A Williams Anthology Part 4

It is unnecessary to recall here the changes in condition which have separated the student cla.s.s sharply from the teaching body and divorced it almost entirely from governmental functions. What is significant for the purpose of this article is an apparent disposition in many quarters to recede from the extreme position of entire exclusion of the student body and a tendency to move in the other direction. That tendency may become very marked and lead to a very radical change of policy in the government of colleges, a change so radical as to be revolutionary in its effect. It is certain that the government of colleges, like that of states, must from time to time undergo marked modifications if it is to remain vitally representative of, and harmonious with, the growing and changing life of the college.

In healthy inst.i.tutional life there is free play and interaction of all the forces that go to make up the organic life, and a certain flexibility is involved in all growth. The student community, is, after all, in most inst.i.tutions the prime object of interest. A few foundations exist for the pursuit of knowledge for its own sake, instruction being incidental; in most inst.i.tutions, however, instruction is the foremost and absorbing function, and the student's welfare is, therefore, the controlling factor. In western colleges, where the edge of hunger for knowledge has not yet been dulled by opportunity, it is not an unknown thing for a committee of students to wait on a president or chancellor and announce the failure of some professor to prepare himself for recitations by fresh study of his subject. It would be well if students in eastern colleges would sometimes put on a similar boldness; they would help heads of colleges out of very trying difficulties with well-meaning but incompetent or indolent professors. Undergraduate popularity is often illusive and unstable, but undergraduate perception of incompetency is often very keen and discriminating.

But whether admitted to, or excluded from the government of the college, the student community plays a part not always recognized in its educational influence and work, and many men receive more influential impressions from the atmosphere in which they live and the men with whom they a.s.sociate during their college career than from their instructors. Nothing is so pervasive as an atmospheric influence, and, in its way, nothing is so important. It is significant that foreign students rarely speak of Oxford without commenting on its atmosphere; something in the air of the old town which, although intangible in its operation, is a positive factor in the educational result. Specific courses of instruction are less numerous than in many other places, and such instruction as is offered is often defective in methods and spirit; but the life of the place is adjusted to intellectual work; the library facilities are great, the traditions which seem to be part of the very structure of the colleges are liberalizing and make for generous culture. In such an air it is easy to study by one's own impetus and to develop in ourselves the pa.s.sion for perfection. Culture is so different from training or favoring the acquirement of knowledge that it is so often totally lacking in men who have carried both processes to great length; it is indeed rarely conveyed, though it may be greatly aided, by definite instruction. It cannot be said of the great ma.s.s of college graduates that they are men of culture. Culture comes, in a sense, by indirection, a man absorbs it and furnishes the conditions for its growth, but he cannot receive it directly from his teachers. There are, in every college, teachers, who stimulate culture in students not so much by reason of their scholars.h.i.+p as by reason of their att.i.tude toward what they know. For culture is always a personal quality; a ripeness which comes from the generous enrichment of a man's nature by contact with the best things. In certain atmospheres men ripen, as in certain others they remain hard and unaffected.

The atmospheric quality of a college is determined largely by the character and traditions of undergraduate life. If that life has generous ideals, sound impulses, and traditions which appeal to the imagination, the atmosphere will do as much for many men as the formal instruction they receive. It will inspire self-respect, firm ambitions, and general dignity and n.o.bleness of nature. Men will be drawn together by the sympathy of aspiration, rather than by mere congeniality of habit, and their daily a.s.sociation will have an educational influence of the most lasting kind. It is this a.s.sociation which often leaves its mark on men who have failed to make right use of the opportunities for specific instruction which surround them. A college education is complete, so far as any provisional education is complete, only when the student receives the strong impress of both teachers and a.s.sociates; when instruction is competent and vital, and undergraduate life is wholesome, generous, and aspiring.

It is a significant fact that when a group of men develop creative gifts in later life it will generally be found that their undergraduate life together discovered strong sympathetic aspirations which bound them together and gave their intercourse a very stimulating quality. The action and reaction upon each other of a group of young men of generous aims are peculiarly delicate and influential, affecting the very sources of individual strength and impulse.

Such influences are intermittent and irregular; it would be a great gain if they could become continuous and, in a flexible sense, organic. Student life has been, at times, highly organized and penetrated by intellectual impulses. Colleges differ greatly in this respect, but in American inst.i.tutions the student life of to-day does not anywhere near realize its rich possibilities. Its interest in athletics is so great that in this single field it may be said to be fairly well organized and fairly effective in securing the end for which it works; but in no other field is a similar activity discoverable, unless it be in that of journalism. One of the most interesting features of the intellectual and moral revival now going on in France is the notable change that has come over student life, a change shown in a revival of song, of old student customs, of solidarity of feeling, and of a generous enthusiasm for the common traditions and views. May not American students learn something from this contemporary ill.u.s.tration of the possibilities of organized student life?

_Literary Monthly_, 1893.

SELF-MADE MEN

I.--B. PRATT

ALFRED C. CHAPIN '69

There are themes which no man can cope with. There are times when those ordinarily confident shrink back at the thought of grappling with the mighty issues that lie before them. There are minds of a structure so singularly complex and unique, that one leaves the study of them impressed only with a deep, abiding sense of his inability to fathom them. We have in our midst one such, the penetration of whose manifestations and phenomena is well calculated to baffle the most zealous investigator. Reared among the rugged hill-sides and verdant vales of Williamstown, his character and oratory bear the evident impress of his nurturing. If to Elihu Burritt belongs the t.i.tle of "The Learned Blacksmith," not less to William Pratt is due that of "The Eloquent Wood-sawyer." Though he cannot, like Elihu, claim a knowledge of eight languages, he can at least use the one of which he is master, in a manner at once astounding and gratifying. No son of Williams needs to be told who he is; yet for the benefit of those unacquainted with his genius and oratorical ability, we will endeavor briefly to sketch his early career before enlarging upon the grander triumphs of his later years.

The subject of the present article was born not far from the year 1810. Whether or no any comet or other unusual heavenly phenomenon heralded his entrance upon the scenes of earth, is not recorded. If, however, the astronomical appearances which are said to accompany the birth of the mighty ones of the sons of earth are gauged with any degree of fairness, there should have been at least six large comets and any number of meteors distinctly visible. His early life glided by gently as the placid Hoosick, by which he frolicked. Several desperate attempts were made by various misguided individuals to educate him.

From all these, however, he escaped unscathed, with the wings of his genius unfettered. At what precise period he began to exhibit symptoms of that highly original and forcible eloquence which he now possesses, we are unable to state. We presume that his first efforts were co-existent with the commencement of his career as a wood-sawyer.

Certainly, at present, he is rarely filled with the divine afflatus except when plying his saw. He is unlike Shakespeare, as he often repeats. One utterance--"Ottah"--the coinage of his own brain, seems to be the attempt of his daring and unschooled genius to strike out not only into new lines of thought, but even to find a mystic mode of expression. This term is evidently a portion of a language wholly differing from our own. It is at once a noun, adjective, and verb, and, in the full flood of his eloquence, it changes from the one to the other with astounding rapidity.

The extreme versatility of his genius renders it peculiarly difficult to give any adequate idea of his oratory. He is equally bold in the expression of his sentiments on any subject. Perhaps for convenience in consideration we may roughly divide his oratory into wood-pile and conversational eloquence.

Specimens of his genuine wood-pile eloquence, though by no means uncommon, are yet not easily accessible to the biographical compiler.

Very few of his sayings have ever found their way into print, and when thus presented they are of necessity shorn of much of their strength, and deprived of the impressiveness which they derive from the orator's gesticulation and delivery. We will, however, endeavor to present our readers with a few, selected at random, from discourses on various occasions and subjects.

It is morning. A group of students, just before going into recitation, cl.u.s.ter around Bill in the hope of getting a speech from him. He remains deaf to their entreaties till the bell sounds, when with uplifted hand and glaring eye he thus addresses them, in a voice audible for about half a mile.

"Go in and take your secretary, persecuting yourself with the dandelions and robes of righteousness. All the life, all the music, and the blood and electricity rolling over the mountains with the elements of pietude spread all over the fundament. Ottah!! R-R-R-Rose Ottah! Rack-a-tack."

As might be surmised from a perusal of this effort, his peroration is rarely in keeping with the main portion of his oration. In fact, the close of all his speeches may be said to be very similar, being invariably "Ottah," or some variation of it.

Occasionally the exuberance of his genius leads him into the error of crowding together metaphors to the detriment of perspicuity. When, for example, he says:

"The waters of heaven descending on the breast-bones of the women; and the youthful Moses, sitting on the back-bone of eternity, sucking the pap of time," we feel that there is a redundancy in the expression.

Some specimens of his remarkable verbal and figurative power in conversation are forcible in the extreme. It is said, with what truth we know not, that on one occasion the venerable head of this inst.i.tution ventured to "tackle" him in a religious argument. Bill, after listening with a deference which was evidently a tribute of respect to the Doctor's position rather than an acknowledgment of the cogency of his reasoning, settled the question by an interrogatory: "Dr. Hopkins, do you suppose I'm goin' to believe that when I die I'll go up and sit on one of those clouds with my legs hangin' over?"

We infer from the above that his religious belief is somewhat vague.

Soon after the marriage of Charles, Bill's son, the heir apparent of the Pratt estates, Bill was asked how Charles' wife was getting along, whereupon he was pleased to remark that he believed she was "under conviction." Since then the conviction has become a certainty, and Bill is a grandfather. Commenting on the appearance of his grandchild, he has been heard to say: "She's a pretty child. I say she looks like Charles. Charles says she looks like me."

There are few scenes that abide longer in the student's recollection than those in which Bill is the central figure. It not infrequently happens that, when a number of lovers of fun are gathered around him as he vigorously brandishes axe or saw, one of them, willing, for the sake of drawing him out, to make a martyr of himself for the public good, addresses him. On such occasions a conversation, something as follows, occurs:

Student--"Bill, what do you think of the const.i.tutionality of the configuration, esthetically considered?"

No reply is elicited from Bill, but a scornful "Ottah," as he puts on a new stick and continues his work.

Student, (not discouraged)--"Really, Bill, I should like your opinion on that point."

Bill, (having finished his stick)--"You ain't no kind of a man. You hain't got no elements, no justice of earth. When I see these young men and the monument of liberty imported from Long Island for the benefit of the rising generation, Ottah! Rolling Ottah!! Rang Dang! Du Dah!!!"

Of course a rebuke so scathing and sudden as this, never fails to annihilate its object. Being a.s.sured by the rapturous applause which ever succeeds his efforts, that he has made a good hit, Bill suddenly becomes as impenetrable as Gibraltar, and saws vigorously.

If, at a time like this, "the Professor," _alias_ "Niobe," having s.n.a.t.c.hed a few moments from his professional perambulations in search of "_Coffee_," steps forward, signalizing his debut with the interrogatory: "Do ye think I'm a common laborin' man?" naught is wanting to complete the student's bliss.

"The Professor" is by no means as varied in his accomplishments as Bill, his only quotable utterances being the one already given and another, supposed to be severely sarcastic: "How lang has he been _so_?" He, however, has, in the recesses of his brain, a dim idea that Bill is weak, viewed from an intellectual standpoint, while Bill has an equally indistinct belief that "the Professor" has very little furniture in his upper story. How far either of them is wrong our s.p.a.ce does not permit us to say. Both have a supreme contempt for students, regarding them as effeminate c.u.mberers of the ground. In the presence of Bill, "the Professor" does not appear to advantage. Being entirely unable to compete with him in a war of words, he is usually forced to betake himself to dancing; which, compared with oratory, is frivolous.

Occasionally the adversities of life seem to press upon Bill with peculiar force, rendering him extremely dejected. At such times, though his flow of language does not forsake him, he is without that cheerful aspect and spontaneous expression ordinarily so characteristic. No longer does he cause the campus to ring with his hearty vociferation, but he grumbles very like an ordinary mortal:

"I tell yer now I don't believe no man ever got rich sawin' wood. I tell yer it's hard work to saw wood all day and car' it up two pa'r stairs on yer back. I've sawed wood mor'n thirty years. You ask Mist'r Tatlock, if yer don't believe it. Mist'r Tatlock's nice man. There ain't no temptations about him. I sawed last night till twel' o'clock, an' it's hard work. Say, that feller up in that room gin eight dollars for that cord o' wood, an' it ain't good for nothin'. It's all full o'

the Ottahs in the lucination of the veins."

In the fall, Bill, for a season, abandons wood-sawing for the lighter and more refined occupation of stove-blacking. While engaged in this profession he never fails to a.s.sert his profound and lasting conviction that, like sawing, it does not offer a broad and easy road to opulence. His execution of whatever work is given him in this line is at once artistic and masterly, showing that excellence in oratory is not incompatible with an apt.i.tude for the fine arts. His outfit is eminently complete and choice. In order that he may fail in no portion of his work, he usually carries with him a stock consisting of:

1. About 35 brooms, carried in a large sack. These are useful in putting on the finis.h.i.+ng touches, and ensuring an unapproachable l.u.s.tre.

2. Brushes of various kinds, comprising shoe-brushes, hat-brushes, clothes-brushes, hair-brushes, tooth-brushes, nail-brushes, shaving-brushes, and sometimes, a stove-brush. These are useful in many respects, the shoe-brushes and hair-brushes being instrumental in doing the heavy and plain work, while the shaving-brushes and tooth-brushes are extremely handy in doing justice to the filagree work and ornamental portion.

3. A platform, or dais, on which to place the stove.

4. A stick, curiously carved, to beat out of pipes.

5. Cloths, of various sizes and patterns, to wipe the poker and the legs of the stove.

6. Oil-cloths, for emergencies.

7. One large bottle or jug with a stick in it, and two smaller ones, all filled with mysterious decoctions whose composition and properties are known to Bill alone.

8. A sponge.

9. Small boxes containing a dingy powder.

10. A wheel-barrow, on which Bill vainly attempts to carry the rest of his goods.

We have been thus minute in describing his equipment, knowing him to be at the head of his profession, and hoping that any youth aspiring to celebrity in it, who may chance upon these pages, will profit therefrom. We regret to be obliged to state that there are some so utterly out of sympathy with the cause of art, as to a.s.sert that the greater portion of Bill's utensils are useless; and that by much puttering he loses time without improving his work. These persons we are inclined to cla.s.s among those zealous but unthinking lovers of simplicity, whose misdirected reformatory efforts in other departments of life are so well known. As might be expected, Bill treats these sacrilegious innovators with the contempt they so justly merit. Were an officious stranger to try to convince an artist that one color would answer all his purposes as well as a greater number, would the suggestion of the untutored interloper cause the artist to waver in the sternness of his faith? And shall the subject of this sketch revolutionize his mode of stove-blacking at the promptings of an untaught spectator?

It would be by no means surprising if such nicety of execution as that to which we have alluded tended to draw his attention from rhetorical themes. Yet, spite of this apparently necessary result, some of his grandest and most startling flights of oratory have had their inspiration from incidents connected with stove-nigrification. Bill has, as it were, soared on the legs of the stove, like Perseus on Mercury's sandals, to unexplored realms of s.p.a.ce and thought. At such moments the stove-pipe becomes to him a magic telescope, through which he peers far into the unfathomable depths.

There are times when, through the influence of pa.s.sion, he for a little time lays aside his oratorical embellishments. We remember one such occasion. He had just finished sawing a pile of wood, when a student, who was looking from a window, told him there was one stick which he had not sawed, and taunted him with intending to purloin it.

Instantly his countenance became livid with rage, his lips separated, showing a fine dental formation, and he exclaimed in pure Anglo-Saxon:--