Away down West Street in the village of Litchfield was a square pine building standing at the edge of the highway where no tree gave shade and no bush or fence took off the cold hard look. In this Dame School, kept by Ma’am Kilbourne, Harriet Beecher’s school education began. Before the door in winter was a pile of wood for fuel, and in summer all the chips of the winter’s wood still lay there outspread upon the ground. Inside the appearance was even less attractive than without. The benches were simple slabs with legs. The desks were slabs set up at an angle; they were cut, hacked, and scratched; each year’s edition of jack-knife literature overlay its predecessor’s, until in the days of the Beecher children the desks already possessed carvings two or three inches deep. But if a child cut a morsel, or stuck in a pin, or pinched off a splinter, the sharp-eyed little mistress was on hand, and one look from her eyes was worse than a sliver in the foot, and one nip from her fingers was equal to the jab of a pin; each boy knew, for every one of them had tried both. The teacher in this school for children was a sharp, precise person possessed of many ingenious ways for fretting little ones. At any rate this was the way one little boy remembered her, and we may suppose that a little girl would realize some of her disagreeableness, even so obedient a child as Harriet.

Every morning, then, during both summer and winter little Harriet and her brother two years younger than herself, reinforced by a hearty breakfast and a more hearty session of morning prayers at home, and bearing the precious splint basket that contained their mid-day lunch of brown bread and apples, trudged down to the place of all-day work and perhaps of discipline.

Harriet and her brother Henry were inseparable companions. Together they were hurried off from the house, together they went down the village street, together they entered the dismal school, subdued for the moment into quiet. Together they endured the long day and envied the flies and the birds that could go about so freely. The windows were so high that they could not see the grassy meadows—only the tantalizing tops of the trees came above the window ledges, and above that the far, deep, bounteous, blue sky. There flew the bluebirds; there went the robins, and there followed the longing thoughts of the children. Long before they knew what was written in Scripture they cried out, O that we had the wings of a bird! As for learning, it was Henry’s opinion in his mature life, that the sum of all they got at the village school would scarcely cover the first ten letters of the alphabet. One good, kind, story-telling, Bible-rehearsing aunt at home with apples and gingerbread premiums was worth all the school ma’ams that ever stood to see poor little fellows roast in those boy-traps called district schools! Such an aunt the Beecher children had at home, and beloved she was!

But that was a boy’s view; and boys’ views of teachers are well known to be entirely unreliable. Ma’am Kilbourne was highly respected in the community and her curriculum, though not wide, is known to have gone very deep. In fact we may say that in her school the character and influence of the teacher, together with the “New England Primer,” formed the main body of the instruction.

“Come here and learn your Primer,” the teacher said, and Harriet’s curly head bent over the little book as she spelled out the words,

“You see the picture?” Her teacher pointed out the right one in its little square on the page, a wood-cut of the feline musician with fiddle in hand. Here Henry crowded forward to see, too, and, finding some great joke in the matter, he nudged and coughed and could not be made to stand still. The Dame continued:

a self-evident truth not needing proof. The next item is more learned.

she pronounced “sea” as “say,” as was the custom in those days;

continued these instructions in history and science. Biblical example was thus enforced for the benefit of Harriet:

and, for Henry’s sake, this:

That great New England classic, comprised in a mere booklet, three by four inches in size, contained also the “Alphabet of Lessons for Youth,” which Ma’am Kilbourne did not fail to enforce. She taught them to read from the printed page what they already knew in the better way—by heart, the immortal prayer, “Now I lay me,” and the hymns, “Hush, my dear,” and “Give ear, my children,” and other hymns and prayers. There were also “Moral Precepts for Children in Words of One Syllable.” They were tedious, but think of the glory of really knowing them by heart!

These foundation principles, we may be sure, were well rubbed in.

The Dame School was an English inheritance that came with the Puritans from their home across the Atlantic—such a school as the poets Cowper and Shenstone have beautifully described in their poetry. In New England a special exercise for Saturday was added; then the little ones were required to learn and recite the answers in the Westminster Assembly’s Shorter Catechism, wherein the profoundest problems of Calvinism were thoroughly set forth. When Harriet was asked the first question: “What is the chief end of man?” and was taught to say: “The chief end of man is to glorify God and to enjoy Him forever,” she thought the answer difficult. It was long and had words of more than one syllable in it. She liked far better the Church Catechism that her grandmother down in Guilford had her study which began simply with “What is your name?” This was more within her range; it was a good easy start, and the answer could be shouted out in a voice loud and clear.

Another custom of the New England Dame School was perhaps also an innovation—that of requiring the children to bring a piece of sewing from home for the boys and girls to work on at odd moments so that no precious interval of time might be lost. At recess after the lunch had been unceremoniously made away with there were long uninteresting towel seams to be ripped up on one side and sewed down on the other by the industrious little fingers of Harriet and of her robust and perhaps rebellious brother, Henry Ward. In these early New England schools, as in New England life in general, the chief note was industry. Our heroic ancestors, when they left their comfortable homes in the mother country and came to this untraveled land, did not include in their plan a smooth and easy life. Since Harriet belonged to a supremely self-sacrificing family, she came to share this severe understanding of life, and her patriotic heart warmly responded to it. Perhaps when she was a little girl she did not realize that her school provided few means of healthful enjoyment for the children. But then, on the rare occasion when one of the children had a treat of nuts and raisins, or a little cake trimmed with caraway sugar plums to share with the others, her joy was all the greater because of the rarity of the festival; and if besides there were added some of those wonderful candies brought from Boston, heart-shaped and hard as pebbles, but inscribed with romantic mottoes, why, that was bliss indeed!

From these rather severe foundations Harriet passed on into lessons in the reading of the Bible and in the “Columbian Orator.” She learned to write from “set copies,” and to do “sums” from Daboll’s Arithmetic.

Soon the whole company of Beecher boys and girls were together in a schoolroom which was bare to the point of meanness with a vestibule where hats and dinner baskets were hung. The heating apparatus was a big stove whose long black pipe stuck out of the window. But if any Beecher child complained of want of comfort, his father cut him short by saying, “Why, when I was a boy the fireplace in the schoolhouse, though big enough to take in logs of wood cart length and capable of making heat enough to roast an ox, did not carry the warmth much beyond the andirons. Only the biggest and smartest boys were able to get near the fire; the little fellows must do the best they could. I had to take my ink-bottle to the fire to thaw out the ice in it many times a day.” In this way he put their complaints to silence.

In New England the boys and girls were educated together in one school. As Mrs. Stowe said later in life, “If a daughter of Eve wished like her brother to put forth her hand to the tree of knowledge there was neither cherubim nor flaming sword to drive her away!” And how they did study! What industry! What rivalry! In English grammar, for instance, the school was parceled out into a certain number of divisions, each under a leader, and at the close of the term there was a great examination which was like a tournament. It was known that when the day came, the most difficult specimens of English literature would be given out for parsing and the most abstruse problems in grammar would be gathered together for use in the test. For a week the boys and girls spoke and dreamed of nothing but English grammar, and each division sat in solemn assembly, afraid lest one of its mighty secrets should possibly take wing and be plundered by some of the scouts of another division. In the end the division that could not be puzzled by any doubtful phrase would be proclaimed victorious and would be crowned with laurels as glorious as those of the old Olympian games.

In due time Harriet was ready to enter the institution that she was looking forward to with longing eyes—the Litchfield Female Academy. This school was one of many seminaries for the higher culture of the New England daughters, which sprang up throughout the vigorous young states, and which testify to the enthusiasm for education of our Puritan fathers. Among them the original Mt. Holyoke Seminary and the Emma Willard School are perhaps the most noted. Some of these early schools have developed into strong colleges, and all of them in their times served a valuable purpose in our educational life. It was fortunate for the Beecher family that Litchfield contained an academy of this sort, and here under the training of the cultivated ladies, Miss Sally and Miss Mary Pierce, Harriet’s education was now conducted.

Miss Sally Pierce was the real head of the school. According to her picture in Miss Vanderpoel’s delightful book of reminiscences of the famous school, Miss Pierce was a very handsome woman with eyes that suggest sensibility, and a mouth that could smile charmingly. But we suspect also that the little stiff curls might bob warningly and the lips settle down into a very firm line, while the tall cap standing up over the brow might strike terror to the heart of any child doubtful about the correctness of her examples, or nervous lest a half or a one-tenth of a “miss” should be counted against her. The truth is, however, that Miss Sally was very much beloved and so greatly admired that she must have been in danger of vanity. John Pierpont, a considerable poet in his day and not forgotten now, celebrated her worth in a passage in his Centennial Poem in 1851. He becomes almost eloquent.

he cries. Then he contrasts her glories with those of the warrior.

The Academy was held in an insignificant house thirty by sixty feet. There was a small closet at each end, one for the piano and one for bonnets. There were desks of the plainest pine, long plank benches, a small table and an elevated chair for the teacher—that was all. Upon the modest throne sat Miss Sally Pierce, the principal. She probably resembled Miss Titcomb, in Mrs. Stowe’s novel, “Oldtown Folks,” a thoroughbred, old-fashioned lady whose views of education were formed by Miss Hannah More and whose style like Miss Hannah More’s was profoundly Johnsonian, which means that her ideas were expressed in very grand and dignified language. The set of rules that she made for the conduct of her school required of the pupils absolute moral perfection. It was written there that persons truly polite would invariably treat their superiors with reverence, their equals with exact consideration, and their inferiors with condescension. Also, under the head of manners, they were warned not to consider romping as indicative of sprightliness or loud laughter as a mark of wit. When these rules were read to the pupils on a Saturday morning, we can imagine that there was some suppressed excitement, for these children with mountain air stirring in their veins were doubtless somewhat given to romping and loud laughter!

Dr. Beecher, who took a great interest in the school, came nearly every Saturday and talked with the girls about religious subjects. The young ladies also attended the church and were expected to report on the sermons they heard. Besides that, they wrote of their own accord long outlines of these mild entertainments in their diaries and commonplace books. Some of these old commonplace books have been preserved and give testimony to the accurate attention of these girls of old New England. Said one: “Dr. Beecher visited the school. I was very much pleased; his doctrine is plain and easy to understand.” Another, after hearing him both morning and evening and stating the chapter and verse used on each occasion, went home and went to her room thinking seriously of what he had said. “He wished,” she said, “to have us all be good Christians!” The same good child once had an afternoon holiday, but came to school just the same. She was rewarded by being present when, at about sunset, Dr. Beecher “came down to see us. He talked very affecting,” she said. “He said he could not make a very long visit with us at present, but if we wished he would come in some time and pray with us. We all joined in the request. I should be very glad to have him come, for I like to hear religious instruction.”

Another girl wrote: “He said that we must repent and believe and explained how we should repent and believe, but my memory is so poor that I cannot remember it.”

An unusually independent young mind conceived the following critical passage: “Mr. Beecher preached a very good sermon quite as good as he usually does, though I do not think he is one of the best preachers.” Here is the record of one Saturday’s exercise: “Dr. Beecher came in and gave us a lecture on the first question in the catechism. ‘What is the chief end of man? To glorify God and enjoy Him forever.’ He said that in order to glorify God we must love Him and become acquainted with Him and likewise endeavor to acquaint our companions with His goodness, as we would if we had a friend at home who was very amiable, and tell our companions how amiable she is. It would be glorifying her.”

Thus the great preacher made his influence felt as the adviser and helper of Miss Pierce and of her girls. Mrs. Beecher, too, though the most shy and retiring of women, acted, with other ladies of the village, on the committee for awarding prizes at the end of the term.

When the middle of June came there were important exercises, and on this occasion all was dignity and decorum. A long procession of schoolgirls came marching down North Street, walking under the lofty elms to the music of the flute and flageolet. The girls were gaily dressed and in the most joyous spirits. At the church each proud graduate received her diploma, a document printed elegantly upon white satin and bound with blue ribbon. Upon the refined surface was a beautiful picture, representing a lofty hill, on the top of which was a temple surrounded by rays of light. A clearly marked but steep and difficult path led up the side of this mountain. At the foot stood a lady who reached out her arm and pointed with a meaning finger to a bulky geographical globe that rested upon a pile of books. She seemed to say that only by means of most severe study would you be able to climb this hill to the radiant temple of learning. The meaning of the picture was well understood by the young graduate. Above the design amid the most wonderful flourishes of penmanship was inscribed the title “Litchfield Female Academy,” and below were printed the words:

Several of these little diplomas, now yellowed with age, are preserved in the Town Museum at Litchfield. I do not know that Harriet Beecher came into possession of one of them; she probably went away to be a teacher herself before she reached that point.

We learn, however, from this little certificate what was the course of study in the Litchfield Female Academy. But no such list of titles can give us any real idea of what the days at the Academy meant to Harriet. Miss Pierce was a woman of great ability. She herself had made an “Abridgment of Universal History” in four volumes which was used as a text-book in her school; and after plodding through this ample work the students followed it by Russell’s “Modern Europe,” Coot’s “Continuation,” and Ramsey’s “American Revolution,” and accompanied the study with map-drawing. They made historical charts in which the names of kings and queens were set in little sequins strung along a “riband” or skein of sky-blue silk. Within the charmed enclosure of this design were the royal genealogical patterns from Saxon to Brunswick with roses of red and of white appropriately interspersed. Nothing could be clearer. Mrs. Stowe thought so much of Miss Pierce’s method that when she had her own little family to bring up she wrote to ask Miss Pierce for a copy of the book she had used in childhood from which to instruct her children.

In Miss Pierce’s school Harriet Beecher laid the foundations for her understanding of the history and principles of our national government which in due time made it possible for her to write the biographies of a number of our most distinguished statesmen, and to talk with Abraham Lincoln in 1862 with some comprehension of his problems.

Harriet must have been a brilliant little student. Writing compositions, which is such a burden to most young scholars, she seems to have found only a delight. To this work she must have been trained from her earliest days, for her mother had always maintained a sort of home school in the family; and when Dr. Beecher was off on some ministerial quest he did not fail to send home on time the lists of composition subjects and outlines that he had agreed to arrange for Mrs. Beecher to use in her work with these pupils. Here are some of the subjects: The Difference between the Natural and Moral Sublime, The Comparative Merits of Milton and Shakespeare, The Comparative Merits of the Athenian and Lacedaemonian Systems of Education, and, Can the Benevolence of Deity be Proved by the Light of Nature? Profound subjects! But when the young people were sharpening up their wits on such whetstones as these, it is not so strange that a little girl of twelve, who was filled with the spirit of aspiration and fired with curiosity about everything in the universe, should try her pen at the most difficult among them.

Her question was phrased in this way: Can the Immortality of the Soul Be Proved by the Light of Nature? And her essay, when handed in, was thought to be quite wonderful. And indeed it was wonderful; for even if the ideas were overheard by her in the classes of older pupils or in the table talk of her father at home, to set them down in order and arrange them effectively was a great achievement. This precious essay has been preserved and is reproduced in full in the “Life of Mrs. Stowe,” by her son, published in 1889. The learned subject is treated in the most systematic manner; the introduction, the point of view and arrangement of thought under separate heads.

The exhibition day came. The hall was crowded with all the literati of Litchfield. Before this distinguished audience all the compositions were read aloud. Harriet’s father was present and was sitting on high by the side of the teacher. When they read Harriet’s piece she was closely watching her father’s face, and she saw that it visibly brightened. He looked really interested, and at the close she heard him say, “Who wrote that composition?” “Your daughter, sir.” was the answer. It was the proudest moment of Harriet’s life. She could not mistake the expression of her father’s face when he was listening to the essay; she knew that he was pleased, and to have him interested was the greatest triumph that her heart could ask.

The teacher that answered Dr. Beecher was a nephew of Miss Pierce, Mr. J. P. Brace, who assisted her in the work of the school. He must have been one of those strong and spicy old New England schoolmasters that Mrs. Stone speaks of in “Men of Our Times.” A well-informed and cultivated man, a writer of romances himself, and especially gifted in conversational power, he must have been a stimulating and inspiring instructor. An enthusiast in botany, mineralogy, and the natural sciences generally, he filled the students with an enthusiasm that made gathering specimens and making herbariums an easy task. He kept up a constant conversation on a great variety of subjects, better calculated to develop the mind and to inspire love of literature than any mere routine could have been. Harriet afterward declared that she gained more from hearing the recitations and discussions in the classes of the older pupils than from her own work. There from hour to hour she listened with eager ears to historical criticisms and discussion of such works as Paley’s “Moral Philosophy,” Blair’s “Rhetoric,” and Alison on “Taste.”

In composition Mr. Brace excelled all teachers she ever knew. The constant interest that he aroused in the minds of his pupils, the wide and varied regions of thought into which he led them, formed a perfect preparation for their work in composition. He made them feel that they had something which they wanted to say, and this is the main requisite for success in writing.

Those were very busy, happy days for Harriet, probably the days she had in mind when she wrote in “Oldtown Folks”: “Certainly of all the days that I look back upon, this Academy life in Cloudland was the most perfectly happy.... It was happy because we were in the first flush of belief in ourselves and in life. Oh, that first belief! those incredible first visions! when all things look possible, and one believes in the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow and sees enchanted palaces in the sunset clouds! What faith we had in one another, and how wonderful we were in one another’s eyes!... We believed that we had secrets of happiness and progress known only to ourselves. We had full faith in one another’s destiny; we were all remarkable people and destined to do great things!”