means to an end, but not the end itself.
It is enough to make one shudder, who steps for the first time out of the blissful ignorance of private life into the great maelstroom of intrigue and duplicity, swallowing up the world at large. Specious promises and reckless investments on the longest credit constitute the badge of trade; punctuality in the payment of debts as a moral duty passes at a discount, and the industrious mechanic, dependent on his daily labor, deprived of the comforts of life through the negligence or dishonesty of his employer, considers society at best only a combination of rogues, and gives up in despair or resolves to try his own fortune by playing a game at the same table.
Astronomy being Rosalind's favorite science, was a subject which called forth most the brilliancy of her intellect. The wonders there unfolded were adapted to her ardent thirst for novelty and grandeur, and sufficient to engage the intense activity of her brain. She was fascinating to observe, when, on a keen frosty night, she came in with her father after they had been out to trace the constellations, her eyes beaming with delight and her cheeks glowing with the rosy hues of health, a good model for a picture of youth and happiness.
She never possessed the quiet beauty of her mother; hers was rather the expression of soul. When a great thought animated her, or some stirring emotion communicated its subtle enthusiam to her features, there was an irresistible charm that insensibly attracted all who came within reach of her influence. Her chief feature of physical beauty was her flaxen ringlets, yet her complexion was fair, and her eyes resembled her father's in expression. In no other particular was there any resemblance between herself and any other member of the family. The same might also be said of her character, which was two-fold, but not deceptive. Exhibiting neither boldness or reserve, nature came forth in full measure, sometimes rushing on like some wild mountain stream, then like the calm summer ripple, gently and soothingly breathing its sweet message of rest and peace, as it was reflected from its own quiet bosom. Such an organization is born to suffering from its want of harmony, but when this is once effected, there is a strength of character seldom displayed by a person of an even temperament naturally.
Walter was an exception to this rule. Combining a healthy physical frame with a well balanced mental organization, he presented an example of a highly moral, deeply religious nature without those sharp angles which chequer the lives of most people with their alternate sunshine and shade, as they bear witness to the decisive conflicts and victories through which they have triumphed.
The following incident furnishes a good illustration of his character. His teacher having occasion to leave the schoolroom for a short time, appointed him monitor in his absence, considering him the most trust-worthy scholar ho had. It was an unenviable position, and one which conflicted with Walter's sense of honor to report the conduct of his fellows. One of the boys who had too much of the fun-loving disposition to let such an occasion go unimproved, and too much artfulness to allow himself to be caught in the trap he set for others, winked to his nearest companion who took the hint and jogged the elbow of a boy sitting before, him writing. Never passing by an affront without showing proper resentment, the latter rose hastily to grasp the offender, and upset the inkstand over his clean copy-book which landed in a little girl's lap in front of him, who began to cry at the dismal picture her new pink apron presented with its long streaks of jet, like so many black marks against its fair fame. There was a general titter throughout the room as all sprung instantly to their feet to see what was happening. Just then the school-master entered,—poor, mortal being,—with the dignity becoming such a functionary, who cast some menacing frowns on the little miscreants in the quarter whence had originated this confusion, thus flinging an imputation at his boasted renown for securing good order and obedience, and also setting a snare which cost him a still greater loss to his reputation,—the equilibrium of his temper. Addressing Walter, whose close proximity to the scene of action forced him to be an eye witness of the whole, but who alone remained unmoved, having neither smiled nor spoken, he demanded a full account of the occurence, with the names of the offenders; to which he replied that he had nothing to say, and positively declined to give any information.
"You have nothing to say? and yet you know all about it, who and what have been the cause of this mischief, but refuse to tell me," giving him a look that Walter, brave as he was, trembled to encounter,—an angry, defiant look.
"Answer me now, were you yourself concerned in it?"
"No, sir."
"You confess to a knowledge of the facts which you refuse to communicate, do you?"
"Yes, sir."
"Then mind you, sir, the punishment that should have been the culprit's, shall be yours!"
If ever there was a class of persons who need a double share of patience in order to meet the responsibilities resting upon them, and discharge them acceptably to themselves and the community, it is school-teachers. Entrusted with the moral and intellectual training of a score or two of juveniles, with all sorts of temperaments, and all sorts of bringing up, and some with no bringing up at all; some, so full of fun and roguery that an attempt to repress them seems like turning nature out of her course; others, so obstinate that the most to be hoped for is sullenness, instead of submission, their parents the while watching with jealous eyes any assertion of authority which they have not seen fit to maintain; the person who successfully manages the heterogeneous elements without committing some errors, must be an uncommon adept in the science of human nature, and of remarkable self-control.
Mr. Scrantum, unfortunately, was not above the ordinary level of human endurance, but he was very conscientious, and, when led into an indiscretion, sought every means to make reparation, if it could be done without weakening his authority. He felt the keenest reproof in Walter's future conduct which never manifested the least revengeful feeling; and he had gained an influence over the school that transcended his own.
Those young souls had never seen such heroism before. They were lost in silent admiration. Even the boy who gave the sly wink, though not bravo enough to come forward and save him, thereby losing the opportunity to gain almost equal honors, appreciated the young martyr-spirit that could suffer for others, and profited by the lesson thus taught him.
When the term drew to a close, and the connection between teacher and pupils was about to cease the former gave those parting words,—"My young Mends and pupils,—now that we are on the eve of separation, and shall probably never all meet again in this world, I feel that justice to one of your number demands a few words from me. You recollect the unpleasant incident that occurred here a few weeks since, when, to maintain the discipline of the school, an innocent person suffered for the guilty. The names of those concerned in that affair, and the motives of him who refused to serve as informer, I have never learned; but if there are any among you who feel any compunctions of conscience and wish to make restitution, or any who would like to know whom among you all I would recommend as an example most worthy of imitation, I will point them to Walter Claremont."
All eyes were fixed on Walter, the unconscious hero, whose look of puzzled surprise added to the interest of the occasion; and all gathered around him as one boisterous cheer proclaimed the end of school regulations. When they gained the liberty of the open air, they waved their caps in great exultation that they too had a favorite, which circumstance served them as the political occasion to imitate their seniors—and "hurrah for Walter," from the boy who spilt the ink, ended in three times three.
"And terror to sly winks!" shouted the boy who pushed his elbow. But Sly Winks was silently riddling the philosophy of the proverb, "Behold what a great fire a little spark kindleth," to reap its fruits in due season.