When Walter Aimwell was about six years of age, his father, a man of kind disposition and religious principle, was removed by death. Soon after their bereavement, the family left Charlestown, and took up their abode in Salem. Here Walter, who was the third of four sons, remained until he was nearly thirteen years of age.
Even at this early age, his character began to give some intimations of what it afterwards became. In after-years, he speaks of the gratification he felt in attending church even on week-days, and recalls, apparently with pleasure and gratitude, the names of his Sabbath-school teachers.
Only once does he mention the name of Mr. Brooks, the master of the high school, which he had already entered when he left Salem. Yet, short as was the period of his pupilage under this gentleman, the master seemed to have gained a correct insight of the ability and character of his pupil, and the scholar’s mind appears to have received an impulsion in the right direction which was never lost.
I never had any personal acquaintance with the gentleman mentioned; but in the early purposes and methods of Walter Aimwell may be traced effects of the advice of a fine and faithful educator, willingly condescending to dwell upon those minutiæ of habits, and to stimulate those secretly-working motives, that do not bring much ready credit to the teacher, but are potent with the future of the scholar; and probably this early and never-exhausted influence should be attributed to Master Brooks.
It is good, once in a while, to think of the eternal mental motion produced by a right thought.
Since I hope to have many youths among my readers, and since Walter Aimwell always felt a peculiar interest in this class, I wish to say that this early assimilation of good thought is the only thing promising special future worth that I can discover in the boy-life of Walter Aimwell, that is in any degree exceptional. This is rare. Very few lads of thirteen have such a store of practical wisdom as he had. Yet that was because he chose to heed good counsel. Probably, nearly all boys, in New England at least, have presented to them enough of the right kind of thought to make saints or heroes or famous men of them all. Why they do not so implicitly yield to it, they understand as well as any one. They know they have the power of choice.
After a residence in Salem of about six years, Walter Aimwell’s mother contracted a second marriage and returned to Charlestown.
Young Walter did not accompany his mother, but went to Lynn to learn the business of a jeweller. He had been there but a short time, when he wrote to her a long and interesting letter. Probably it was the first letter he ever wrote. It is now before me,—its long, large pages neatly and plainly written, with but few inelegances, and no bad errors.
There is a remarkable resemblance between the mind of the boy as manifested in this letter and the mind of the man as shown in the writings of mature years. There are the same orderly groupings of his thoughts and arrangement of his words, the same graphic, straightforward way of expressing himself, the same abundance to say, not from a superfluity of words, but from a mind full of facts that have attracted his attention and have been remembered, and the same occasional introduction of innocent fun, that distinguishes the productions of his manhood. Of course, it should not be understood that these qualities exist in the same degree; but he aims for them, and they are all there in kind.
Not only does he show the same taste in writing, but he also displays a similar taste and interest for the circumstances and concomitants of living. He says, “I like very much indeed; he has got an elegant shop.” Again, “He has got a marble table to work on, and he has a great many vases of birds and flowers.”
He mentions, as if with pleasant interest, that “next week he is to learn me all the parts of a watch and their names.” “I take books out of J. Jewett’s Circulating Library at Mr. C—’s” (his employer’s) “expense. The price is 12½ cts. for octavos, and 6¼ for smaller volumes, a week.” “Mr. C. is trying to get me a seat in Rev. Mr. Cook’s meeting-house. I suppose he will hire one if he can. I guess the seats are almost all occupied, for last January 142 persons applied for seats.” Evidently Mr. C. differs somewhat from some employers who have the charge of minors.
With his usual respect for why and wherefore, he explains “the reasons” that he did not board at a certain place. The love of music, which remained as long as he lived, was active then. “I have as much music as I want, as he has a number of music-boxes. He has one in particular which is the best he ever saw. I have got it under my nose now; it is playing Napoleon’s March, which is splendid.”
A Mr. Bird married a Mrs. Fish, and Walter Aimwell either originated, or appreciated, the following lines. Without any allusion to the authorship, he inserts them in this letter to his mother:—
He speaks affectionately of all the family, sending polite messages to two of his brothers, and a comical one to please the youngest. And, after writing a much longer and better letter than most boys would have written under the most favorable circumstances, he says, “I can’t write any more, as I don’t write more than one word before somebody comes in and disturbs me.”
I have shown his worst imperfections. It is as likely that they were owing to his interruptions and necessary haste, as to ignorance or indifference. The whole letter is creditable in plan and execution; and it makes the impression that he was contented and delighted with his place, his business, and his employer.
It almost seems something to be regretted that he did not remain in such happy circumstances; but it seldom happens that the place that seems most pleasant to us, and the circumstances that are most easy for us, are those which are most beneficial to ourselves, or in which we can be most useful. And, after all, a consciousness of being truly useful is the most satisfactory of all pleasures; and it confers upon a person a kind of dignity that nothing else does.
At the end of a few months, for several reasons, it was thought to be better to have Walter Aimwell come to Boston and learn the printer’s art.