No false thing say Mind little play
By no sin stray Make no delay
In doing good.
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.