Scholars
(Written by Norman A. Barnes)
(Teacher's end of year Commencement Speech)
(1864)
Our winter term is ended: our school is about to close. The time has arrived when teacher, and scholar, must say Farewell. When we must separate and go to our several homes; some North, some South, some West, and some out of town. Perchance you will listen no more to the tinkling sound of these bells, no more will you have me to stand before you as your tutor - no more shall I have the privilege yea the unspeakable pleasure of calling you pupils - of assisting you in time of trouble - of urging you up the hill of science in pursuit of that which alone is power which is the pearl of great price - which you can neither buy nor sell - which only can be acquired by steady application and perseverance by long and wearisome hours of work of reflection and application - yes intensely so or you will never reach the goal. On Monday morning Nov. 9, 1863 I entered this building as Teacher - it was a lovely morn the earth was still performing her revolutions - the sun, which is the earth's ecstasy, shed his rays upon her in effulgence the little birds the peoples' delight were uttering their shrill yet sweet and melodious notes of music as if to inform us they had not quite forsaken us and all nature looked gay - thus it was and had you been passing along yonder road about the hour of 8 you would have beheld a being slowly plodding along toward this school house underneath his arms were books of all descriptions almost his continence was somewhat changed and judging from it you would have readily seen that he was in deep thought as he traveled on and so it was he was in deep thought making resolution &c &c .... thinking of this thing now of that wondering whether he should succeed imagination would prevent trouble and fancy with all his followers would picture a failure and he looked sorrowful but still something within seemed to speak in a melliferous sound saying - have hope - this consoled him - this gave him courage and he commenced his duties - as your tutor thus it was time flowed into the abyss of eternity / Scholars were obedient and studious no trouble presented itself - no difficulties arose but all passed on smoothly without a ruffle - nothing to mar our happiness and we all felt contented and satisfied / until Jan. 3, 1864 when the swift winged messenger - Death and his attendants came hovering over one of our number and with the bow which fails and the hand of surety did he send an arrow dipped in death and Evah Lewis's frame was lifeless. She was gone no more to return - she was our hearts delights how she participated in our sorrows and joined in our plays - how eager and attentively did she and her mate peruse these precious books these little helpers of learning - promising to become a woman to live to a great age as any of us - to all appearance yet in spite of all human efforts to save she was laid in the narrow house which awaits each of us viz the grave and Imogene was left alone - thus were our hearts made sad - sorrow and grief showed itself when we entered the schoolroom the day after her burial 足 her vacant seat told us plainly of the frailty of life / Time passed on we continued to grow in knowledge - Still attentive - still industrious / and soon most of you were ciphering where you were never before / when recess came the time for recreation we played and heartily to and when assembled in the schoolroom for work we worked - Education and Learning has been our motto - no fights - no harsh language has been among us but we have played peaceable and happily together I might mention 1 or 2 who have been a little prying & pickive at others but the majority has been kind and affectionate toward each other and I venture to say that not in another school in town can be found such kind and lovely dispositions as I might pick from among you scholars present - it is a great advantage to a school to be thus blessed and favored At length Monday Feb. 15, 1864 dawned upon us and our hearts were made to bleed once more - again did the angel of death visit our number and snatch from our embrace little but lovely Richard Langdon Upson - again did the monster Death sever the cords of friendship that linked us together - what a
Barnes Museum 85 North Main St., Southington, Ct.
2010