My earliest remembrance is of sitting on my father's shoulder when he led off the ringers.He was very strong, as I said, by reason of this exercise.With one foot caught in a loop of leather nailed to the floor, he would begin to pull No.1, and by and by the whole peal would be swinging, and he going up and down, to my joy; I used to feel as if it was I that was making the great noise that rang out all over the town.
My familiar acquaintance with the old church and its lumber-rooms, where were stored the dusty arms of William and Mary and George II., proved of use in my later days.
My father had a strong belief in my talents, and I do not think he was mistaken.
As he was quite uneducated, he determined that I should not be.He had saved enough to send me to Princeton College, and when Iwas about fifteen I was set free from the public schools.I never liked them.The last I was at was the high school.As I had to come down-town to get home, we used to meet on Arch street the boys from the grammar-school of the university, and there were fights every week.In winter these were most frequent, because of the snow-balling.A fellow had to take his share or be marked as a deserter.I never saw any personal good to be had out of a fight, but it was better to fight than to be cobbed.That means that two fellows hold you, and the other fellows kick you with their bent knees.
It hurts.
I find just here that I am describing a thing as if I were writing for some other people to see.I may as well go on that way.
After all, a man never can quite stand off and look at himself as if he was the only person concerned.He must have an audience, or make believe to have one, even if it is only himself.Nor, on the whole, should Ibe unwilling, if it were safe, to let people see how great ability may be defeated by the crankiness of fortune.
I may add here that a stone inside of a snowball discourages the fellow it hits.But neither our fellows nor the grammar-school used stones in snowballs.I rather liked it.
If we had a row in the springtime we all threw stones, and here was one of those bits of stupid custom no man can understand;because really a stone outside of a snowball is much more serious than if it is mercifully padded with snow.I felt it to be a rise in life when I got out of the society of the common boys who attended the high school.
When I was there a man by the name of Dallas Bache was the head master.He had a way of letting the boys attend to what he called the character of the school.Once I had to lie to him about taking another boy's ball.
He told my class that I had denied the charge, and that he always took it for granted that a boy spoke the truth.He knew well enough what would happen.It did.After that Iwas careful.
Princeton was then a little college, not expensive, which was very well, as my father had some difficulty to provide even the moderate amount needed.
I soon found that if I was to associate with the upper set of young men I needed money.
For some time I waited in vain.But in my second year I discovered a small gold-mine, on which I drew with a moderation which shows even thus early the strength of my character.
I used to go home once a month for a Sunday visit, and on these occasions I was often able to remove from my aunt's big Bible a five- or ten-dollar note, which otherwise would have been long useless.
Now and then I utilized my opportunities at Princeton.I very much desired certain things like well-made clothes, and for these I had to run in debt to a tailor.When he wanted pay, and threatened to send the bill to my father, I borrowed from two or three young Southerners; but at last, when they became hard up, my aunt's uncounted hoard proved a last resource, or some rare chance in a neighboring room helped me out.Inever did look on this method as of permanent usefulness, and it was only the temporary folly of youth.
Whatever else the pirate necessity appropriated, I took no large amount of education, although I was fond of reading, and especially of novels, which are, I think, very instructive to the young, especially the novels of Smollett and Fielding.
There is, however, little need to dwell on this part of my life.College students in those days were only boys, and boys are very strange animals.They have instincts.They somehow get to know if a fellow does not relate facts as they took place.I like to put it that way, because, after all, the mode of putting things is only one of the forms of self-defense, and is less silly than the ordinary wriggling methods which boys employ, and which are generally useless.I was rather given to telling large stories just for the fun of it and, I think, told them well.But somehow I got the reputation of not being strictly definite, and when it was meant to indicate this belief they had an ill-mannered way of informing you.This consisted in two or three fellows standing up and shuffling noisily with their feet on the floor.When first Iheard this I asked innocently what it meant, and was told it was the noise of the bearers'
feet coming to take away Ananias.This was considered a fine joke.
During my junior year I became unpopular, and as I was very cautious, I cannot see why.At last, being hard up, I got to be foolishly reckless.But why dwell on the failures of immaturity?
The causes which led to my leaving Nassau Hall were not, after all, the mischievous outbreaks in which college lads indulge.
