The School-Ma’am.
In one of his little books, Peter Parley has told us how Aunt Delight taught him his letters; and I believe that I have given some account of the early lessons that I, Robert Merry, received from Miss Sally St. John.
In old times, children were generally taught their a-b-c, by some good old woman, who was called the “School-ma’am.” Above is a picture of one of these dames, giving a first lesson to a child. How hard the little fellow tries to say his letters! A man laying stone wall, does not make a greater effort.
I have told my readers of some of the pranks of the friend and playmate of my early days, Bill Keeler; but there is one which I have not yet told. It was as follows:—
You should know that Sally St. John, the school-ma’am, having no husband, made a great pet of her cat. This was named Nip, and, strange to say, he used regularly to go with her to school.
Many a child had a “box with five nails in it,” for playing some trick upon Nip, but this was especially the case with Bill. He was always getting into some trouble on account of the cat.
Now Bill had a great love for gunpowder; and of all things, he delighted in what is called a witch-quill. This is made of a quill, filled with layers of wet and dry powder: when set on fire, the quill goes jumping about, hither and thither, all the time spouting forth a stream of fire.
On one occasion he carried one of these to school, and when Aunt Sally’s back was turned, he gave it a toss into the fire. In an instant the quill was lighted, and, starting from the fire-place, darted directly under the school mistress’s chair. Pop—fizz! pop—fizz! it went.
Now it chanced that Nip was under Aunt Sally’s chair at that very moment. He was fast asleep, when the wicked witch-quill popped in, taking its station exactly under his nose. Never was there such horror, as appeared in Nip’s countenance. He stuck up his back, drew his tail out at full length, set apart his jaws, and with glaring eyes gazed at the terrible monster.
The comet that has lately been seen in the sky, with a tail ninety millions of miles in length, never scared any poor Millerite half so much as did Bill Keeler’s witch-quill, Aunt Sally’s cat. Nip didn’t know at all what to make of it. He had seen squirrels with long tails,—rats, moles, bats, owls, and other strange things,—but never, in all his days, had he beheld anything that spouted forth fire—real fire—before.