Part 22

"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.

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"I knew him well, and every truant knew:

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"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."