Russell H. Conwell | Page 8

The Orator of
the Dawn. A Boyish Prank. Capturing the Eagle's Nest.
At three years of age, he trudged off to school with his brother Charles.
Though Charles was three years the senior, the little fellow struggled to
keep pace with him in all their childish play and work. Two miles the
children walked daily to the schoolhouse, a long walk for a toddler of
three. But it laid the foundation of that strong, rugged constitution that
has carried him so unflinchingly through the hard work of these later
years. The walk to school was the most important part of the
performance, for lessons had no attraction for the boy as yet. But the
road through the woods to the schoolhouse was a journey of ever new
and never-ending excitement. The road lay along a silver-voiced brook
that rippled softly by shadowy rock, or splashed joyous and exultant
down its boulder-strewn path. It was this same brook whose music
drifted into his little attic bedroom at night, stilled to a faint, far-away
murmur as the wind died down, rising to a high, clear crescendo of
rushing, tumbling water as the breeze stirred in the tree tops and
brought to him the forest sounds. Hour after hour he lay awake
listening to it, his childish imagination picturing fairies and elves
holding their revels in the woods beyond. An oratorical little brook it
was, unconsciously leaving an impress of its musical speech on the ears
of the embryo orator. Moreover, in its quiet pools lurked watchful trout.
Few country boys could walk along such a stream unheeding its
fascinations, especially when the doors of a school house opened at the
farther end, and many an hour when studies should have claimed him,
he was sitting by the brookside, care-free and contented, delightedly
fishing. Nor are any berries quite so luscious as those which grow
along the country road to school. It takes long, long hours to satisfy the
keen appetite of a boy, and lessons suffered during the berry seasons.
Another keen excitement of the daily journey through a living world of
mystery and enchantment was the search for frogs. Woe to the unlucky
frog that fell in the way of the active, curious boy. Some one had told
him that old, old countryside story, "If you kill a frog, the cows will
give bloody milk." Eager to see such a phenomenon, he watched

sharply. Let an unlucky frog give one unfortunate croak, quick,
sure-aimed, flew a stone, and he raced home at night to see the miracle
performed. He was just a boy as other boys--mischievous, disobedient,
fonder of play than work or study. But underneath, uncalled upon as yet,
lay that vein of perseverance as unyielding as the granite of his native
hills.
The schoolhouse inside was not unattractive. Six windows gave plenty
of light, and each framed woodland pictures no painter's canvas could
rival. The woods were all about and the voice of the little brook floated
in, always calling, calling--at least to one small listener--to come out
and see it dance and sparkle and leap from rock to rock. If he gained
nothing else from his first school days but a love and appreciation of
nature's beauties, it was a lesson well worth learning. To feed the heart
and imagination of a child with such scenery is to develop
unconsciously a love of the beautiful which brings a pure joy into life
never to be lost, no matter what stress and storm may come. In the
darkest, stormiest hours of his later life, to think back to the serene
beauty of those New England hills was as a hand of peace laid on his
troubled spirit.
This love and joy in nature--and the trait was already in his blood--was
at first all that he gained from his trips to school. Then came a teacher
with a new way of instructing, a Miss Salina Cole, who had mastered
the art of visual memory. She taught her pupils to make on the mind a
photographic impression of the page, which could be recalled in its
entirety, even to the details of punctuation. This was a process of study
that appealed immediately to Russell's boyish imagination. Moreover, it
was something to "see if he could do," always fascinating to his love of
experiment and adventure. It had numerous other advantages. It was
quick. It promised far-reaching results. If page after page of the school
books could be stored in the mind and called up for future reference,
getting an education would become an easy matter. Besides, they could
be called up and pondered on in various places--fishing, for instance.
He quickly decided to would master this new method, and he went at it
with his characteristic energy and determination. Concentrating all his