“You are probably aware that we have a debating society here, of which I have the honor to be a member. Last evening (we hold our meetings on Saturday evenings) we had an animated debate on the expediency of studying the dead languages. It was the only tolerable one we have had this fall. Some pretty good speeches were made. One was particularly fine. Mr. Jennings, the person to whom I allude, in my opinion was made for an orator. He is undoubtedly a man of a large mind, and expresses himself admirably. His delivery is very good, and his diction is choice and effective. Declamation is one of the regular exercises; and as my turn came round, I had the pleasure of unburdening myself of a short piece, and of being most woefully used up by the critical, who are regularly appointed for such performance. This is not very encouraging, to be sure. I must, however, acquit myself better next time.
“You are probably aware of the great defects in our course of study. It is not calculated generally to strengthen and improve the mind as much as a four years’ course of study should. Some of the faculties are developed in a high degree, whilst others are almost entirely neglected; its effect is—if the expression can be used—to cast the mind in a rough, strong mould, without embellishing or polishing it. Its effect is also (perhaps no more than any other regular course of study) to confine our attention to particular pursuits, and make us neglect all that general information which is essential to a man of liberal education, and in fact absolutely indispensable for any one who engages in the actual pursuits of life. Don’t you believe it is of greater advantage to a person to have a good idea of political economy, or a knowledge of the elementary principles of composition, than to be able to solve some abstruse problem in mathematics?
“I almost wish I could content myself with standing about fifth in my class. I could then spend three or four hours a day in reading and getting valuable information, and could improve myself in composition. I might also cultivate a taste for the higher branches of literature, my taste for all which at present, except novels, is about at the zero point. As it is, I am obliged to work hard to get an hour a day to devote to reading; and as I consider history and solid works of that nature most valuable, I have been able to read but one novel within the last three months. I have been reading some of the speeches in ‘British Eloquence’ of late; also in the ‘Eloquence of the United States.’ Do you think the characters of Pitt, Fox, and Burke, as described by the author in the former work, are correct? My former ideas of Chatham were somewhat different. The author makes him out a more selfish man than I supposed him to be. A few days since I picked up a volume of Phillips’s Speeches, and read most of them. Is not his speech in the case of Blake v. Wilkins admirable? What do you think of them generally? It seems to me there is more of the pomp of words than real, effective oratory in them. He has too much pathos in some of his speeches. A little of it, and sometimes much of it, produces a very good effect; but where it is nothing but a pathetic appeal to the feelings, the effect is destroyed, at least with people of sense.”
This letter shows that the youth was beginning to think for himself, and to weigh things according to his own ideas. The arduous course of study he was pursuing did not wholly engross his attention. He soon became the leading member of the Dialectic, active in getting up lectures and other literary exercises. Nor was he simply a bookworm. “The eleven of us, in contiguous rooms, who are all good friends, and enjoy ourselves as much as any other eleven men in the class,” derived some of their enjoyment from breaking the rigid rules of the institution, and in hairbreadth escapes from detection. They used to run over to Benny’s without leave. They would bring pies and other edibles into barracks buttoned up under their coats, and, after the post was wrapped in slumber, would indulge in these forbidden sweets. His companions ofttimes complained that Stevens would learn his lessons in a minute, and then come about, making a racket, and disturbing them in their studies. He used to take long walks and excursions about the neighboring country.
Naturally active and fearless, he became a fine horseman, and always appeared to best advantage when mounted, where his erect figure and soldierly bearing gave him the effect of higher stature than when on foot.
In winter the cadets were in the habit of skating on the river. Isaac, light, active, and fearless, and exceedingly adventurous, delighted to skim full speed over the thinnest ice he could find, which bent and crackled under his skates. His companions kept remonstrating with and forewarning him of a catastrophe, which in his case never occurred. One extremely cold day, however, one of his associates broke through the ice and fell into the river. They rescued him with some difficulty, and bore him dripping wet to the barracks in all haste, but the unlucky youth was nearly frozen when they carried him into his room. His mates at once set to work making a hot fire, and bringing blankets, etc. But Isaac now took the lead, as the commanding spirit always does in a real emergency. He caused them to put out the fire, throw open all the windows, and to vigorously rub the insensible youth with snow brought from the outside until his circulation was restored, and the frost taken out of his benumbed extremities, when he suffered them to rebuild the fire and renew the warm comforts, both solid and liquid.
His uncle Moses, a distinguished teacher, settled in Nashville, Tenn., visited West Point this fall; and his father writes, “Your uncle Moses speaks of your acquirements in rather extravagant terms.”
During the winter his father’s health was poor, and he suffered much from his injured leg. Oliver alone remained at home. Hannah was in Haverhill, attending school, and supporting herself by her needle; Sarah was in Lowell, working in a factory; Elizabeth was at Belfast, Maine, visiting an aunt, and attending school; Mary was at Methuen; and Susan was attending school at the South Parish. The latter, a girl of warm heart and lively sensibilities, had not been satisfied with the sober Unitarianism of her family, and had become attached to the “Orthodox,” or ancient Puritan faith, a sincere and somewhat enthusiastic convert. The letters of these motherless girls, thus scattered about, reveal a touching picture of their earnest desire and efforts for study and self-improvement, their tender affection for their father, and their endeavor to treat their stepmother with respect and affection. It was to their brother Isaac that they resorted for comfort and guidance. They confided to his warm and sympathetic heart all their troubles, aspirations, and plans, and constantly sought his advice. The noble old man at the farm, too, had come to rely upon the manly character and sound judgment of the youth of nineteen at West Point. He writes of the difficulty of making both ends meet, of his earnest desire to give more schooling to his three younger daughters, and of preserving intact for his children the little property he had accumulated so laboriously. He asks Isaac to write and advise Susan, who he thinks lacks stability, and Hannah. He entreats his son to come home every summer vacation.
West Point, December 17, 1836.
Dear Father,—It was with much concern I heard of your lameness, and I am very much afraid it will prove more serious than you seem to be aware of. You ought not to think yourself obliged to work, when it is of manifest injury to you. You are now getting to be along in years, and you have done hard work enough. You ought now to think of making yourself comfortable. I do hope you will be careful about exposing yourself, and will endeavor to enjoy the little property which you have accumulated with so much toil. Your children, you may be assured, had much rather that it should all be consumed in making your declining years pleasant and happy, than receive a single cent of it themselves. I think you will do wrong to feel the least anxiety about leaving property to your children. You have evinced the greatest affection for us, and the utmost disinterestedness in consulting the welfare of your children, and it is our duty to make every return in our power. Believe me, we will endeavor to exert our utmost in order to secure the happiness of the remaining period of your life, and we ask of you, as a favor, no longer to undergo the toil and exposure to which you have hitherto been accustomed.