Out-weighs, in real worth, the proudest warrior’s fame!
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:
Miss —— ——
has completed with honor the prescribed course of study—Grammar, Geography, History, Arithmetic, Rhetoric, Natural and Moral Philosophy, Chemistry, Logic, and the Principles of Taste.
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.