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VII
EARLY SCHOOLS AND SCHOOLMASTERS THE FIRST SCHOOLMASTER — WHY ISRAEL
PEMBERTON WAS SORE — THE ORIGIN OF THE UNIVERSITY OF PENNSYLVANIA — “NOT A
DOVE, BUT A HAWK OR A FALCON” — LANTERN AND BELL, THE PENALTY FOR TARDINESS — HAZING
THE MASTER-DEAD ON HIS KNEES — HE TAUGHT SCHOOL IN GAOL — POOR TEN-YEAR-OLD
GEORGE! — THE DAWNING OF A BETTER DAY
A PART of the vision of William Penn
was a free education for all the boys and girls of all the people, and this was
not the least element in the lure that drew the colonists from Old England to
the new land. According to Penn’s original plan
for his colony the laws of the Province were to be “one of the books taught in
the schools of the Province.” This, the first mention of schools in
the colony, was followed in 1683 by the order of the Assembly in Philadelphia
that “all persons having children and all the guardians and masters of orphans,
shall cause such to be instructed in reading and writing, so that they may be
able to read the Scriptures and to write by the time they attain to twelve
years of age, and that then they be taught some useful trade or skill, that the
poor may work to live, and the rich if they become poor may not want.” The
provision made to enforce the law was “the first compulsory education law in
Pennsylvania.” That this early law was not a dead
letter is clear from the fact that when an apprentice asked the court to see
that his master John Crosby teach him to read, “which he hath not freely
performed,” it was ordered that the master “put said servant to school one
month, and . . . instruct him another month.” The first schoolmaster was provided,
by official action, on “the 26th of ye 10th Month, 1683.” “The Govr and Provll Councill having
taken into their Serious Consideration the great necessity there is of a School
Master for ye instruction & Sober Education of youth in the towne of
Philadelphia, sent for Enoch fflower an Inhabitant of the said Towne, who for
twenty years past hath been exercised in that care and Imployment in England,
to whom having Communicated their Minds, they Embraced it upon the following
terms: to Learne to read English 4s by the Quarter, to Learne to read and write
6s by ye Quarter, to learn to read, Write and Cast ascot 8s by ye Quarter, for
Boarding a Scholler, that is to say, dyet, washing, Lodging & Stooling,
Tenn pounds for an whole year.” Before the close of the year the
proposed school was opened in a dwelling which was “built of pine & cedar
planks.” The elementary school was good so
far as it went, but more was desired, so later, in 1683, the Council proposed
“That Care be Takenn about the Learning and Instruction of Youth, to Witt: a
School of Arts and Sciences.” At the same meeting it was proposed by those who
had charge of the city’s welfare to provide by law “for Makeing of Severall
Sorts of Books, for the use of Persons in this Province.” The first “public Grammar School”
was opened in 1689 by Thomas Lloyd, at the request of William Penn. This, it is
thought, was the beginning of the William Penn Charter School, which was long
known as the Friends’ Public School. The formal charter was granted in 1701.
There has been no interruption in this school from the beginning. Wickersham
calls attention to the fact that it “ranks with the Parochial School of the
Dutch Church in New York and the Latin School in Boston as one of the oldest
schools in the country.” At first the annual salary of the
first master, George Keith, was £50, in addition to the use of a house for his
family and all the profits of the school. He was to teach the poor without
charge. He was promised £120 and perquisites for the second year; but he was
not a success, and Thomas Makin was given the position. Makin must have taught several years
without a license, judging from the action of the Provincial Council taken on
August 1, 1693: “Thomas Meaking, Keeper of the Free
School in the town of Philadelphia, being called before the Lieutenant Governor
and Council, and told that he must not keep school Without a license ...Was
therefore ordered to procure a certificate of his ability, learning and
diligence from the inhabitants of note in this town by the sixteenth instant,
in order to the obtaining of a license, which he promised to do.” Many illuminating glimpses of Tutor
Makin are given in two letters concerning one of his pupils, Israel Pemberton,
who did not get along so well with Makin’s assistant or with the master
himself. The first of these epistles was dated “5 Mo 22, 1698: “THOMAS MEAKIN “lest through mistake the abuse I
Received at the schoole being noised abroad should be taken to be thee I made
bold to write these few lines for the clearing of thee thy Instructions were so
mild and gentle as that I never received one blow or strike from thy hand
during my stay there tho my dullness at times might have given thee occation
for if I wanted Information with boldness I cold always come to thee being
always friendly Received but from another, I always found Rough answers where I
quickly left to trouble him not finding the Kindness as from thee & Indeed
what he did for me from first to last is to be seen in that little ‘Attila book
I write at his first Coming which I have forgot at schoole behind me if thee
would be pleased to send it by some of the boatmen to be left at Samll Jennings
when thou meets with it I shall take it a kindness I do say it was not my
Intent to have let it be Known but the anguish of the blows and being Inwardly
opprest with greife to think how I was used without having the liberty to spake
one word in my defense did so change my Countenance that my sister promptly
perceived it who was restless untill I had uncovered the occation who rested
not then but would see & when she saw was also so griev’d that she would
show me to some others tho I Indeavored much to diswade her but she would not
but did cause me to be seen by H: carpenter and Tho: whartons wife, but
conterary to my mind tho he never showed any respect to me as a scholar but
still frowned upon me the Reason I know not for I never Intended to vex him
& therefore never made use of him & thou being out of school he took
that oppertunity so to Thrash me. . . I desire not to injure him I would
willingly have stayed longer at the Schoole but my sister having told my father
how things were & the tokens of his Correction still remaining upon me tho
almost five weeks since & are still to be seen & so sore as that I
cannot endure anything to press against it ... but I love thee & desire to
be with thee & to spend the rest of my schooling under thee, but whether it
may be so or no I Know not yet I desire it with my love and send these lines
who am thy scholar, “ISRAEL PEMBERTON.” Early in the year 1699 Makin wrote
to Phineas Pemberton about the difficulty that had arisen between Israel and
the assistant tutor. He was troubled because he had learned that the father
proposed to put the boy in another school. In the letter he said: “I cannot but resent it as some
dimunition to my Credit, since thee first committed him to my Pedagogie, now to
putt him to another who I suppose will sett him to learn all Arithmetick de
novo. . . As for thy great Resentment for F. D. P., I have spoken to him to
write to thee also, if possible all we can may prevail to reclaim thee from thy
sd Intentions: wd that it may prove successful is ye earnest desire of thy
respectful friend & Countryman “THO: MAKIN.” The relations between the master and
his former pupil continued good, for in 1728 Makin wrote to Israel Pemberton,
addressing him as “Honored Frd”: “Having alreadie sent thee a
description of Pensylvania writt in Latin verse, especially for ye use of thy
Son, now considering thy self may not understand ye same, therefore now present
thee with ye same in English, for wch, being in want, I humbly pray some small
reward, for wch I shall be thy thankful! frd” Enclosed with the letter was a
Description of Pennsylvania whose style may be judged from an extract: “On Delaware does Philadelphia
stand, And does her stately buildings far extend. The Streets laid out directly
by a line And house to house contigiously does
joyn. The Governr here keeps his residence, One grave in years & long
experience. Four sacred houses in this city are, And one not distant from ye
city far. To this long known and well-frequented port From sundry places many
shipps resort. In Merchandizing most men are here employ’d: All useful artists
too are occupied. The frugal farmer, like ye careful Ant, In Summer ‘gainst
cold Winter is provident, His barn, well cover’d to keep out ye rain, Fills wth
good hay & divers sorts of grain. Neglecting costly cloathes & dainty
food, His own unbought provisions sweet & good. Weary wth labour takes his
ease & rest: His homespun cloathing pleasing him ye best. O that such were
my happy lot at last, Then all my trouble past would be forgott.” But poverty continued to be the lot
of the former school teacher. Finally the Pennsylvania Gazette of November 29,
1733, told how “on Monday evening last Mr. Thomas Meakine fell off a wharf into
the Delaware, and before he could be taken out again, he was drowned.” The
Weekly Mercury, in its brief account of the accident, called him an “Ancient
Schoolmaster,” and added that he was trying to fill a pail of water from the
river when he fell from the pier. The main building of the Friends’
school in which Makin taught was long located on Fourth street, near the
Friends’ meeting house. Branches for charity were in different parts of the
city. The Penn Charter School, its successor, is now located on Twelfth street,
between Chestnut and Market streets. In 1743 Benjamin Franklin began to
talk about an Academy. Six years later he wrote his pamphlet “Proposals
Relative to the Education of Youth in Pennsylvania.” In this the proposition
was made “that the house for the Academy should be located not far from a
river, and have connected with it a garden . . . and be furnished with a
library, maps of all countries, globes, some mathematical instruments, an
apparatus for experiments in natural philosophy and mechanics.” The pupils were
to be “frequently exercised in running, leaping, wrestling and swimming.” The Academy was opened in 1751 in a
building constructed in 1740 for use as a “Charity School” and as a “House of
Publick Worship.” In 1753 the institution was chartered, Franklin being
President of the board of Trustees. Two years later it was chartered as a
college. The attendance increased rapidly. In 1763 there were more than four
hundred students in attendance. The academy and college were merged in the
University of the State of Pennsylvania in 1779, and in 1791 the University of
Pennsylvania absorbed the earlier institution. David James Dove, the first English
teacher in Franklin’s Academy, was one of the most famous characters in old
Philadelphia. In a letter to Dr. Samuel Johnson, Franklin said that he was “a
gentleman about your age, who formerly taught grammar sixteen years at
Chichester, in England. He is an excellent master and his scholars have made a
surprising progress.
Dove’s salary for his first
probationary year was £150, Dr. William Smith, later Provost of the University
of Pennsylvania, being the only one connected with the school who had a higher
salary. He added to his income by taking boarders into his home. Charles
Thomson, later Secretary of Congress, was one of the first boarders. The story
is told that when Thomson decided to seek another boarding place he first took
the precaution to secure from Mr. and Mrs. Dove a statement that he had been a
satisfactory boarder, for he feared that the master would say unpleasant things
about him if care was not taken to stop his ceaseless tongue. Another scheme to add to the Dove
income was made by the founding of a school for young ladies, in connection
with the academy. The announcement indicated that those who came would be
carefully taught the “English grammar; the true way of spelling, and
pronouncing properly; together with fair writing, arithmetick and accounts . .
.” Before long Dove was giving so much
time to the young ladies — whose tuition payments went into his own pocket —
that he had to have two assistants. Accordingly, Franklin and Judge Peters were
appointed a Committee of the Trustees to make him see the error of his ways.
But the committee soon had to report that they were unable to make Dove appreciate
the point of their complaint. “He seemed desirous of being indulged in the
practice,” they said. Of course he could not be retained under the
circumstances. The difficulty of dealing with Dove
was shown by one of his pupils, a nephew of Judge Peters, who said that he was
“a sarcastic and ill-tempered doggerelizer, who was but ironically Dove, for
his temper was that of a hawk, and his pen the beak of a falcon pouncing on his
prey.” The later history of this unruly
schoolmaster was what might have been expected. After teaching for a time in a
school of his own in Videll’s Alley, now Ionic Street, he became English master
at the Germantown Academy, where his ungovernable temper drove two assistants
from the school and terrorized the friends and the Trustees. Once again he
opened a boarding school on the side, and he refused to give this up at the
request of the trustees. Finally, in 1763, his overbearing ways became too much
for the patrons of the school, and they memorialized the trustees concerning
his habit of sending boys on errands and his spending time on private boarders
that belonged to the students of the Academy. When the trustees tried to remove
him, he refused to be removed, even though Pelatiah Webster had already been
appointed as his successor. Dove held possession of the schoolhouse, and
declared that he would not retire. Eight of the contributors to the academy
thereupon addressed a letter to the trustees, which came into the hands of
James Galloway, who, with Thomas Wharton, was charged with the duty of dealing
with Dove. On the letter, which was dated September 26, 1763, Galloway endorsed
a reply in which he promised action that would disprove the charge of cowardice
made in the letter: “Gentlemen “After meeting this Morning at Seven
o’clock we sent a Letter Requesting your Meeting us at Three in the afternoon
When our Messenger Inform’d us one was gone out of town and the others so
Engaged in their own privet affairs that they Could not attend. Therefore wee
take this second Oppertunety (in one Day) to Let you Know that wee have Done
Nothing, but adjurn’d till tomorrow at Ten o’clock at which time wee Ernestly
Request you will Meet us to Take Possession of the Schoolhouse that Webster may
Enter Agreeable to our contract with him. Wee pay so much Respect to you
Cityzens that wee are Determined to Do Nothing in the present affairs without
you Except you Which wee Cannot Suspect Should prove Cowards in the Day of
Battle Untill which time wee Shall Subscribe our Selves your Real friends Of course Dove made way after a time
for his successor, but for many years he continued to teach a private school in
Germantown. Later he advertised that at the “repeated solicitation of many
gentlemen and ladies, whom Mr. Dove had formerly had the honor of instructing,”
he proposed, “God willing, to open a school at his house in Front street, near
the corner of Arch street . . . where youth of both sexes in separate apartments
would be taught to read, cypher, and speak our language according to the exact
rules of grammar.” In this school he taught until his
death, in 1769. Alexander Graydon, who was a pupil
of Dove in Philadelphia, told in his Memoirs of the master’s methods of
discipline: “His birch was rarely used in
canonical method, but was generally stuck into the back part of the collar of
the unfortunate culprit, who, with this badge of disgrace towering from his
nape like a broom at the masthead of a vessel for sale, was compelled to take
his stand upon the top of the form for such a period of time, as his offense
was thought to deserve. “He had another contrivance for boys
who were late in their morning attendance. This was to despatch a committee of
five or six scholars for them, with a bell and lighted lantern, and in this odd
equipage, in broad day light, the bell all the while tinkling, were they
escorted through the streets to the school. As Dove affected a strict regard to
justice in his punishments, and always professed a willingness to have an equal
measure of it meted out to himself in case of his transgressing, the boys took
him at his word; and one morning when he had overstaid his time, either through
laziness, inattention, or design, he found himself waited upon in the usual
form. He immediately admitted the justice of the procedure, and putting himself
behind the lantern and bell, marched with great solemnity to school, to the no
small gratification of the boys and the entertainment of the spectators.” Graydon gives further delightful
pictures of early school life. At one time he was a pupil of John Beveridge, a
Scotchman, who was an exceedingly poor disciplinarian. The boys took advantage
of his weakness. In the afternoon Mr. B. was apt to be late. The bell rang, the
ushers were at their posts, and the scholars were arranged in their clases.
Three or four conspirators concealed themselves without, to watch for the
teacher. “He arrives,” Graydon wrote, “enters the school, and is permitted to
proceed until he is supposed to have nearly reached his chair at the upper end
of the room, when instantly the door and every window shutter is closed. Now,
shrouded in utter darkness, the most hideous yells that can be conceived are
sent forth from at least three-score of throats, and Ovids, and Virgils, and
Horaces, together with the more heavy metal of dictionaries . . . are hurled
without remorse at the head of the astonished preceptor — who, on his side,
groping and crawling under cover of the forms, makes the best of his way to the
door. When attained and light restored, a deathlike silence ensues. Every boy
is at his lesson, no one has had a hand or a voice in the recent atrocity. What
then is to be done, and who shall be chastised?” For several days this method of
hazing the master was continued. Then the authorities interfered, and there was
peace — until the boys thought up some new scheme to plague poor Beveridge. When Graydon began his school career
in Philadelphia he stayed at his grandfather’s house, but later — on the death
of his father — his mother moved to the city from Bristol, and Alexander went
to school from her house. This was a boarding house, where boys lived who went
to the academy, “of which there were generally a number from the southern
province and the West India Islands,” Graydon explained. Through the change of residence from
his grandfather’s house to that of his mother he was accustomed to pass many
points of interest. “My course,” he said, “generally led me through what is now
called Dock street, then a filthy, uncovered sewer, bordered on either side by
shabby stable-yards and tan-yards. To these succeeded the more agreeable object
of Israel Pemberton’s garden (now covered in part by the Bank of the United
States) laid out in the old-fashioned style. Thence turning Chestnut street
corner, to the left, and passing a row of dingy two-story houses, I came to the
Whale bones, which gave name to the alley, at the corner of which they stood.
These never ceased to be occasionally an object of some curiosity and might be
called my second stage, beyond which there was but one general object of
attention, and this was to get a peep at the race horses, which in sporting
seasons were kept in the widow Nichol’s stable, which from her house, (the
Indian Queen at the corner of Market street), extended perhaps two-thirds or
more of the way to Chestnut street. In fact, throughout the whole of my route,
the intervals took up as much as the buildings, and with the exception of here
and there a straggling house, Fifth street might have been called the Western
extremity of the city.” It is difficult to turn away from
Graydon and his pictures of boy life at school. One more story he told must be
repeated: “The enthusiasm of the turf had
pervaded the academy, and the most extravagant transports of that theatre of
triumph of a favorite horse, were not more zealous and impassioned, than were
the acclamations which followed the victor in a foot-race round a square.
Stripped to the shirt, and accoutred for the heat by a handkerchief bound round
the head, another round the middle, with loosened knee-bands, without shoes, or
with moccasins instead of them, the racers were started, and, bearing to the
left round the corner of Arch street they encompassed the square in which the
academy stands, while the most eager spectators . . . scampered over the church
burying ground to Fifth street in order to see the state of the runners as they
passed . . . The four sides of this square cannot be much less than three-quarters
of a mile(?); wherefore, bottom in the courses, was no less essential than
swiftness, and in both, Lewis bore away the palm from everyone that dared enter
against him. After having in a great number of matches completely triumphed
over the academy, other schools were resorted to for racers, but all in vain.” Some of the earlier students at the
Academy found sport in baiting Robert Proud, an interesting character who
taught Greek and Latin in the institution until the early seventies. His name
appears in the catalogue of books published in 1798 in connection with his
History of Pennsylvania from 1681 to 1742. The book has been called the most
confused and tedious composition that ever tormented human patience. It is easy
to imagine how popular he was as an instructor. Andrew Porter was another of the
celebrated school teachers of the eighteenth century. His boyhood was spent on
the farm of his father, an elder in Norriton Presbyterian Church, and if his
father had been given his way the schoolmaster would have been lost in a very
mediocre farmer or a poor carpenter. Whenever he had a chance he would read a
borrowed book, and when a neighboring schoolmaster took an interest in him he
was in his element. Ile had a special genius for mathematics. In one of the
books borrowed from the friendly schoolmaster he became interested in the draft
of a sun-dial, and he wondered if he could not make one. At a quarry on the
Schuylkill near Spring Mill he found a stone which he thought would answer his
purpose. This he carried eight or ten miles to his home. In his brother’s
carpenter shop, during the proprietor’s absence, he reduced the stone to proper
size and shape by the use of saws, planes and chisels. Of course the tools were
ruined; but the sun-dial was finished satisfactorily. Next he opened a school near his
home, and while there he attracted the attention of David Rittenhouse by his
application for a book on conic sections. The astronomer, amazed to learn that
the boy had studied mathematics but a few months, persuaded him that one of his
talents was needed in Philadelphia. The name of Christopher Dock must
not be omitted from a list of early Philadelphia school teachers of genius.
While he did not teach in the city itself, his influence on education in the
city was large. His first school was opened on the
Skippack, in an old log meeting house of the Mennonites. Here the son of
Christopher Saur, the printer, was one of his pupils. Through his son, Saur
became interested in Dock’s methods, and he finally persuaded the schoolmaster
to write a treatise telling of these. The manuscript of “Schul-ordnung” was the
result. The author stipulated, however, that the book must not be published
until after his death. The elder Saur died in 1758, and the
son, who had been Dock’s pupil, succeeded to the business. He finally secured
Dock’s consent, and the book appeared in 1770, the first educational book
published in Pennsylvania. Martin C. Brumbaugh, in the edition
of Dock’s book which he has edited, says that Dock has given by indirection the
only adequate picture of a colonial school. “It is not difficult to construct
from his writings a picture of life among the people of Penn’s colony,” he
says. “One can vision the children living at home preparing for the day’s
duties; their march over hill and valley to the school; their entrance, the
routine of the day’s work with the teacher and the hearty ‘good-night’ as they
turn again to their home; the round of evening duties, and their weary
footsteps as they move half asleep to their rest.” One evening in 1771 Dock did not
return from his school at the usual hour. A search was made, and he was found
in his schoolroom on his knees — dead. “Thus ended in prayer for his pupils a
life singularly sweet and unselfishly given to the welfare of those whom he
believed God had divinely appointed him to teach.” Anthony Benezet has a place of
peculiar honor among Philadelphia schoolmasters because he first gave
instruction to the negroes. In 1770 he was instrumental in establishing a
school for them, and from 1782 until his death in 1784 he was in charge of
this. In his will he gave his house and lot, as well as the remainder of his
estate, to the support of “a religious- minded person, or persons, to teach a
number of negro, mulatto, or Indian children to read, write, arithmetic, plain
accounts, needle work, etc.” Dr. William Smith first attracted
the serious attention of the friends of education in Philadelphia by a treatise
he published in 1753, in which he gave his views of education and the
requirements of an institution of learning in a new country. Some of those who
read it invited him to become teacher of Natural Philosophy, Logic, etc., in
the Academy which later became the University of Pennsylvania. His strangest
schoolroom was the gaol into which he was thrust in 1758 because of his
opposition to the non-resistance policy of the legislature of Pennsylvania. For
a time his classes resorted to him there. A picturesque schoolmaster of the
early days was Alexander Wilson, the ornithologist, who taught first in
Frankford and then at Gray’s Ferry. On February 14, 1802, he wrote: “On the 25th. of this month I remove
to the schoolhouse beyond Gray’s Ferry to succeed the present teacher there. I
shall recommence that painful profession once more with the same gloomy, sullen
resignation that a prisoner re-enters his dungeon or a malefactor mounts the
scaffold; fate urges him, necessity me. The agreement between us is to make the
school equal to 100 dollars per quarter, but not more than 50 are to be
admitted. The present pedagogue is a noisy, outrageous fat old captain of a
ship, who has taught these ten years in different places. You may hear him
bawling 300 yards off. The boys seem to pay as little regard to him as a duck
to the rumbling of a stream under them. I shall have many difficulties to
overcome in establishing my own rule and authority.” Wilson was of unhappy disposition.
No wonder, then, that he wrote, in July, 1802, of Philadelphia: “Leave that cursed town at least one
day. It is the most striking emblem of purgatory, at least to me, that exists.
No poor soul is happier to escape from Bridewell than I am to smell the fresh
air and gaze over the green fields after a day or two’s residence in
Philadelphia.”
It has been pointed out that it was
an odd coincidence that in 1803 John J. Audubon, a young man who was destined
to share with Wilson fame as one of the greatest naturalists America has
produced, also took up his residence near the banks of the Schuylkill, not
twenty-five miles away, just across from Valley Forge. One of the great disappointments of
Wilson’s life was the failure of his suit for the hand of Annie Bartram,
daughter of John Bartram, Jr., and niece of William, who was in charge of
“Kingsess Gardens,” as Bartram’s Garden was then called. To her the
schoolmaster wrote poems and sent gifts of drawing materials; but she would not
accept him as her husband. If all parents were as exacting of a
schoolmaster as was Thomas Chalkley, the Quaker minister who was active during
the earlier part of the eighteenth century, there would be more who would share
in Alexander Wilson’s pessimism concerning the calling. When, in 1727, Mr.
Chalkley was about to send his children to school in Frankford, he wrote the
teacher the following letter: “Loving friend, Nathaniel Walton, I
hope thou wilt excuse the freedom I take with thee in writing this on account
of my children in these particulars, viz. Respecting the compliment of the hat
and courtesying, the practice thereof being against my professes principles;
1st, because I find nothing like it in the bible, but, as I think, the
contrary. Thou know’st the passage of the Three children of God, who stood
covered before a mighty monarch; and Mordecai, who stood covered before great
Haman: and, 2dly, I believe those practices derived from vain, proud man. “And as to language, I desire my
children may not be permitted to use the plural language to a single person,
but I pray thee to learn to say thee, and thou, and thy, and to speak it
properly, (divers using it improperly) and the rather I desire it because it is
all along used in the divine inspired holy writings . “The same care I would have them
take, about the names of the days of the months, which are derived from the
names of the Gods of the heathen, and are not found in the bible . “As to the school learning of my
children, I leave to thy management, not questioning thy ability therein, and
if they want correction spare not the rod.” The result of the training given to
his children by Chalkley in his home and by the schoolmaster who was compelled
to follow the minister’s directions was seen in George Chalkley, who died in
1733, at the age of ten years and seven days. His father said of him after his
death that it was the boy’s custom to write out anything that appealed to him
in the books he read or in the Bible. Then he would learn it by heart. “One
piece he wrote and got by heart,” the father said, “was this:
Poor ten-year-old George! His father
somehow managed to crush all the joy out of his life. A student of a different sort was
Neddy Burd, of Lancaster, later the husband of Elizabeth Shippen, sister of
Margaret Shippen, who became the bride of Benedict Arnold. On April 28, 1765,
he wrote a letter in which he told of his entrance to college: “About three weeks ago our Class was
alarmed with the news of being examined by the Trustees. Luckily we had three
days to prepare for it all which time we were much afraid of the Issue. I sat
up until eleven o’clock & rose before five studying very hard. At length
the much dreaded day arrived. We were conducted into the Electricity room,
where the Revd. Mr. Duchee, Mr. Stedman, Dr. Alison & Mr. Beveridge were
assembled. You may inform Grandpapa that we were first desired to translate a
piece out of English into Latin, then we were examined in Horace lastly in
Homer . . . The public Examination of the Senior Class was next day; When we
were again desired to attend at the Electricity Room. Mr. Stedman spoke as follows,
viz on account of your yesterday’s Extraordinary performance you are admitted
to Colledge.” On November 17, 1816, William Irvin
Wilson sent to his father, Hugh Wilson, of Deerstown, Pennsylvania, a letter
telling of his entrance at the University of Pennsylvania Medical School: “After a very pleasant but rather
expensive journey I arrived here and have succeeded in getting excellent
lodging at the rate of Five dollars per week. I could obtain none on more
reasonable terms within a proper distance of the University ... There are about
seven others in the house besides. There are between four and five hundred
students who, when crowded into one room make a pretty respectable appearance.
We attend six Professors in the day. . . I have attended the Hospital and
Almshouse each once; but I shall not be able to take the ticket of either for
want of money; this will be something against me but I must put up with it. “I will now give you an account of
my expenses since I left home. For the journey I expended $15 Dollars including
stage hire. For ticket $120. For boarding $10. For wood and candles $6.60.
Discount $11. Expenses before I came to my lodging $3. Washing and shoe
blacking, &c, $2. . . Which leaving me a very light purse. I expect I shall
need some money. . . “To be here without money is not
very pleasant. But I need not speak of this, I know you will do what you can. Pupils with light purses had little
chance to get an education on equal terms with the rich until the passage of
the school law of 1818, but until this was amended in 1836 there was still much
to be desired. Since that time, however, the schools of Pennsylvania have
become noted for their excellence and thoroughness. |
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