Before the widespread availability of grammar books, American children practiced their language skills by reading from the Psalter or the New Testament. Grammars carried on the tradition of giving students moral instruction along with their parsing practice. For early American students, virtue and grammar would have been tightly connected.
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Noah Webster’s ambition to create a grammar strictly for Americans was no doubt partly inspired by his family history and early life experiences. He came of age during the Revolution and was intensely involved in the political issues of the day. A proud New Englander, he traced his ancestry on his father’s side to John Webster, who arrived in Massachusetts from Warwickshire sometime in the 1630s. In 1636 John Webster followed Puritan leader Thomas Hooker to Hartford to help found the Connecticut colony. Twenty years later, he was chosen to be Connecticut’s governor.
Noah Webster’s mother, Mercy Steele, also came of old New England stock. She descended from William Bradford, governor of the Plymouth Colony. A later ancestor, John Steele, arrived in Hartford about the same time as John Webster, although not as one of Hooker’s followers. Like John Webster, Steele participated in the colony’s public life, holding the post of town recorder.
Webster’s father, also named Noah, continued the family commitment to public service. For many years he was a justice of the peace and a deacon of the Congregational church in his home village of West Hartford. Although the senior Noah Webster was uneducated, he appreciated books. In 1753 he joined other church members in founding West Hartford’s first Book Society. This “subscription library” was an early version of a public library. Members subscribed by paying a certain sum. The Society then used the money to purchase books that subscribers could borrow. The elder Webster’s respect for books and learning would later make him sympathetic to his son’s desire to go to Yale, normally an impossible goal for an impoverished farmer’s son.
Webster’s sense of his family traditions bolstered his lifelong confidence in his own opinions and intellectual worth—or, as some called it, arrogance. While living in Philadelphia in 1787, he often contributed comments to the editorial pages of the city’s newspapers. When one reader of the Freeman’s Journal expressed astonishment at a lowly schoolteacher writing books and lecturing on language, Webster replied that this “mere schoolteacher” belonged to one of the “oldest and most respected families in America, and his ancestors governed provinces fifty years before Pennsylvania was settled.”20
Webster was born in the parlor of the family’s modest farmhouse on October 16, 1758, the fourth of five children. He would be the only one to receive an education beyond Dilworth’s speller and the Bible readings of West Hartford’s tiny school. Unusually for colonial America, schooling was compulsory in Connecticut. However, schoolrooms were often poorly equipped. Many years later, Webster would remember the local school’s reliance on Dilworth as its only textbook. No history or geography was taught and there were no reading or arithmetic books.21 When Webster wrote the Grammatical Institute, Part III—the reader—he included essays on history and geography to make up for the lack of such books in most schoolrooms.
Farm children in the eighteenth century attended school only when they weren’t needed on the farm. They were expected to start working alongside their parents by the age of ten. Young Noah nonetheless found time for books. According to family tradition, words fascinated him as a child, especially their exact meanings and use. A family story described how he would often take a Latin grammar out to the fields with him and spend his rest times reading it under the apple trees.
By the time Webster was fourteen, he had read and studied enough to know that he wanted to attend college, which in eighteenth-century Connecticut meant Yale. His father was reluctant at first. The farm just barely provided the large family with a living—college fees would be a heavy expense. Noah’s desire for learning eventually persuaded his father. The elder Webster became a committed supporter, mortgaging the farm to cover his son’s expenses.
Before Noah could begin his studies at Yale, he had to prepare. The local school couldn’t teach him what he needed—mainly Latin, Greek, and rhetoric—so he began studying with Rev. Nathan Perkins, the pastor of West Hartford’s Congregational church. (Clergymen were often the best-educated people in small towns. As such, they routinely “fitted” young men for college.) After two years of diligent study Webster was ready for Yale. He began classes in September 1774. The next few years were the beginning of his passionate lifelong engagement with ideas, including ideas about language.
New Haven, forty miles from Webster’s home, was a town of about 3,500, spreading out from a busy harbor on Long Island Sound. Much of the town’s community life took place around a central square known as the Green. Several important buildings, including the imposing brick statehouse, the schoolhouse, the large two-story post office, the dilapidated prison, and several churches clustered on or near the Green. At its northwest edge stood Yale College.
Conditions at the college were spartan. Webster and his fellow students had to chop their own firewood if they wanted heat in their rooms. The dining hall food was reputedly very poor. Midday dinners usually consisted of an “Indian pudding” made of cornmeal cooked in broth, followed by meat and two potatoes each, with cabbage, turnip, or dandelion greens. The young men drank cider, which they passed around in pewter cans that everybody drank from. Supper was brown bread and milk.22
As a freshman, Webster’s first class would have started at 7:00 a.m., immediately after morning prayers. Only when this class ended would he be allowed time for breakfast. Then he would continue to attend classes throughout the day. Latin and Greek made up the bulk of the studies all four years. Freshmen also studied arithmetic. Sophomores tackled logic, geography, rhetoric, algebra, and geometry. Upperclassmen added natural philosophy, a combined study of biology, geology, astronomy, and physics. Everyone studied divinity on Saturdays. Juniors and seniors also practiced “disputation,” or debate, twice a week. When Webster graduated, Yale president Ezra Stiles commented that the young man had been especially strong in that subject.23
While Webster was still a freshman, events in the outside world disrupted his life as a scholar. In April 1775 the first shots of the Revolutionary War were fired in Lexington and Concord. Patriotic Yale students took to holding military drills on the Green. On Saturdays they built breastworks around New Haven. When Gen. George Washington traveled through the town on his way to Cambridge in June 1775, the students were invited to march to the house where he was staying and demonstrate their drill.
Webster later recalled the episode in a speech, noting that Washington and his companions “expressed surprise and gratification at the precision with which the students performed the customary exercises.” The Yale students accompanied the men part of the way out of town, providing marching music as they walked. Webster, a flute player, told his listeners proudly, “he who stands before you was one of the musicians.”24
In the winter of 1777, the war touched Yale more directly. Classes had to be disbanded because the college couldn’t acquire enough food for the students. Webster and his classmates were sent home. That autumn Webster marched with his father, his two brothers, and several other West Hartford men to join the American army fighting at Saratoga, New York.
As the small band passed along the east bank of the Hudson, they saw Kingston in flames on the other side of the river and the residents fleeing in panic. As they approached Albany, however, they were met by a courier shouting the news that British General Burgoyne had surrendered. By the time the West Hartford men reached the battle scene, their help was no longer needed. They returned home soon afterward.
Although this brief episode was Webster’s only war experience, it made a lasting impression. In later years, he couldn’t speak of hearing the courier’s shouts without being moved to tears. This episode, along with his war-related activities at Yale, buttressed his patriotic pride in all things
American—including American speech.
Webster was back at Yale by the spring of 1778 to finish his classes. In July he took his final exams and in September he received his diploma. Because of the war, there was no public ceremony.
About a year after Webster’s graduation, his Yale tutor Rev. Joseph Buckminster wrote him a long letter, reflecting on the class of 1778 and offering his former pupil a few pieces of advice. Reverend Buckminster said, “The independent spirit which was peculiar to you as a class … exposed you and will still expose you to errors and mortifications. I was however pleased to see it because it assured me that you would not be wanting in attempts to do something for your honor.” Reverend Buckminster was right in predicting that the revolutionary spirit would continue to inspire Webster and his classmates. He and several others would take an active part in shaping the new country.
Reverend Buckminster then commented on Webster’s previous letter to him: “The resolutions that you form in your letter are good, to obtain a knowledge of your own country, of the genius, manners and policy of our fellow citizens is commendable.” Webster was evidently already intrigued with America’s cultural uniqueness, and perhaps already thinking about how to contribute to it.
Buckminster then gave Webster some carefully worded guidance relating to his future behavior: “You must endeavor not to be forward in applying for this knowledge to persons with whom you have but a slight acquaintance, nor be too frank in opening your heart to them. Such is the perverseness of human nature they will be disposed to ridicule you and perhaps set you down among those who have too high an opinion of their own importance.”25
This was sound advice that Webster would choose not to take. He never hesitated to voice his ideas publicly or to ask influential men with whom he had “but a slight acquaintance” for help in promoting his projects. He corresponded with George Washington, Benjamin Franklin, James Madison, and others about issues that affected American life.
He also published forceful essays and books about those issues—not just language use, but politics, government, education, even a two-volume work on infectious diseases—and was impatient with differing views. As Buckminster foresaw, his former student was often attacked for vanity and self-importance. Webster didn’t hesitate to respond to his critics—fierce intellectual skirmishes were a regular occurrence in his life.
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The Revolutionary War affected Webster in practical, as well as philosophical, ways. The class of 1778 graduated at an unfortunate moment. After years of war, the American economy was in shambles and the value of the currency issued by the Continental Congress had collapsed. Job prospects for new graduates were dim. Webster had hoped to study law, but the depressed economy limited his chances of apprenticing himself to a lawyer. He couldn’t expect any more help from his father, who was struggling to make the farm pay. He would have to strike out on his own. The path he decided on led to a lifelong commitment to the American language.
After an uncomfortable interlude back home on the farm, the twenty-year-old Webster resolved to try his hand at schoolmastering. In the days before specialized training and certification, teaching was simply a matter of finding a school in need of a teacher, or even simpler, advertising for pupils. Webster took a temporary position with a school in nearby Glastonbury, the first of several. The next five years were to be deeply frustrating for Webster. He moved frequently, taking short-term teaching positions in various Connecticut and New York towns and never earning quite enough to live on comfortably.
Webster finally found an opportunity to study law in 1780. He went to work in a lawyer’s office, learning on the job and reading law books at night. In April 1781 he passed the bar exam. His new professional status, however, didn’t pay the dividends that he had hoped. The economy still hadn’t recovered from the war and there was little work for new lawyers. Eventually, he resigned himself to teaching once again, opening his own school in the small rural Connecticut town of Sharon.
The school prospectus shows that Webster had already formed strong views on grammar. It announces not only the usual training in “the common arts of reading, writing, and arithmetic,” but a thorough grounding in English grammar. Webster criticizes the usual level of language teaching, saying, “The little regard that is paid to the literary improvement of females … and the general inattention to the grammatical purity and elegance of our native language, are faults in the education of youth that more gentlemen [schoolmasters] have taken pains to censure than correct.”26 He assures prospective clients that his school will do better.
Things went well at first. The school drew a number of students from affluent New York families who had fled to Connecticut to escape the fighting in their home state. Then Webster’s personal life took a devastating turn. He fell in love with a young woman who already had another suitor—a major in the Continental Army. When the major unexpectedly returned to Sharon, she wavered between the two. In the end she decided in the major’s favor. Distraught, Webster closed his school in October 1781 and left town less than a year after settling there.
Now nearly four years out of Yale and with a series of failed career attempts behind him, Webster wandered miserably around Connecticut for the next few months, trying to find work. Finally, when he was nearly destitute, he settled over the border in Goshen, New York, and once again opened a school.
In his old age, Webster remembered the “extreme depression and gloomy forebodings” of this difficult time.27 Gradually, however, he got caught up in his teaching. He began to think seriously about the shortcomings of the textbooks that were available, and especially about the limitations of using British imports. Fired with patriotic enthusiasm, he decided to write a new and improved series of textbooks specifically for Americans.
Webster’s enthusiasm for language study rescued him from his misery. As the challenge of writing gripped him, his depression disappeared. He worked steadily through the spring and summer of 1782 on a speller that, in his view, would be “better adapted to assist the learner than that of Dilworth.” Writing about the project to a friend, he said, “Popular prejudice is in favor of Dilworth … but he is not only out of date; but is really faulty and defective in every part of his work.” At the end of the letter, Webster sounded the theme that would run through all his writing about language: “America must be as independent in literature as she is in politics—as famous for arts as for arms.”28
Before Webster could publish his improved speller, however, he would have to overcome some obstacles. His friend and former classmate, the poet Joel Barlow, pointed these out in a letter. Barlow wrote, “You know our country is prejudiced in favor of old Dilworth, the nurse of us all, and it will be difficult to turn their attention from it.” He reminded Webster that printers could be sure of selling Dilworth, so they would print large runs of the book and “afford it very cheap.” If the unknown Webster printed such large runs, he was likely to be left with unsold books. Smaller runs, on the other hand, would be expensive to print. Webster would either have to charge more or earn fewer profits.29
Barlow was right in thinking that printers would not be eager to take on the risk of an unknown author. Webster was finally able to convince Hudson & Goodwin, publishers of the Connecticut Courant newspaper, to undertake the printing at Webster’s expense. As he didn’t have the money to pay the printers in advance, he had to commit himself to repaying the costs once the book was printed. If the book failed to sell, he would be bankrupt.
Webster’s gamble paid off. A Grammatical Institute of the English Language, Part I appeared in October 1783, priced at fourteen pence a copy (about fifteen cents) or ten shillings a dozen (about $1.50). By the following May the first edition of 5,000 copies had sold out. Hudson & Goodwin printed a second edition, this time paying the costs themselves. The book appeared at a good time. The war was over, and with peace came a renewed interest in education. The demand for schoolbooks was on the rise. Webster’s speller was easy to use and its America
n slant appealed to newly independent patriots.
One of Webster’s innovations was a pronunciation key. He assigned a number to the various long and short vowel sounds—for instance, “1” represents the long vowel sounds of a, e, i, o, u. When pupils encountered find or lace marked with a “1” over the i or a, they immediately knew how to pronounce the word. Webster also brought the representation of words ending in –tion more in line with reality by treating the ending as a single syllable. Dilworth and others artificially divided it into ti-on for recitation purposes although that pronunciation had disappeared from ordinary speech.
Material designed to appeal to Americans was scattered through the book. Webster Americanized a number of place-names that were still commonly spelled using the original French orthography. Ouisconsin, for example, became the more English-looking Wisconsin. His reading lessons and lists featured topics that would interest citizens of the new country, such as American money values, facts about the states, and how to pronounce American place-names.
Hudson & Goodwin had sold 12,000 copies by the end of 1785. By 1790 they were printing about 20,000 copies annually for sale in Connecticut, now with the simplified title The American Spelling Book. Webster had licensed printers in other cities to produce and sell thousands more copies in their regions. By 1807 an estimated 200,000 copies were selling each year. Webster’s speller was on its way to becoming one of the largest-selling books in American history. Eventually it would become a fixture in American classrooms. Familiarly known as the “Blue-backed Speller” because of its blue cloth cover, this first volume of the Grammatical Institute sold an estimated 15 million copies by 1837, an astonishing number considering that the country’s population in the 1830s was under 13 million.30
After Part I of the Institute was published, Webster began writing the remaining two volumes. Part II, the grammar book, appeared in March 1784 and Part III, the reader, in February 1785. Hudson & Goodwin undertook to publish both. Unfortunately, neither of these volumes would sell nearly as well as the speller. Part II was the least popular of the three volumes. Americans preferred Lowth and other conventional grammar books, Latin and all.
Founding Grammars Page 3
