“Offley,September 27, 1866.“We went to Rugby last Thursday, and the new-comers were examined on Friday and Saturday. As we rather feared, Herby failed to get into the Middle School. We were rather disappointed, and he, poor boy, was in despair, as he was afraid Arnold would not take him, and that he would have to go to Mr. Furness; however, Arnold offered to make an exception in his case, and as we joyfully accepted it, Master Herby was duly installed in his uncle’s study, and we left him on Monday morning very happy, and delighted with his new dignity of a public school boy. Our visit to Rugby was very pleasant, and not a little exciting. The school is much altered since my time—the boys are much more accurately dressed, less rollicking, and more decorous. The exceeding quiet of the town and playground struck me particularly. I should like to have seen a little more running about, and to have heard a little more shouting; in fact a jolly curly-haired youngster with whom I made a casual acquaintance, said to me, ‘I am sure, sir, you must have had much more fun in your time than we have.’ It is perhaps just as well that they should havebecome quieter. The recognized name for the anxious parents who bring their boys up for examination is the ‘Early Fathers,’ because, I suppose, they take care to be at the schoolroom-door with their Hopefuls a quarter of an hour before the examination begins. Jenny Lind’s boy has just gone to the School-house; he is, as boys say, awfully ’cute, and came out nearly head of the examination. Jenny Lind was at chapel herself on Sunday; her husband has done much for the music of the school; the singing in chapel is exceedingly good, and the whole service very impressive. The last time I was in chapel there was in poor Arnold’s time. The master of Herby’s form, Mr. Buckoll, was my old master when I was in the shell thirty years ago! Also Mrs. Jacomb, of the principal tuck shop, used to spoil our stomachs in my time. I felt myself rather boyish again, without the boisterous spirits and good stomach of boyhood.”
“Offley,September 27, 1866.
“We went to Rugby last Thursday, and the new-comers were examined on Friday and Saturday. As we rather feared, Herby failed to get into the Middle School. We were rather disappointed, and he, poor boy, was in despair, as he was afraid Arnold would not take him, and that he would have to go to Mr. Furness; however, Arnold offered to make an exception in his case, and as we joyfully accepted it, Master Herby was duly installed in his uncle’s study, and we left him on Monday morning very happy, and delighted with his new dignity of a public school boy. Our visit to Rugby was very pleasant, and not a little exciting. The school is much altered since my time—the boys are much more accurately dressed, less rollicking, and more decorous. The exceeding quiet of the town and playground struck me particularly. I should like to have seen a little more running about, and to have heard a little more shouting; in fact a jolly curly-haired youngster with whom I made a casual acquaintance, said to me, ‘I am sure, sir, you must have had much more fun in your time than we have.’ It is perhaps just as well that they should havebecome quieter. The recognized name for the anxious parents who bring their boys up for examination is the ‘Early Fathers,’ because, I suppose, they take care to be at the schoolroom-door with their Hopefuls a quarter of an hour before the examination begins. Jenny Lind’s boy has just gone to the School-house; he is, as boys say, awfully ’cute, and came out nearly head of the examination. Jenny Lind was at chapel herself on Sunday; her husband has done much for the music of the school; the singing in chapel is exceedingly good, and the whole service very impressive. The last time I was in chapel there was in poor Arnold’s time. The master of Herby’s form, Mr. Buckoll, was my old master when I was in the shell thirty years ago! Also Mrs. Jacomb, of the principal tuck shop, used to spoil our stomachs in my time. I felt myself rather boyish again, without the boisterous spirits and good stomach of boyhood.”
From this time he constantly visited the school, and kept his mother and sister informed of the progress of the boys. I add a few extracts from his letters:—
“November, 1866.—I was at Rugby last Saturday, and stayed over Sunday. Walter breakfasted with me on Sunday morning, and very jolly he was. He and Herby won’t see much of one another until they get higher in the school. Junior boys never enter each other’s boarding-houses. This is very absurd, but no power on earth can alter boys’ fashions.”
“November, 1866.—I was at Rugby last Saturday, and stayed over Sunday. Walter breakfasted with me on Sunday morning, and very jolly he was. He and Herby won’t see much of one another until they get higher in the school. Junior boys never enter each other’s boarding-houses. This is very absurd, but no power on earth can alter boys’ fashions.”
“Eaton Socon,November 26th, 1867.“Boys’ letters get so full of school slang that it is hard to understand them. Herbert says in his last that he got100 lines from Chumley fortweaking. This was Hebrew to us, as ‘tweaking’ was not a Rugby word in my time. On referring the matter to Ned, he immediately informed us that ‘tweaking’ in boys’ language was, shooting shot out of a catapult, or other warlike engine.”
“Eaton Socon,November 26th, 1867.
“Boys’ letters get so full of school slang that it is hard to understand them. Herbert says in his last that he got100 lines from Chumley fortweaking. This was Hebrew to us, as ‘tweaking’ was not a Rugby word in my time. On referring the matter to Ned, he immediately informed us that ‘tweaking’ in boys’ language was, shooting shot out of a catapult, or other warlike engine.”
“Offley,1868.“We have excellent accounts from Rugby. Herbert is at the head of his form, and evidently finds his work easier, and is in a high state of encouragement. One of his schoolfellows has just shot himself in the leg with a ‘saloon,’ meaning a saloon pistol. Hang all pistols, but boys will have them.”
“Offley,1868.
“We have excellent accounts from Rugby. Herbert is at the head of his form, and evidently finds his work easier, and is in a high state of encouragement. One of his schoolfellows has just shot himself in the leg with a ‘saloon,’ meaning a saloon pistol. Hang all pistols, but boys will have them.”
“Offley,October 7th, 1868.“Concerning schoolboys’ etiquette, it beats all other etiquette. Public schools cultivate reserve, and so strongly that I think one never gets quite rid of it, although one gets better in after-life. I wish it was not so; it is one of the drawbacks of public schools, which are on the whole excellent institutions. One must take the sours with the sweets.“Herbert would not think of speaking to a schoolfellow (not on a par with himself), unless first spoken to. And in public schools the great ‘swells’ are those distinguished at cricket, football, &c. Then come the sixth, by virtue of their legal power. Then the great middle class, including clever, stupid, pleasant, unpleasant, &c., and then the new boys, and the very small boys. All the power and influence is in the hands of the athletes, and the sixth form, and all the rest pay them (the athletes) the greatest respect, and the most willing obedience. They obey the sixth (lawful authority) less willingly. All this is not quite satisfactory, but it might be worse. At all events Temple, who is a tremendous Radical, knows it andallows, nay, encourages it. But I find that few people are Radicals in their own departments.”
“Offley,October 7th, 1868.
“Concerning schoolboys’ etiquette, it beats all other etiquette. Public schools cultivate reserve, and so strongly that I think one never gets quite rid of it, although one gets better in after-life. I wish it was not so; it is one of the drawbacks of public schools, which are on the whole excellent institutions. One must take the sours with the sweets.
“Herbert would not think of speaking to a schoolfellow (not on a par with himself), unless first spoken to. And in public schools the great ‘swells’ are those distinguished at cricket, football, &c. Then come the sixth, by virtue of their legal power. Then the great middle class, including clever, stupid, pleasant, unpleasant, &c., and then the new boys, and the very small boys. All the power and influence is in the hands of the athletes, and the sixth form, and all the rest pay them (the athletes) the greatest respect, and the most willing obedience. They obey the sixth (lawful authority) less willingly. All this is not quite satisfactory, but it might be worse. At all events Temple, who is a tremendous Radical, knows it andallows, nay, encourages it. But I find that few people are Radicals in their own departments.”
“Offley,November 7th, 1868.“I went for the day to see the old Rug. match, and gave Walter and Herbert a dinner at the ‘Shoes’ before going away. Walter played in the match, and the young ones gave it the old Rugs hot, much to my delight. Walter seemed wonderfully well, and ditto Herbert. He always looks pale at school, but he was in high spirits, and evidently enjoys school life. He is very different from me in some things; his study is awfully ’cute (that’s boys’ English, and means tidy and full of knick-knacks); in fact he is a bit of a dandy; I was not. Also he must be a better boy than I was, for his character is really first-rate in everything; and the masters used always to row me for not doing as much as I could. That was the burden of their song.”
“Offley,November 7th, 1868.
“I went for the day to see the old Rug. match, and gave Walter and Herbert a dinner at the ‘Shoes’ before going away. Walter played in the match, and the young ones gave it the old Rugs hot, much to my delight. Walter seemed wonderfully well, and ditto Herbert. He always looks pale at school, but he was in high spirits, and evidently enjoys school life. He is very different from me in some things; his study is awfully ’cute (that’s boys’ English, and means tidy and full of knick-knacks); in fact he is a bit of a dandy; I was not. Also he must be a better boy than I was, for his character is really first-rate in everything; and the masters used always to row me for not doing as much as I could. That was the burden of their song.”
As a complement to these letters, I add here extracts from those to his eldest boy:—
“Thank you much for your letter received this morning; you are very good in writing so regularly, and I hope you will keep up the habit, for (I repeat) there is no pleasure to us so great as to receive your letters. We are glad to hear you are ‘all right’ in your form. I have no objection to the Rifle corps. It would be odd if I had, as I was a Volunteer myself; only go into it heartily, and learn your drill well. It is capital exercise, and it will do you good to be ‘set up,’ as you stoop too much. I should not think, however, that Temple would let the Rugby volunteers go to Windsor. If he thinks proper to do so, of course I have no objection. I suppose that as usual you are ‘hard up,’ so I send you a P.O. order. You must learn to exercise a littleforethought and self-denial about money matters: you spend more than your income. You must overcome this habit, for it would embarrass and, perhaps, ruin you hereafter.”
“Thank you much for your letter received this morning; you are very good in writing so regularly, and I hope you will keep up the habit, for (I repeat) there is no pleasure to us so great as to receive your letters. We are glad to hear you are ‘all right’ in your form. I have no objection to the Rifle corps. It would be odd if I had, as I was a Volunteer myself; only go into it heartily, and learn your drill well. It is capital exercise, and it will do you good to be ‘set up,’ as you stoop too much. I should not think, however, that Temple would let the Rugby volunteers go to Windsor. If he thinks proper to do so, of course I have no objection. I suppose that as usual you are ‘hard up,’ so I send you a P.O. order. You must learn to exercise a littleforethought and self-denial about money matters: you spend more than your income. You must overcome this habit, for it would embarrass and, perhaps, ruin you hereafter.”
The next extract refers to some help in his work which his father sent him from time to time:—
“I depend upon your looking out all the words, and working it out for yourself with the help of my translation. You promised me to do this, and I know you are a boy of your word, otherwise I shouldn’t think it right to help you. Your tutor may ask if you have any assistance. If he does you must say you found it very hard (which it really is for a boy of your age), and asked me to help you. There is nothing like being open and truth-telling with your masters, and every one. If he objects to my helping you, you must do the best you can without it, like a man; but I don’t think he will object. Your place in the form seems very satisfactory: if youdoget out we shall be very much pleased, but don’t make yourself anxious about it, only do your best....”
“I depend upon your looking out all the words, and working it out for yourself with the help of my translation. You promised me to do this, and I know you are a boy of your word, otherwise I shouldn’t think it right to help you. Your tutor may ask if you have any assistance. If he does you must say you found it very hard (which it really is for a boy of your age), and asked me to help you. There is nothing like being open and truth-telling with your masters, and every one. If he objects to my helping you, you must do the best you can without it, like a man; but I don’t think he will object. Your place in the form seems very satisfactory: if youdoget out we shall be very much pleased, but don’t make yourself anxious about it, only do your best....”
Again at the beginning of the following half-year:—
“The reason you give for having lost a few places is no doubt the right one—that you have not got yet into the swing—it will be all right in a week or two. I have no doubt you will get your remove at the end of term easily enough. Theexam.(if I understand rightly) consists of subjects which you prepare during term, and there is not much ‘unseen.’ This will be an advantage to you over the idle ones who don’t prepare their work. I shall be delighted to help you in any way, if you will only let me know, and give me due notice. Perhaps you won’t believe me when I assure you again, that Latin prose will come toyou as well as cricket and football in good time; but it is the truth nevertheless. At your age I often felt the same discouragement which you feel. I had rather overgrown myself like you, and was longer ‘ripening’ (to use an expressive phrase) than many fellows who did not grow so fast; but it all came right in my case, as it will in yours. Thereforeen avantand don’t be discouraged....”“We are very glad to hear that you are in upper-middle one, and it will make us very happy if you can get another remove at Christmas. It is to be done if you like, and as you cannot play football just now (worse luck) you will have more time. Don’t you want some help in your tutor work? If so, send me the book; or is there anything else in which I can help you? You are now rapidly becoming a young man, and have probably some influence in the school, and will have more. Be kind to the new boys and juniors; even if they are ‘scrubby,’ your business is to polish them, and you will do this much better by a little kind advice than by making their lives a burden (I don’t say, mind, that you are unkind to them). Don’t ‘bosh’ your masters. Remember that they are gentlemen like yourself, and that it is insulting them to ‘bosh’ them when they are taking trouble with you. As to the sixth form, I don’t quite approve of all the customs thereof, but it is an institution of the school, and, on the whole, beneficial, and it is no use kicking against it. Now I have done with my preaching. I don’t know that it is necessary, but it can do you no harm, and I know you respect my opinion. Your mother is horrified at your signing yourself ‘Hughes,’tout court(as the French say), so to please her don’t forget to put in ‘your affectionate son’ (as I know you are). God bless you.“Yours most affectionately,“G. E. Hughes.”“I was much pleased by your writing so openly to me. It will make me very happy if you will treat me with perfect confidence in all matters. You need have no fear that I shall not understand and sympathise with you, for although (as we have said in joke) I was a Rugbeian in the time of the ancient Britons, when we had no breeches, and painted ourselves blue for decency’s sake, it seems to me a very short time since I was as you are, and I have a very vivid recollection of my youth, feelings, prejudices, faults, and all the rest of it.”
“The reason you give for having lost a few places is no doubt the right one—that you have not got yet into the swing—it will be all right in a week or two. I have no doubt you will get your remove at the end of term easily enough. Theexam.(if I understand rightly) consists of subjects which you prepare during term, and there is not much ‘unseen.’ This will be an advantage to you over the idle ones who don’t prepare their work. I shall be delighted to help you in any way, if you will only let me know, and give me due notice. Perhaps you won’t believe me when I assure you again, that Latin prose will come toyou as well as cricket and football in good time; but it is the truth nevertheless. At your age I often felt the same discouragement which you feel. I had rather overgrown myself like you, and was longer ‘ripening’ (to use an expressive phrase) than many fellows who did not grow so fast; but it all came right in my case, as it will in yours. Thereforeen avantand don’t be discouraged....”
“We are very glad to hear that you are in upper-middle one, and it will make us very happy if you can get another remove at Christmas. It is to be done if you like, and as you cannot play football just now (worse luck) you will have more time. Don’t you want some help in your tutor work? If so, send me the book; or is there anything else in which I can help you? You are now rapidly becoming a young man, and have probably some influence in the school, and will have more. Be kind to the new boys and juniors; even if they are ‘scrubby,’ your business is to polish them, and you will do this much better by a little kind advice than by making their lives a burden (I don’t say, mind, that you are unkind to them). Don’t ‘bosh’ your masters. Remember that they are gentlemen like yourself, and that it is insulting them to ‘bosh’ them when they are taking trouble with you. As to the sixth form, I don’t quite approve of all the customs thereof, but it is an institution of the school, and, on the whole, beneficial, and it is no use kicking against it. Now I have done with my preaching. I don’t know that it is necessary, but it can do you no harm, and I know you respect my opinion. Your mother is horrified at your signing yourself ‘Hughes,’tout court(as the French say), so to please her don’t forget to put in ‘your affectionate son’ (as I know you are). God bless you.
“Yours most affectionately,
“G. E. Hughes.”
“I was much pleased by your writing so openly to me. It will make me very happy if you will treat me with perfect confidence in all matters. You need have no fear that I shall not understand and sympathise with you, for although (as we have said in joke) I was a Rugbeian in the time of the ancient Britons, when we had no breeches, and painted ourselves blue for decency’s sake, it seems to me a very short time since I was as you are, and I have a very vivid recollection of my youth, feelings, prejudices, faults, and all the rest of it.”
And then, after some advice about his matriculation at Oxford, his father goes on:—
“I am not going to preach to you about billiards. If there had been a table at Rugby in my time (there was none), I might very possibly have played myself; although, like you, I should certainly not have made a habit of it, preferring, as I did and do, more active amusements. Don’t play again at Rugby; it would be childish, as well as wrong, to risk leaving the school under a cloud, for such a paltry gratification. I don’t agree with you in comparing billiards to your school games: billiards (public) generally involve smoking, and a certain amount of drinking, and losing money (or winning, which is worse); and engender a sort of lounging habit. I am afraid you have rather a fast lot at Rugby, and what you tell me about card-playing makes me rather anxious about Jack. It is altogether abominably bad form, and I wish you would get up an opposition to it. It ought to be put down for the credit of the school. I must say that there was no such card-playing in my time. Having said my say, I must leave you to do what you can, in concert with any other bigfellows in the house, who may be brought to see the matter in my light.”
“I am not going to preach to you about billiards. If there had been a table at Rugby in my time (there was none), I might very possibly have played myself; although, like you, I should certainly not have made a habit of it, preferring, as I did and do, more active amusements. Don’t play again at Rugby; it would be childish, as well as wrong, to risk leaving the school under a cloud, for such a paltry gratification. I don’t agree with you in comparing billiards to your school games: billiards (public) generally involve smoking, and a certain amount of drinking, and losing money (or winning, which is worse); and engender a sort of lounging habit. I am afraid you have rather a fast lot at Rugby, and what you tell me about card-playing makes me rather anxious about Jack. It is altogether abominably bad form, and I wish you would get up an opposition to it. It ought to be put down for the credit of the school. I must say that there was no such card-playing in my time. Having said my say, I must leave you to do what you can, in concert with any other bigfellows in the house, who may be brought to see the matter in my light.”
The “Jack” referred to in the last letter was his third boy, who was now in his first term at a preparatory school for Rugby. This chapter may fitly close with his letters to this, the youngest of his boys whom he lived to see launched at school. He was a favourite subject of study to his father, who writes of him at Pau, years before: “Jack will be, I think, the strongest of the lot. He always clears his plate, fat and all, and always clears his lesson, however disagreeable;” and again, to his sister, who was the boy’s godmother:—
“Your favourite Jack is always running after me, and is a very good boy, and surprisingly good company too. He has not quite forgotten how to ‘beak’ himself when he feels insulted. About a week ago the children had some shrimps for tea, and Jack was offended because he was presented with a ‘baby’ shrimp instead of a big one; so he pushed his chair from the table, and prostrated himself on his knees, with his nose in the carpet. After remaining for five minutes in that position, he felt better. It is a more amusing way of getting rid of steam than crying. Children have the funniest fancies in the world. There is a Scotch terrier next door to us, with a grave and venerable face, and a long grey beard. Jack said one day, ‘that doggy like Moses coming down de mountain;’ and so he really is like Moses, in one of those little woodcuts in which children delight, but I should never have thought of such a ridiculous comparison.”
“Your favourite Jack is always running after me, and is a very good boy, and surprisingly good company too. He has not quite forgotten how to ‘beak’ himself when he feels insulted. About a week ago the children had some shrimps for tea, and Jack was offended because he was presented with a ‘baby’ shrimp instead of a big one; so he pushed his chair from the table, and prostrated himself on his knees, with his nose in the carpet. After remaining for five minutes in that position, he felt better. It is a more amusing way of getting rid of steam than crying. Children have the funniest fancies in the world. There is a Scotch terrier next door to us, with a grave and venerable face, and a long grey beard. Jack said one day, ‘that doggy like Moses coming down de mountain;’ and so he really is like Moses, in one of those little woodcuts in which children delight, but I should never have thought of such a ridiculous comparison.”
“Westward Ho,October 1871.“Dearest Old Boy,“Here we are all right, and I wish we had your jolly face at the other end of the table, for we miss you very much. I have begun golf, but there are not many golfers here yet; however, there is one very good player named Oliphant, so I have not much chance of the medal. Your friends the Molesworths are both gone to Radley School, near Oxford. There are only 100 boys there, but it is a nice place, and being near the Thames, they get plenty of rowing; in fact, that is their chief amusement. Ned plays golf with me, but has not got into his play yet. You are a good old boy for writing so often, and I hope you will continue it. Nothing gives us so much pleasure as your letters and Herbert’s, and don’t think that anything that happens to you is too trifling to tell us of. Now about your letter. I always thought that you would find the lessons rather a grind at first: you see it is your first school, and you have had no experience in working with a lot of other boys, perhaps making a row, and idling around you. Never mind. It will get easier every day, and besides, I believe that you have something of the bull-dog about you, and won’t be discouraged by a little hardship and difficulty at first. I hope you will be one of your fifteen, for then I shall come up to see you play, but anyhow I am as certain as I can be of anything that you will be first-rate at football some day, and a first-rate scholar too, I hope. The two things often go together. All well, and send best love. Mamma and Argy hope your shoulder is not much hurt, and I have no doubt it is all right again. God bless you.“Yours most affectionately,“G. E. H.“P.S.—I shall never think anything that you write awful ‘bosh.’”
“Westward Ho,October 1871.
“Dearest Old Boy,
“Here we are all right, and I wish we had your jolly face at the other end of the table, for we miss you very much. I have begun golf, but there are not many golfers here yet; however, there is one very good player named Oliphant, so I have not much chance of the medal. Your friends the Molesworths are both gone to Radley School, near Oxford. There are only 100 boys there, but it is a nice place, and being near the Thames, they get plenty of rowing; in fact, that is their chief amusement. Ned plays golf with me, but has not got into his play yet. You are a good old boy for writing so often, and I hope you will continue it. Nothing gives us so much pleasure as your letters and Herbert’s, and don’t think that anything that happens to you is too trifling to tell us of. Now about your letter. I always thought that you would find the lessons rather a grind at first: you see it is your first school, and you have had no experience in working with a lot of other boys, perhaps making a row, and idling around you. Never mind. It will get easier every day, and besides, I believe that you have something of the bull-dog about you, and won’t be discouraged by a little hardship and difficulty at first. I hope you will be one of your fifteen, for then I shall come up to see you play, but anyhow I am as certain as I can be of anything that you will be first-rate at football some day, and a first-rate scholar too, I hope. The two things often go together. All well, and send best love. Mamma and Argy hope your shoulder is not much hurt, and I have no doubt it is all right again. God bless you.
“Yours most affectionately,
“G. E. H.
“P.S.—I shall never think anything that you write awful ‘bosh.’”
“Offley, Westward Ho,1871.“Dearest Jack,“Thank you for your letters, which interest us immensely. Boys make the most absurd customs, as you will find out: it is better to give way to their customs in a good-tempered way; new boys are not admitted at once to the full privileges. It does not much matter, as I hope you won’t be long at ——. Boys think it very fine and manly not to prepare their lessons, whereas in fact nothing can be more childish. Take your own way, and never mind them. It is half pretence with them, and they will respect you more if they see you have your own way. You need not stand being ‘sat upon,’ and yet you can be good-tempered and obliging, but, above all, don’t forget what I said to you when we parted. Don’t forget the lessons you have learnt at home (I don’t mean Latin and Greek). God bless you. Write as often as you have time.“Yours most affectionately,“G. E. H.”
“Offley, Westward Ho,1871.
“Dearest Jack,
“Thank you for your letters, which interest us immensely. Boys make the most absurd customs, as you will find out: it is better to give way to their customs in a good-tempered way; new boys are not admitted at once to the full privileges. It does not much matter, as I hope you won’t be long at ——. Boys think it very fine and manly not to prepare their lessons, whereas in fact nothing can be more childish. Take your own way, and never mind them. It is half pretence with them, and they will respect you more if they see you have your own way. You need not stand being ‘sat upon,’ and yet you can be good-tempered and obliging, but, above all, don’t forget what I said to you when we parted. Don’t forget the lessons you have learnt at home (I don’t mean Latin and Greek). God bless you. Write as often as you have time.
“Yours most affectionately,
“G. E. H.”
“October 1871.“Dearest Old Boy,“Thank you for your letters. They are well written and spelt, and creditable to you in every way. Although it is not pleasant to us to hear that you are miserable (or rather uncomfortable, for ‘miserable’ is a strong word), yet we always like to hear exactly what you feel. I don’t think youcanbe exactly miserable, for I believe that you are doing your best. God will not suffer us to be miserable (at least not for any time) whilst we do our duty. Don’t be discouraged about your work; you see it is your first plunge into school. All your schoolfellows have had more experience than you: practice will give you the quickness and accuracy that you want.“Your feelings towards us are quite natural: when you are at home, perfectly happy, although you do not love us less, you do not feel it so much; when you are thrown among a lot of people who do not much care about you, you find out the value of our love for you, and think more of us. However, you have Herbert, and I daresay you think that you love him better now than ever you did at home. As we are all sinful and imperfect creatures, I have no doubt that you have sometimes done and said things which we should be sorry to hear of. You must ask God to help you to do better in future; but I must say that I have always found you good and obedient, and you have never given us any anxiety. There is one lesson which you ought to learn from your present feelings of discomfort and worry; when you are a big boy at Rugby, and see any poor little fellow worried and uncomfortable, you must say a kind word to him (remembering what you once felt yourself); you have no idea how much good a kind word from a big fellow (what you call a swell) will do to a poor little beggar. You remember how kind Gardner was, and how much he was liked at Rugby for it. All are well, and send best love. I fully intend to come to see you when I get back to Offley—perhaps to the old Rug. match. God bless you.“Yours most affectionately,“G. E. Hughes.”
“October 1871.
“Dearest Old Boy,
“Thank you for your letters. They are well written and spelt, and creditable to you in every way. Although it is not pleasant to us to hear that you are miserable (or rather uncomfortable, for ‘miserable’ is a strong word), yet we always like to hear exactly what you feel. I don’t think youcanbe exactly miserable, for I believe that you are doing your best. God will not suffer us to be miserable (at least not for any time) whilst we do our duty. Don’t be discouraged about your work; you see it is your first plunge into school. All your schoolfellows have had more experience than you: practice will give you the quickness and accuracy that you want.
“Your feelings towards us are quite natural: when you are at home, perfectly happy, although you do not love us less, you do not feel it so much; when you are thrown among a lot of people who do not much care about you, you find out the value of our love for you, and think more of us. However, you have Herbert, and I daresay you think that you love him better now than ever you did at home. As we are all sinful and imperfect creatures, I have no doubt that you have sometimes done and said things which we should be sorry to hear of. You must ask God to help you to do better in future; but I must say that I have always found you good and obedient, and you have never given us any anxiety. There is one lesson which you ought to learn from your present feelings of discomfort and worry; when you are a big boy at Rugby, and see any poor little fellow worried and uncomfortable, you must say a kind word to him (remembering what you once felt yourself); you have no idea how much good a kind word from a big fellow (what you call a swell) will do to a poor little beggar. You remember how kind Gardner was, and how much he was liked at Rugby for it. All are well, and send best love. I fully intend to come to see you when I get back to Offley—perhaps to the old Rug. match. God bless you.
“Yours most affectionately,
“G. E. Hughes.”
“November, 1871.“Dearest Old Boy,“I know why you feel rather down in the mouth just now. You have (to use a phrase in athletics) lost your first wind, and haven’t yet got yoursecondwind. The novelty of excitement of school life has gone off, and you are too new to it yet to enjoy what there is enjoyable in it. Courage! I know your feelings well, having experiencedthem myself. So has Herbert: so, in short, has everyone who has ever been at school. You will soon get over it all, and like your school life, although of course it is not so pleasant as home. Most schoolboys are selfish and bad-mannered, and there are always plenty of snobs and bullies amongst them; but there is always a minority of nice fellows. I am inclined to believe that as you go so often to Arnold’s, you have not made much acquaintance with your schoolfellows. Perhaps it would be better to cultivate their acquaintance more. Don’t be afraid about not getting into Rugby. You ought to have heard Herbert’s doleful forebodings about never being able to get out of lower school: he was much more doleful than you, but if you were to remind him of it, he would probably not remember it at all; neither will you a year hence. If you are hungry, can’t you buy grub in the town? I mean something like sausage-rolls, or hard eggs. I will give you the money for it; or can you suggest any way in which we can supply you? What do you do on Sundays? and to what church do you go? I wish we could have you with us occasionally, just as much as you do. All are well, and join in best love. God bless you.“Yours most affectionately,“G. E. Hughes.”
“November, 1871.
“Dearest Old Boy,
“I know why you feel rather down in the mouth just now. You have (to use a phrase in athletics) lost your first wind, and haven’t yet got yoursecondwind. The novelty of excitement of school life has gone off, and you are too new to it yet to enjoy what there is enjoyable in it. Courage! I know your feelings well, having experiencedthem myself. So has Herbert: so, in short, has everyone who has ever been at school. You will soon get over it all, and like your school life, although of course it is not so pleasant as home. Most schoolboys are selfish and bad-mannered, and there are always plenty of snobs and bullies amongst them; but there is always a minority of nice fellows. I am inclined to believe that as you go so often to Arnold’s, you have not made much acquaintance with your schoolfellows. Perhaps it would be better to cultivate their acquaintance more. Don’t be afraid about not getting into Rugby. You ought to have heard Herbert’s doleful forebodings about never being able to get out of lower school: he was much more doleful than you, but if you were to remind him of it, he would probably not remember it at all; neither will you a year hence. If you are hungry, can’t you buy grub in the town? I mean something like sausage-rolls, or hard eggs. I will give you the money for it; or can you suggest any way in which we can supply you? What do you do on Sundays? and to what church do you go? I wish we could have you with us occasionally, just as much as you do. All are well, and join in best love. God bless you.
“Yours most affectionately,
“G. E. Hughes.”
“Offley.“Dearest Old Boy,“I believe your mamma has written to you, but I must give you a few lines to say how much we were pleased with your report which came this morning. There is no happiness in this world so great to us as the assurance that you and your brothers are doing well. I am very sorry that you were down in the mouth at my departure. I should like to have you always with me, but you (being a boy of good sense) must know verywell that it cannot be: you must (like all others) fly from the nest some time or other, and school is the preparation for a longer flight. I have no doubt that now you are all right again. You won’t be down-hearted long, if you only work well and do your duty. At your age the spirits are very elastic, and soon recover any depression.“We shall be anxious to hear about your cough and Sharp’s opinion. God bless you,“Yours most affectionately,“G. E. H.”
“Offley.
“Dearest Old Boy,
“I believe your mamma has written to you, but I must give you a few lines to say how much we were pleased with your report which came this morning. There is no happiness in this world so great to us as the assurance that you and your brothers are doing well. I am very sorry that you were down in the mouth at my departure. I should like to have you always with me, but you (being a boy of good sense) must know verywell that it cannot be: you must (like all others) fly from the nest some time or other, and school is the preparation for a longer flight. I have no doubt that now you are all right again. You won’t be down-hearted long, if you only work well and do your duty. At your age the spirits are very elastic, and soon recover any depression.
“We shall be anxious to hear about your cough and Sharp’s opinion. God bless you,
“Yours most affectionately,
“G. E. H.”
“Offley,Sunday, Nov. 26th, 1871.“Dearest Old Boy,“I have nothing particular to tell you, but must write a line in return for your jolly letters, which are very pleasant to us. I am very sorry that your cough is not better. I am afraid that you will not get rid of it until we get you at home, and nurse you properly. You will soon be with us now; in the meantime take care of yourself, and make the most of your time (I don’t think I need tell you to work, as you seem so well inclined already). I will write about your coming home, and also about your going up for the entrance Exam. after Christmas. I wish very much that you should go up. I really don’t see why you should go to Rugby three days before the Exam.; but if they insist upon it, I suppose it must be so. I hope you won your match yesterday. It is very unfortunate that you could not play as you would have done but for this unlucky cough. Never mind, you have plenty of time before you for football. All are well, and join in best love to you. God bless you.“Yours most affectionately,“G. E. Hughes.“The hounds come to Wellbury to-morrow. I hope your game was good. Let us know.”
“Offley,Sunday, Nov. 26th, 1871.
“Dearest Old Boy,
“I have nothing particular to tell you, but must write a line in return for your jolly letters, which are very pleasant to us. I am very sorry that your cough is not better. I am afraid that you will not get rid of it until we get you at home, and nurse you properly. You will soon be with us now; in the meantime take care of yourself, and make the most of your time (I don’t think I need tell you to work, as you seem so well inclined already). I will write about your coming home, and also about your going up for the entrance Exam. after Christmas. I wish very much that you should go up. I really don’t see why you should go to Rugby three days before the Exam.; but if they insist upon it, I suppose it must be so. I hope you won your match yesterday. It is very unfortunate that you could not play as you would have done but for this unlucky cough. Never mind, you have plenty of time before you for football. All are well, and join in best love to you. God bless you.
“Yours most affectionately,
“G. E. Hughes.
“The hounds come to Wellbury to-morrow. I hope your game was good. Let us know.”
At the beginning of the next term Jack went to Rugby, and almost the first letter he received from his father was the following Valentine, which species of missive appears to have become popular amongst boys:—
“February 23, 1872.“This is the month when little Cu--pid robs us of our senses, oh!’Tis he inspires me to renewMy doleful strains of love to you,Oh, charming, fascinating cru--el Walter Jacky Mansfield Hugh--es, Scholæ Rugbeiensis, oh!“I learn to dance and sew, while youAre learning Latin tenses, oh!How I should like to dance withyou,Instead of with my frightful grew--some governess, oh! charming cru--el Walter Jacky Mansfield Hugh--es, Scholæ Rugbeiensis, oh!“I’m sure the least that you can doTo calm my nerves and senses, oh!Is (though ’tis slightly overdue)To take this little billet-doux,And be the Valentine so trueOf her who signs herself your Su--san, charming, fascinating cru--el Walter Jacky Mansfield Hugh--es, Scholæ Rugbeiensis, oh!“Your Susan.”
“February 23, 1872.“This is the month when little Cu--pid robs us of our senses, oh!’Tis he inspires me to renewMy doleful strains of love to you,Oh, charming, fascinating cru--el Walter Jacky Mansfield Hugh--es, Scholæ Rugbeiensis, oh!“I learn to dance and sew, while youAre learning Latin tenses, oh!How I should like to dance withyou,Instead of with my frightful grew--some governess, oh! charming cru--el Walter Jacky Mansfield Hugh--es, Scholæ Rugbeiensis, oh!“I’m sure the least that you can doTo calm my nerves and senses, oh!Is (though ’tis slightly overdue)To take this little billet-doux,And be the Valentine so trueOf her who signs herself your Su--san, charming, fascinating cru--el Walter Jacky Mansfield Hugh--es, Scholæ Rugbeiensis, oh!“Your Susan.”
“February 23, 1872.
“February 23, 1872.
“This is the month when little Cu--pid robs us of our senses, oh!’Tis he inspires me to renewMy doleful strains of love to you,Oh, charming, fascinating cru--el Walter Jacky Mansfield Hugh--es, Scholæ Rugbeiensis, oh!
“This is the month when little Cu-
-pid robs us of our senses, oh!
’Tis he inspires me to renew
My doleful strains of love to you,
Oh, charming, fascinating cru-
-el Walter Jacky Mansfield Hugh-
-es, Scholæ Rugbeiensis, oh!
“I learn to dance and sew, while youAre learning Latin tenses, oh!How I should like to dance withyou,Instead of with my frightful grew--some governess, oh! charming cru--el Walter Jacky Mansfield Hugh--es, Scholæ Rugbeiensis, oh!
“I learn to dance and sew, while you
Are learning Latin tenses, oh!
How I should like to dance withyou,
Instead of with my frightful grew-
-some governess, oh! charming cru-
-el Walter Jacky Mansfield Hugh-
-es, Scholæ Rugbeiensis, oh!
“I’m sure the least that you can doTo calm my nerves and senses, oh!Is (though ’tis slightly overdue)To take this little billet-doux,And be the Valentine so trueOf her who signs herself your Su--san, charming, fascinating cru--el Walter Jacky Mansfield Hugh--es, Scholæ Rugbeiensis, oh!
“I’m sure the least that you can do
To calm my nerves and senses, oh!
Is (though ’tis slightly overdue)
To take this little billet-doux,
And be the Valentine so true
Of her who signs herself your Su-
-san, charming, fascinating cru-
-el Walter Jacky Mansfield Hugh-
-es, Scholæ Rugbeiensis, oh!
“Your Susan.”
“Your Susan.”
In explanation of an allusion in the next letter, I insert an extract of the same date, from one to his sister:—
“Jack is in high force, but has been having extra lessons (with all his schoolfellows), in consequence of (what he calls) a ‘towel fight,’ and subsequent ‘war dance,’ in which the school indulged in an irrepressible burst of youthful spirits. What geese boys are!”
“Jack is in high force, but has been having extra lessons (with all his schoolfellows), in consequence of (what he calls) a ‘towel fight,’ and subsequent ‘war dance,’ in which the school indulged in an irrepressible burst of youthful spirits. What geese boys are!”
“Offley,March 1872.“Dearest Jack,“I hope you got the hamper all right, and that the ‘grub’ was good and of the right sort. Your ‘war dance’ amused us excessively, and of course there is no harm in a war dance; but, if it is forbidden, what an old goose you are to risk having impositions and extra lessons for it! But schoolboys are always the same, and I can’t expect you to be wiser than the rest.“If you can’t make out why your copies are wrong, why don’t you ask one of your schoolfellows? I suppose some of them are good fellows, and would tell you your mistake; or say openly to the master that you can’t find out, and I should think he would enlighten you. At least, heought. We shall have you home in about three weeks, and right glad we shall be. Go at it hard for the remainder of the term, for remember the entrance Exam. You must work a little in the holidays to keep up what you know. The boys are better, and have been playing football vigorously. Best love to Herbert; ask him whether he wants any cricket practice. I mean Hughes to bowl. God bless you.“Yours most affectionately,“G. E. H.”
“Offley,March 1872.
“Dearest Jack,
“I hope you got the hamper all right, and that the ‘grub’ was good and of the right sort. Your ‘war dance’ amused us excessively, and of course there is no harm in a war dance; but, if it is forbidden, what an old goose you are to risk having impositions and extra lessons for it! But schoolboys are always the same, and I can’t expect you to be wiser than the rest.
“If you can’t make out why your copies are wrong, why don’t you ask one of your schoolfellows? I suppose some of them are good fellows, and would tell you your mistake; or say openly to the master that you can’t find out, and I should think he would enlighten you. At least, heought. We shall have you home in about three weeks, and right glad we shall be. Go at it hard for the remainder of the term, for remember the entrance Exam. You must work a little in the holidays to keep up what you know. The boys are better, and have been playing football vigorously. Best love to Herbert; ask him whether he wants any cricket practice. I mean Hughes to bowl. God bless you.
“Yours most affectionately,
“G. E. H.”
Westward Ho, from which several of the preceding letters were written, had become his favourite watering-place. Hehad gone there at first by chance, and, finding links and a golf club, had taken to the game with his usual success. At Pau he had played a little, but certainly never handled a club till he was past forty. Nevertheless, though it is a game in which, I am told, early training and constant practice is almost an essential condition of success, he entered for, and succeeded in winning the champion’s medal in the annual gathering of 1870. Soon after his return from the meeting he wrote to me.
“We spent three very pleasant weeks at Westward Ho. I wish that I could infect you with ‘golfomania.’ Golf isthemiddle-aged man’s game. I mean by the middle-aged man, the man who couldonce, but cannotnow, get down upon a leg shooter. We had a dozen hard-worked men from the city, besides doctors, lawyers, soldiers on leave, etc., all perfectly mad whilst it lasted. I was quite as mad as the rest, and having now ‘relapsed’ into sanity, I am able to look back upon it with the most intense amusement. The humour of the whole thing was positively sublime. You have heard squires at their wine after a good run—bless you, they can’t hold a candle to golfers. Most of the players were Scotch, and the earnestness with which the Scotch ‘play’ is a caution. I think of trying my hand at a rhapsody about golf.”
“We spent three very pleasant weeks at Westward Ho. I wish that I could infect you with ‘golfomania.’ Golf isthemiddle-aged man’s game. I mean by the middle-aged man, the man who couldonce, but cannotnow, get down upon a leg shooter. We had a dozen hard-worked men from the city, besides doctors, lawyers, soldiers on leave, etc., all perfectly mad whilst it lasted. I was quite as mad as the rest, and having now ‘relapsed’ into sanity, I am able to look back upon it with the most intense amusement. The humour of the whole thing was positively sublime. You have heard squires at their wine after a good run—bless you, they can’t hold a candle to golfers. Most of the players were Scotch, and the earnestness with which the Scotch ‘play’ is a caution. I think of trying my hand at a rhapsody about golf.”
The rhapsody was, I believe, never written, but he continued to like and practise the game till his death, which indeed is, in my mind, rather painfully connected with it. My last visit to Offley was in the short Easter vacation of this year, and I thought I had never seen him better, orin more full vigour of body and mind. On the 30th of March he mounted me, and I rode with him and two of his boys to a meet near Offley. We had a run early in the day, and got home to a late lunch, after which he went out into his plantations and worked till dark. Indeed, when I left the same evening by the mail train for the north, I beguiled my journey by thinking that the whole kingdom might be searched in vain to find a finer specimen of a man. On that day four weeks I received a telegram from Hoylake to say that he was lying there very dangerously ill. He had gone on there, after leaving his boys at Rugby, to take part in the golf tournament. He went down with a bad cold, but paid no attention to it, and went round the links with some friends on the first evening. The next day he became much worse, and was obliged to take to his bed, from which he never got up. The cold had settled on his lungs, and violent inflammation was set up. His wife and children were summoned at once, and his mother and sister and myself two days later. When I arrived, the lower part of the lungs had suppurated, and the medical man gave very slight hopes of his recovery. He could only speak with exceeding difficulty, but retained his strength, and the grip of his hand was as strong as ever. He met death with the same courage as he had shown throughout life, giving me a few clear instructions for a codicil to his will, while his youngest boy lay with his head on his shoulder, crying bitterly, and almost with hislast breath regretting the trouble he was giving his nurse. On the afternoon of May 1st he received the Sacrament with all of us, and at four on the morning of the 2nd passed away, leaving behind him, I am proud to think, no braver or better man. But you shall have better testimony than mine on this point. Out of the many letters to the same purpose which I received, and two of which have found a place in the earlier part of this memoir, I select an extract from one written by Bishop MacDougal, who, thirty years ago, had rowed behind him in the University boat.
“I must just write a line to express my heartfelt sympathy with you in your sad, sad bereavement. Dear old George! What an irreparable loss to you and all his old friends! I have myself been heavy-hearted ever since I heard he had been called away from us, and shall never think of his cheery voice, his hearty greeting, his kindly, loving words, without a sharp pang of regret that I shall no more in this life meet with him I loved so well, and admired as the finest specimen of the high-minded, earnest, true-hearted English gentleman it has been my lot to meet with. He was too good for this hard, selfish generation, and he is in God’s mercy called away to that better world, where love and truth and peace dwell undisturbed in the presence of our blessed Lord. May we, my dear Tom, have grace given us so to fight the good fight of truth and faith, that when our work is done we may be called thither to join your dear brother and our other loved ones, who have gained the victory over self and the world, and have been called to their rest before us.”
“I must just write a line to express my heartfelt sympathy with you in your sad, sad bereavement. Dear old George! What an irreparable loss to you and all his old friends! I have myself been heavy-hearted ever since I heard he had been called away from us, and shall never think of his cheery voice, his hearty greeting, his kindly, loving words, without a sharp pang of regret that I shall no more in this life meet with him I loved so well, and admired as the finest specimen of the high-minded, earnest, true-hearted English gentleman it has been my lot to meet with. He was too good for this hard, selfish generation, and he is in God’s mercy called away to that better world, where love and truth and peace dwell undisturbed in the presence of our blessed Lord. May we, my dear Tom, have grace given us so to fight the good fight of truth and faith, that when our work is done we may be called thither to join your dear brother and our other loved ones, who have gained the victory over self and the world, and have been called to their rest before us.”
On looking through the preceding pages, I have been struck with one special shortcoming. I am painfully conscious how poor and shallow the picture here attempted will be, in any case, to those who knew my brother best. Nevertheless, those for whom it was undertaken will, I trust, be able to get from it some clearer idea of the outer life of their father and uncle, but of that which underlies the outer life they will learn almost nothing. And yet how utterly inadequate must be any knowledge of a human being which does not get beneath this surface! How difficult to do so to any good purpose! For that “inner,” or “eternal,” or “religious” life (call it which you will, they all mean the same thing) is so entirely a matter between each human soul and God, is at best so feebly and imperfectly expressed by the outer life. But, difficult as it may be, the attempt must be made; for I find that I cannot finish my task with a good conscience without making it.
There is not one of you, however young, but must be living two lives—and the sooner you come to recognize the fact clearly, the better for you—the one life in the outward material world, in contact with the things which you can see, and taste, and handle, which are always changing and passing away: the other in the invisible, in contact with the unseen; with that which does not change or pass away—which is the same yesterday, to-day, and for ever. The former life you must share with others, with your family, your schoolfellows and friends, with everyone you meet in business or pleasure. The latter you must live alone, in the solitude of your own inmost being, if you can find no Spirit there communing with yours—in the presence of, and in communion with, the Father of your spirit, if you are willing to recognize that presence. The one life will no doubt always be the visible expression of the other; just as the body is the garment in which the real man is clothed for his sojourn in time. But the expression is often little more than a shadow, unsatisfying, misleading. One of our greatest English poets has written—
“The one remains, the many change and pass,Heaven’s light for ever shines, earth’s shadows fly.Time, like a dome of many coloured glass,Stains the bright radiance of eternity,Until death tramples it to fragments.”
“The one remains, the many change and pass,Heaven’s light for ever shines, earth’s shadows fly.Time, like a dome of many coloured glass,Stains the bright radiance of eternity,Until death tramples it to fragments.”
“The one remains, the many change and pass,Heaven’s light for ever shines, earth’s shadows fly.Time, like a dome of many coloured glass,Stains the bright radiance of eternity,Until death tramples it to fragments.”
“The one remains, the many change and pass,
Heaven’s light for ever shines, earth’s shadows fly.
Time, like a dome of many coloured glass,
Stains the bright radiance of eternity,
Until death tramples it to fragments.”
And so you and I are living now under the dome of many-colouredglass, and shall live as long as we remain in these bodies, a temporal and an eternal life—“the next world,” which too many of our teachers speak of as a place which we shall first enter after death, being in fact “next” only in the truest sense of the word; namely, that it is “nearest” to us now. The dome of time can do nothing more (if we even allow it to do that) than partially to conceal from us the light which is always there, beneath, around, above us.
“The outer life of the devout man,” it has been well said, “should be thoroughly attractive to others. He would be simple, honest, straightforward, unpretending, gentle, kindly;—his conversation cheerful and sensible: he would be ready to share in all blameless mirth, indulgent to all save sin.” And tried by this test, the best we have at command, my brother was essentially a devout man.
The last thirty years, the years of his manhood, have been a period of great restlessness and activity, chiefly of a superficial kind, in matters pertaining specially to religion. The Established Church, of which he was a member, from conviction as well as by inheritance, has been passing through a crisis which has often threatened her existence; faction after faction, as they saw their chance, rising up and striving in the hope of casting out those whose opinions or practices they disliked. Against all such attempts my brother always protested whenever he had an opportunity, and discouraged all those with whom he had any influence from taking any part in them.
“I have no patience,” for instance, he writes at one of these crises, “with —— for mixing himself up with Church politics. I believe you know what I think about them, namely, that both parties are right in some things and wrong in others, and that the truth lies between the two. I hope I shall always be able to express my dissent from both without calling names or imputing motives, and when I hear others doing so, I am always inclined, like yourself, to defend the absent. I was very sorry to hear that —— has given up his parish. I cannot understand his excessive attachment to what is, after all, only the outside of religion; but he is so good a man, so hard-working, so self-denying, that one feels what a great loss he must be.”
Outside the Church the same religious unrest has had several noteworthy results, perhaps the most remarkable of these being a negative one: I mean, the aggressive attitude and movement of what is popularly known as scientific thought. Amongst its leaders have been, and are, some of the best, as well as the ablest, men of our time, who have had, as they deserved to have, a very striking influence. But the tone of scientific men towards religion has been uniformly impatient or contemptuous, not seldom petulant. “Why go on troubling yourselves and mankind about that of which you can know nothing?” they have said. “This ‘eternal’ or ‘inner’ life of which you prate is wholly beyond your ken. We can prove to you that much of your so-called theology rests on unsound premises. Be contentto work and learn with us in the material world, of which alone you can get to know anything certain.” That challenge has shaken the foundations of much which called itself faith in our day. I never could discover that my brother was ever seriously troubled by it. Dissertations on the Mosaic cosmogony, theories of the origin of species, speculations on the antiquity of man, and the like, interested, but never seemed to rouse in him any of the alarm or anger which they have excited in so many good Christians. Granting all that they tend to prove, they deal only with the outward garment, with the visible universe, and the life which must be lived in it, leaving the inner and real life of mankind quite untouched.
He was, however, neither so tolerant of, nor I think so fair to, the stirring of thought within the Church, which has resulted in criticisms supposed to be destructive of much that was held sacred in the last generation. His keen sense of loyalty was offended by anything which looked like an attack coming from within the ranks, and so he shared the feeling so widely, and I think wrongly, entertained by English Churchmen, that the right of free thought and free speech on the most sacred subjects should be incompatible with holding office in the Church.
As to his own convictions on such subjects, he was extremely reserved, owing to a tendency which he believed he had detected in himself to religious melancholy, which he treated simply as a disease. But no one who knewhim at all could ever doubt that a genuine and deep religious faith was the basis of his character, and those who knew him best testify unanimously to its ever increasing power. “I don’t know if you were ever told,” his sister writes, “of the singular desire dying people had that George should be with them. You know how reserved he was, and he would always think that people would prefer some one who talked more to them, but I think it was his great gentleness and strength which made the dying feel him such a comfort. He never volunteered; but when sent for, as was often the case, always went to them, and read and prayed constantly with them as long as they lived. There was one poor young man who died of consumption, and George was constantly with him to the last. The father was a very disreputable character, and George seldom saw him. But some time after the young man’s death, the father met George in the fields, and threw himself on his knees to bless him for his love for his dead son. George came home much shocked that the man should have knelt to him. One old man, whom he used to go to for weeks and weeks during his long last illness, really adored him, and, when George was away for a short time, prayed that he might live till he saw him again. And George was back before he died.”
Of this old man, he writes himself to his mother:—
“My old friend died on Saturday morning. I mean Tom Pearse, for fifty years an honest labourer in thisparish. I am very sorry that (as he died in the short hours) I could not be with him at the last, but very glad that he died before I left Offley. So was he. He prayed every day to die, not that he suffered, but he had such a strong faith that death would be much better. He said to me almost the last time I saw him, ‘I thought, sir, I should have been home before this.’ And when he was taken worse at last, he asked the nurse, ‘Am I going home?’ ‘Yes.’ ‘I’m so glad,’ he answered, and died soon after. What an euthanasia! All good people call death going home. ‘Let me die the death of the righteous, and my last end be like his.’”
“My old friend died on Saturday morning. I mean Tom Pearse, for fifty years an honest labourer in thisparish. I am very sorry that (as he died in the short hours) I could not be with him at the last, but very glad that he died before I left Offley. So was he. He prayed every day to die, not that he suffered, but he had such a strong faith that death would be much better. He said to me almost the last time I saw him, ‘I thought, sir, I should have been home before this.’ And when he was taken worse at last, he asked the nurse, ‘Am I going home?’ ‘Yes.’ ‘I’m so glad,’ he answered, and died soon after. What an euthanasia! All good people call death going home. ‘Let me die the death of the righteous, and my last end be like his.’”
Intercourse of the most sacred and intimate kind with the old, and dying, and suffering of another station in life is, however, far easier to a man of reserved temper than it is with the young and healthy. The most difficult class to reach in country villages, as in our great towns, is that which is entering life, not that which is thinking of quitting it. You may get young men together for cricket or football, or even for readings, or in a club, and attain in the process a certain familiarity with them, useful enough in its way, but not approaching the kind of intimacy which should exist between people passing their lives in the same small community. The effort to do anything more with a class just emancipated from control, full of strength and health, and as a rule suspicious of advances from those in a rank above their own, must always be an exceedingly difficult one to make for such a man as my brother, and is rarely successful. He made it, and succeeded. During allthe winter months, on every Sunday evening the young men and the elder boys of the village were invited to his house, and quite a number of them used to come regularly. They were received by him and his wife. First he would read a passage of Scripture, and explain and comment on it, and afterwards he or his wife read to them some amusing book. He used to speak with the greatest delight of the pleasure which these meetings seemed to give, and of their excellent effect on his own relations with the young men and boys who frequented them. When the time for separating came, they used all to say the Apostles’ Creed, the Lord’s Prayer, and the following short prayer, which he wrote[14]for the purpose:—
“O Lord God, Thou knowest all things. Thou seest us by night as well as by day. We pray Thee, for Christ’s sake, forgive us whatever we have done wrong this day. May we be sorry for our sins, and believe in Jesus Christ, who died for sinners. May the Holy Spirit make us holy. Take care of us this night, whilst we are asleep. Bless our fathers and mothers, brothers and sisters, and all our relations and friends, and do them good, for Christ’s sake. Help us to be good as long as we live, and when we die, may we go to heaven and be happy for ever, because Christ died for us. Amen.”
“O Lord God, Thou knowest all things. Thou seest us by night as well as by day. We pray Thee, for Christ’s sake, forgive us whatever we have done wrong this day. May we be sorry for our sins, and believe in Jesus Christ, who died for sinners. May the Holy Spirit make us holy. Take care of us this night, whilst we are asleep. Bless our fathers and mothers, brothers and sisters, and all our relations and friends, and do them good, for Christ’s sake. Help us to be good as long as we live, and when we die, may we go to heaven and be happy for ever, because Christ died for us. Amen.”
[14]Since this was printed I have heard that the prayer was not written by him, but only adapted for the use of the boys from a collection of some Church Society.
[14]Since this was printed I have heard that the prayer was not written by him, but only adapted for the use of the boys from a collection of some Church Society.
If I were to write a volume, I could throw no clearer light on the inner life of my brother than shines out ofthis short, simple prayer, written for village boys, and repeated with them week by week. Nor is there any other picture of him that I would rather leave on your minds than this. When I think of the help and strength which he has been to me and many more, the noble lines on All Saints’ Day, of the poet I have already quoted in this memoir, seem to be haunting me, and with them I will end.
“Such lived not in the past alone,But thread to-day the unheeding street,And stairs to sin and sorrow knownSing to the welcome of their feet.“The den they enter glows a shrine,The grimy sash an oriel burns,Their cup of water warms like wine,Their speech is filled from heavenly urns.“Around their brows to me appearsAn aureole traced in tenderest light,The rainbow gleam of smiles thro’ tears,In dying eyes by them made bright,“Of souls who shivered on the edgeOf that chill ford, repassed no more,And in their mercy felt the pledgeAnd sweetness of the farther shore.”
“Such lived not in the past alone,But thread to-day the unheeding street,And stairs to sin and sorrow knownSing to the welcome of their feet.“The den they enter glows a shrine,The grimy sash an oriel burns,Their cup of water warms like wine,Their speech is filled from heavenly urns.“Around their brows to me appearsAn aureole traced in tenderest light,The rainbow gleam of smiles thro’ tears,In dying eyes by them made bright,“Of souls who shivered on the edgeOf that chill ford, repassed no more,And in their mercy felt the pledgeAnd sweetness of the farther shore.”
“Such lived not in the past alone,But thread to-day the unheeding street,And stairs to sin and sorrow knownSing to the welcome of their feet.
“Such lived not in the past alone,
But thread to-day the unheeding street,
And stairs to sin and sorrow known
Sing to the welcome of their feet.
“The den they enter glows a shrine,The grimy sash an oriel burns,Their cup of water warms like wine,Their speech is filled from heavenly urns.
“The den they enter glows a shrine,
The grimy sash an oriel burns,
Their cup of water warms like wine,
Their speech is filled from heavenly urns.
“Around their brows to me appearsAn aureole traced in tenderest light,The rainbow gleam of smiles thro’ tears,In dying eyes by them made bright,
“Around their brows to me appears
An aureole traced in tenderest light,
The rainbow gleam of smiles thro’ tears,
In dying eyes by them made bright,
“Of souls who shivered on the edgeOf that chill ford, repassed no more,And in their mercy felt the pledgeAnd sweetness of the farther shore.”
“Of souls who shivered on the edge
Of that chill ford, repassed no more,
And in their mercy felt the pledge
And sweetness of the farther shore.”
FINIS.