“That certainly argues in favour of the industry and perseverance of its inhabitants.”
“Say rather it argues in favour of their common sense,” said he, “in which industry and perseverance are necessarily included. We are a common sense, matter-of-fact people,” added he exultingly; “we leave genius and enthusiasm to Europeans.”
“Thank Heaven!” exclaimed his neighbour on the left, “I have no genius in my family; my children are all brought up to be industrious.”
“You may thank the Lord for that,” replied our entertainer; “I never saw a genius yet who was either himself happy or capable of making others so. I have brought up my sons to become merchants and manufacturers; only Sam, the poor boy who is a little hard of hearing, and rather slow of comprehension, shall go to college. Our merchants, sir, are the most respectable part of the community.”
“What college do you mean to send him to?” demanded I, in order to ascertain whether he had been serious.
“I shall send him to Harvard University,” he replied; “the oldest literary institution in the country. Have you not yet been to see it?”
I told him that I had been but a few days in Boston, but that I should certainly take an early opportunity of visiting the institution.
“Do so,” he said; “you will find it well worth your while; it will convince you that, while we have been making money, we have not altogether neglected arts and sciences.”
“Which are your cleverest men in the various departments of science?” demanded I.
“Why, they are none of them very clever in our sense of the word. We consider professors as secondary men. Our practice is to give the different professorships away to young men, in order to induce them to devote themselves to the branch they are to teach. Our country is as yet too young for old professors; and, besides, they are too poorly paid to induce first-rate men to devote themselves to the business of lecturing.”