Benjamnin F. Butler, Butler's Book: Autobiography and Personal Reminiscences of Major-General Benjamin Butler

[56] into the new schoolhouse. The numbers of the school increasing with the same rapidity as the new town, he brought to his assistance a classmate from Yale, Mr. Clapp, who afterwards left our school to go to Charleston, South Carolina, where he finally became the editor of the Charleston Mercury. He was the most bitter proslavery and states-right gentleman I ever knew, and his cutting sarcasms permeated every page of his writing. In his early life he happened to be bitten in the heel by a rattlesnake. He did not die from the bite, but those whom he did not like said the venom of the poison remained in him. For some reason, which as a boy I never knew, the school was suspended when Mr. Clark retired from the teachership to enter his profession of the ministry. In this profession our reverend teacher rose steadily, and is now loved and honored by his denomination, as he is by every former pupil, as the bishop of the diocese of Rhode Island.

During the suspension of the school, I spent the time reading everything that I could command, finding myself again in a lawyer's office, but without any thought of becoming a lawyer. Finally the school was reorganized under teaching of Mr. Nicholas Hopping, an estimable gentleman enough, of fine scholarship and usually gentle manners, but utterly without the special capacity to train young men, and particularly those who had enjoyed the teachings of Mr. Clark. Indeed, we dealt with him rather as a foe, and all the resources of pretty active minds were exhausted in an endeavor to make his position as uncomfortable as possible and useless to ourselves. His unfortunate name was a source of continual attack, and gave occasion to the most unpremeditated and irritating pun I ever heard at school or elsewhere. One morning a classmate, who may not wish me to give his name, had a pretty severe tiff with the master in which both lost their tempers. Immediately afterwards the first class was called up to read in Pierpont's reader. The order of exercises was that each man, as we called ourselves, should read a paragraph and then give the definition of the principal words therein. To the classmate of whom I have spoken a portion of Collins' Ode to the Passions was given. It contained the phrase, “Eyes with fine frenzy rolling.” The teacher: “Give the definition of frenzy.” Pupil: “Hopping mad, sir.” No further definition was asked of that scholar.