CHAPTER V.

“Hazelwood was so different from other schools, that there would inevitably be great varieties of opinion as to its merits. The men educated there have not generally done it justice, and I confess that I formerly shared in their depreciation of it; yet, when I once spoke slightingly of it to a near relative who had known me from childhood, he objected that so competent a judge as my father was well pleased to get such an education for me. I fancy that the Hills taught us to be unjust to themselves—that they stimulated us to aspire to a higher degree of excellence than they enabled us to reach; that they excited a thirst they could not quench, and thus sent us away with a painful consciousness of deficiencies.”In another passage he writes: “Whatever fifty years ago might be the merits of Hill Top, it was a gain to a boy to be in daily intercourse with men of such ability.” He goes on to say:—“By juries and committees, by marks, and by appeals to a sense of honour, discipline was maintained. But this was done, I think, at too great a sacrifice. The thoughtlessness, the spring, the elation of childhood, were taken from us; we were premature men.... The school was, in truth, a moral hot-bed, which forced us into aprecocious imitation of maturity. I have heard an Oxford friend say that Arnold’s men had a little of the prig about them. I know too well that some of us had a great deal of the prig about us. I have often wished that I had the ‘giftie to see ourselves as others see us;’ but I have comforted myself with observing that in later life my schoolfellows (perhaps, therefore, I myself) outgrew this unamiable character. The Hazelwood constitution, discipline, instruction, were in a perpetual flux: the right to-day was wrong to-morrow; we learnt to criticise and doubt everything established; ‘whatever is, is wrong,’ might have been our motto. We had a conceit that we could amend everything, from education to driving a horse. This constituted our priggism.”Rowland Hill as a schoolmaster was, in his way, as stern as Arnold. He voluntarily, indeed, gave up power, but he constantly held that a master must be first feared and then loved. He was certainly always feared by his pupils, and always respected; but he was never loved. Tender though his inward nature was, yet for their love he cared but little. He aimed at their welfare. In the discharge of the duty which he owed them, he was willing to make any sacrifice of his time, his liberty, and his pleasures. He ever strove to treat them with the strictest justice. But he asked for no return of their affection. Should he receive it, he was gratified; but was it refused him, he could do without it. No small insight into his character is given by the following passage in “Public Education”:—“We perfectly agree with Rousseau, that the severest evil which children suffer is the bondage which they endure. We also agree with him, that the restraints of necessity are more easily borne than those which are imposed by the will of others. ‘It is in the nature of man,’ says he, ‘to endure patiently the absolute necessity of his circumstances.’ ‘It is all gone,’ is an answer against which a child never objects; at least, if he believes it to be true.’[55]Experience must establish the truth of this position in every mind; we all know that achild leaves off crying for the moon years before he submits without a struggle to the commands of his parents. The cause of this difference arises, we think, partly from the uniform regularity with which the natural restraints operate, and partly because the child observes that all around him are subjected to the same laws. If the child had ever had the moon, or if it had ever seen the moon in the possession of another person, it would not be so patient under the privation. Sagacious parents are aware of this, and take every means of showing their children that their determinations are as unalterable as those of nature; and certainly much may be done by prudently avoiding hasty determinations with respect to children, and by inflexibly persisting in all determinations when made.”In governing his school, and in later years in governing all who were placed under his authority, this was the rule that he always aimed at carrying out. By nature, indeed, he was far too hasty in coming to a determination. Nay, he was hot-tempered, and even passionate. No sooner had he discovered his fault than he set about to find for it a cure. One of the methods that he took was certainly very strange. “He gave public notice to the boys that if any one saw him in a passion he might come up and tell him so; receiving a small reward for so doing. This reward was obtained more than once.” He was so rigidly just that no boy who had played the part of Gil Blas would have found in him an Archbishop of Granada. By his Code of Laws he still further put himself under restraint. Every breach of school law, every offence against a master, had its exact penalty fixed. But when once the penalty had been incurred, it was enforced to the full. His determinations, indeed, were as unalterable as those of nature. His strong will and his undaunted courage could not but have won his pupils’ respect. One of them has told me how he remembers a day at Hill Top, when a big fellow, who could easily have knocked his master down, sethim at defiance before all the boys. “Rowland Hill ran up to him, seized him by the collar, and said, ‘If you don’t do it this moment, I will knock you down.’ The fellow was cowed in a moment, and, though he was by far the stronger of the two, at once obeyed.” This happened, I should add, in the days before the Constitution had been promulgated, and while the rod still flourished. No doubt he would have been better liked had he not been so over-worked and so over-weary. “There was always in him,” another of his pupils tells me, “a nervous fidgetiness that things should be done rightly.” His impatience arose from an over-wrought brain. But few signs of it were seen by those who knew him only in later life in his hours of repose. Life’s evening brought him calm.Though the system that I have thus described was mainly Rowland’s, yet at no time was he without the help of at least one of his brothers in the management of the school. Matthew withdrew at an early period to go to the Bar. His place was taken by the fourth brother, Arthur. I find the following record in Rowland’s Journal:—“Arthur has made himself master of Latin by very intense application. This circumstance is a considerable relief to my mind. When I first determined to follow, at least for the first part of my life, the business of a schoolmaster, I had no doubt that Matthew would remain with us, and that eventually we should become partners in the management of the school. As Matthew was a good classical scholar, I thought that he would take that department of instruction, and that I had better pursue the mathematics, a study better suited to my taste than any other. When Matthew entered as a student at Lincoln’s Inn, all my plans and hopes were disarranged. I have been long undetermined how to proceed, and lately I made up my mind to pursue the study of languages, as I considered a classical knowledge as absolutely necessary to the master of a school; but now Arthur has taken that department,and as I have no doubt he will manage it well, I shall pursue my mathematical studies with increased ardour.”The young master soon gave proof of his vigour:—“June 17th, 1818.—This evening and the last some of our boys performed the whole of Plautus’s ‘Captives.’ They were astonishingly perfect.* * * * *“July 20th, 1820.—In Arthur I find a most able ally in the executive part of the business. His application is almost incessant, and I am sorry to say it has materially injured his eyesight. Under his care the boys have made wonderful progress in the classics. We have found that frequent exercise in Latin dialogue has been of the greatest use in the acquirement of that language: for this purpose an act of a Latin play is learned and performed every month. At the same time other boys are engaged in shorter Latin dialogues, in Greek recitation, and in the performance of scenes from the works of the French dramatists. The very frequent rehearsals which are necessary, the circumstance of their being engaged in a real conversation, frequently speaking of real and tangible objects, familiarizes them wonderfully with the language they are using, and is, I believe, the nearest approach that can be made to the mode in which we learn our native language. For this, as well as for many other valuable improvements, we are indebted to my brother Matthew.”A week or two earlier than the date of this entry their father had thus written about the two young men:—“Rowland and Arthur are most laborious and successful fellows. I hope that they are building a reputation that may make them comfortable in their fortunes. But all that is human is precarious. Time and chance must happen to them as to all. A good conscience is the only treasure insured against all risks, and this is a treasure which I trust my dear children will never feel the want of.”The school steadily rose in reputation and in numbers. Hill Top was before long found to be tooconfined for the swelling scene, and a new school-house was built.“December 21st, 1817.—During the holidays it is my intention to finish the plans, &c., and to make a model of a new house, which we intend to erect in the country, most probably at Edgbaston.“December 20th, 1818.—A few days ago, without any solicitation, or even a hint on my part, my father took me into partnership: that is to say, all our business since has been carried on under the firm of Thomas Wright Hill and Son. I do not know whether my father intends to give me a share of the profits of the business, and I shall say nothing about it myself till he can better afford it, which, when we have got over the difficulties occasioned by our building so large a house, will I hope be very soon. Our school has slowly increased for many years, and we have now upwards of seventy boys.”In the following passage he has recorded how he was his own architect and his own clerk of the works:—“As the duty of architect devolved entirely on me, I had fallen to drawing plans, designing elevations, &c., and after much labour—for I believe I drew at least twenty plans in all—my work being in a sufficiently forward state, a builder was applied to for an estimate; but the amount he named being too large for our means, I had gone to work a second time, and formed, after many attempts at economy, an entirely new set of plans, which considerably lowered the estimate; and on the more moderate expense we resolved to venture.“It was in the summer of 1818 that the building began. My father having found that, with but slight deviation from the line of road, the house might be made to stand in exact coincidence with the cardinal points, would, I believe, from that moment, have been almost more willing to abandon the scheme than to lose such an opportunity of gratifying his taste. For this purpose astronomical observations were necessary; and my father, my brother Frederic, and I, sat up the whole of one night (July 3rd) to determine the meridian. Of course the middle part of the night was unoccupied, but excitement kept us awake; and my brother Frederic, then a lad of fifteen, no more sleepy than the rest, passed the time in ascertaining by measurement and mental calculation the number of bricks already on the ground. Such calculations occupying the restlesshours of the night were too common with more than one member of our family, and most of all, I believe, with myself. One night, some time after this, when the building was completed, I passed a sleepless period in reckoning up mentally the total payment to be made for painting, colouring, and whitewashing the house from top to bottom. Having made the plans, I had all the dimensions in memory; but the number of rooms being large, their dimensions exceedingly various, and the charge per square yard differing also in respect of the description of paint used, number of coats, &c., there was of course a good deal of complication. The calculation was, however, completed. On the presentation of the bill I found that the amount somewhat exceeded my calculation, but I soon detected certain charges made contrary to agreement; and this error being admitted by the contractor, the excess above my estimate became so trifling that the bill was paid without further examination.“To return a little, I must mention that besides being architect, I found myself compelled to act as clerk of the works, as without sharp daily inspection—hourly would have been better if I could have spared the time—there were constant departures from the contract, some of which would have proved very injurious to the building. As I had the main responsibility of the school during most of the time, and no vehicle at command, the two miles and back having therefore always to be performed on foot, the work was very heavy, though probably the exercise involved was beneficial. In July, 1819, the house being finished, to which we gave the name of Hazelwood, the school was removed thither; and in our larger and more commodious premises we were enabled to make various improvements hitherto impracticable.”[56]The responsibility that he had incurred weighed heavily on him, as more than one passage in his Journal shows:—“I am very sanguine that the change of situation will be much to our advantage. If such is not the case, I shall be very miserable, as although the determination to build has been made with the consent and decided approbation of every member of the family, yet I have been the prime mover in the business, and have become, as it were, the responsible person. I must own that I am a little anxious about it.”A year later (June 17th, 1819), writing to his eldest brother, he says:—“This is an anxious time to us all. I hope the experiment will succeed. If it does not, I shall be very miserable, as I have been prime mover in inducing them to try it. But, however, at present everything promises well.”His cares were soon lessened. The venture was found to be a sound one, and the new building thoroughly answered its purpose.“We find that comfort we expected from the superior convenience of the house. Every one who visits it is delighted with its plan, and it is so seldom that a house is built purposely for a school that it has been the object of considerable interest. At present we have every reason to be satisfied with our determination to remove from Hill Top.”He had seen but twenty-four years, and though old when measured by work, he was young enough thoroughly to enjoy his complete success. Three years later “Public Education” was brought out, and Hazelwood School became famous. It was while the book was ready for publication that the young enthusiast had pleased himself with the belief that the improvements which he and his brothers were making in the science of education would render their name illustrious in after ages. How bright for a brief time this vision was, and how it quickly faded away, I shall show later on. Here I shall make a break in my narrative, while I recount some of the incidents of his boyhood and early manhood.CHAPTER V.From his early boyhood Rowland Hill delighted in long walks. He would go many a mile to see either fine scenery or an old building. Of what had pleased him as a boy, he never grew weary as a man. He had never, he said, to the best of his belief, come within thirty miles of Stonehenge without going to see it. When he was a lad of eleven he paid a visit to Shrewsbury. How deeply what he saw impressed him is shown by an account which he drew up in his old age:—“Those who have travelled along the same road will remember [he writes] the fine view which bursts upon the sight from the top of a hill a little beyond Shifnal, and may imagine the delight felt thereat by three lads accustomed to little but the plains of Warwickshire.”No less charmed was he with his first sight of the Severn:—“Those who have lived from infancy where a river flows can have no conception of its attraction to those who at a later age see it for the first time. The motion of the water, the breadth of the stream, the barges on its surface, with their sails sometimes unfurled to the wind, the lofty bridges, with their series of arches, were such never-ending charms that we could not understand how any one could regard them with indifference.”It was Assize time at Shrewsbury, and he was taken to see a criminal trial:—“Of all that passed before our eyes or occupied our thoughts during this ever-to-be-remembered visit, incomparably the most striking and impressive scene was a criminal trial. The spacious court, the crowded benches, the barristers in their robes, the servitors with their javelins, the awful presence of the judge when he entered amidst the sound of the trumpet and took his seat on the lofty bench, all prepared our minds for the solemn inquiry about to begin. The case was one of burglary, attended with violence. The cottage of an aged couple had been entered and robbed, the old man being severely beaten by one of the offenders, who all—three in number—had been subsequently apprehended. Of these, one—whose part in the proceeding had gone no further than keeping watch at the door (so at least he alleged)—had, while in prison on another charge, given the information which enabled justice to lay hands on the others, and had consequently been admitted as King’s evidence. I need not say that we felt towards him the dislike and contempt with which an approver is generally regarded. His fellows in crime, particularly the chief offender, took their places at the bar with a demeanour that astonished us, so completely did it differ from all that we had expected. Doubtless they were seeking to cover their real trepidation with an appearance of unconcern; but this we could not then understand. They taboured on the front of the dock with their fingers, looked about in a defiant manner, and nodded in various directions, as if in recognition of acquaintances. They were defended by counsel; and an attempt was made to take the offence out of the category of burglary, first by the plea that it was not committed by night (the hour being no later than nine on a summer’s evening), and, secondly, by the allegation that as the door was on the latch, the house could not be said to have been broken open—points made, of course, in desperation, and very summarily dealt with by the judge. The only further attempt was to discredit the evidence of the approver, who was severely cross-examined, though the following short passage is all that I now remember of the process: ‘How came you to think of informing?’ ‘Because my conscience told me I had donewrang.’ ‘And why didn’t your conscience tell you you had donewrangbefore you got into prison for stealing the pig?’ The evidence was too strong to be shaken, and both prisoners were convicted. Of course when such a host of minor offences were capital, so grave a crime as this was on the fatal list;and we heard the judge, after putting on the black cap, pronounce the terrible sentence of death. The defiant look put on at first was still maintained by both prisoners; but when the judge, after warning the more ruffianly of the two that he could not hold out to him any hope of mercy, addressed his companion, telling him that, as he had abstained from violence, his life would be spared, this latter at once broke down, falling upon his knees, while he poured out his thanks and promises of amendment. Shortly afterwards the sentence passed on the other was executed; and somewhat beyond the fatal hour, while going on an errand, I unfortunately and most unintentionally caught a distant sight of the hanging body.”For many years his excursions were chiefly made on foot. Though his health was at all times of his life delicate, yet his frame was active, and capable of great endurance. He was, when a boy, one of the quickest runners and best leapers in the school, and he became a strong swimmer. “I walked to Stourbridge once a week, to give a lesson,” he records in his Journal. “This I could do without the least fatigue, as it is only twelve miles from hence, and I have often walked upwards of thirty miles in one day.” His fondness for feats led him, he said, to hazard his health. Thus, once in a walk of five-and-twenty miles in a hilly country, he went the last mile on the run. In his Journal he recorded many of his trips. In the year 1813 he was taken, for the benefit of his health, to Margate. “We could see,” he wrote, “the coast of France. My mother was rather uneasy at being so near to the French.” He walked over to Dover, and began to sketch the castle and town from the Castle Hill. Some soldiers told him that a day or two before a man had been put into prison for drawing there:—“I could not, however, believe them, and went on with my drawing. However, in a little time a file of soldiers came out of the Castle with fixed bayonets, and told me that if I did not go awaydirectly they would take me into custody. I now thought it time to be gone, and so walked away to our lodgings, with no wish to stop in a town where the inhabitants were under a military government.”The following year peace was made with France:—“June 3rd, 1814.—About three o’clock this morning the glorious news of the signature of the preliminaries for peace arrived in Birmingham. I was up at four o’clock for the purpose of going to Hagley, to which place I had the pleasure of taking the news. I never saw so many pleasant faces in my life.”In the summer of 1815 he again went to Margate. How he found money to pay for the trip he has thus left on record:—“My eldest brother and I, who, on account of depressed health, had two years before been taken by my mother to Margate (much to my delight, as I then first saw London and the sea), were eager to repeat the trip, and not having the means at hand, set about to acquire them. Availing ourselves of such of the apparatus used at my father’s late lecture, and those delivered eight years before, as belonged to the family, we boldly determined to give four public lectures ourselves, the admission to be by purchased tickets. My brother was to do the speaking part, and I, as before, to manage the experiments. While, however, we made every preparation with great diligence, we unluckily had yet to learn that audiences are scarcely to be collected without full notice; and our notification to the public was so short and imperfect, that when the day was close at hand we found that either we must be satisfied with an audience of thirty persons, or fill the school-room where the lecture was to be delivered by gratuitous admission. Taking this latter course, we performed to an audience which gave us abundant applause, but did little to forward our ulterior object. Nothing daunted, we resolved to try elsewhere, in a more advised manner; and being encouraged thereto by our friend Mr. Beasley, we proceeded, after due preparation of all sorts, to the little town of Stourbridge; hiring a man with a cart to convey the apparatus, and ourselves performing the journey on foot. Here our success was considerable, the result being due, I have no doubt, in great measure to our warm-hearted friend, who was an enthusiastic admirer of us both, and by no means kept his flattering estimate to himself.“Our total profits being sufficient to warrant the journey, we took it accordingly; intending thereby to get up such a stock of health as would carry us briskly through the next half-year.”[57]He left Birmingham for London at half-past six o’clock in the evening of June 23rd.“At about three o’clock in the afternoon of the next day we entered London, amidst the thunder of carriages and the buzz of people.* * * * *“In the afternoon I went to see the Exhibition of Paintings at Somerset House. Of the landscapes, Turner’s pleased me most: there was one, a most beautiful painting, called ‘The Rebuilding of Carthage.’ Turner is almost the only man who attempts to paint the sun. It is done in this picture with great success. It quite dazzled my eyes to look at it. The reflection of the sun’s rays upon the water was remarkably fine. The Exhibition closed this evening for the season. I stopped as long as I could.”The same evening he went to Drury Lane and saw Kean. The after-piece was very bad. “I should have thought that a London audience would not have sat to hear such stuff.” On leaving the theatre he “walked about the streets to see the illuminations for the late victory at Waterloo.”“Margate, July 3rd, 1815.—We went to see the steam-boat come in from London. It is worked by means of two wheels, resembling water-wheels, one of which is placed on each side of the vessel, and about a-half sunk in the water. It comes from London and returns three times in each week. It generally performs the voyage in about twelve hours. In the best cabin there is a handsome library, draught-boards, &c. It is surprising to see how most people are prejudiced against this packet. Some say that it cannot sail against the wind if it is high; but when it entered the harbour the wind and tide were both against it, and the former rather rough, yet Isaw it stem both.” “There was,” he said, “a great crowd, and much enthusiasm, though carpers predicted failure, and sneered at ‘smoke-jacks.’”He visited Canterbury. In mentioning the destruction of Thomas a’Becket’s tomb, he writes:—“There are, indeed, few monuments which were erected prior to the Reformation but what are defaced some way or other. It is surprising that people should be so bigoted against bigotry.”On his return to London he was introduced to the painter West:—“We went to his house this morning, and saw some hundreds of paintings, all by West. How proud must he feel in walking through his gallery to see so many proofs of his own industry! While we were looking at the paintings Mr. West came by. I was introduced to him, and had the honour of conversing with him for some time.... He is a fine old man, upwards of seventy years of age.”Soon after his return home he obtained an appointment. His father might a second time have written “preferment goes on among us.”“August 30th, 1815.—At the last meeting of the Committee of the Institution for the Education of Deaf and Dumb Children, established in this town a few years ago, my father was elected to the office of secretary, and I am to be sub-secretary, for which I am to receive a salary of £20 per annum.”About this appointment he thus wrote in later years:—“This post I gladly accepted, as it would make a very handsome addition to my pocket money. I soon found, however, that the duties were by no means merely nominal; the current labour being considerable, and the minutes, from the commencement of the Institution, which existed only in rough, having all to be transcribed. This appointment was very useful to me, as I was called upon totransact semi-public business, and was, moreover, at the meetings of the committee and elsewhere, brought into contact with men whose superior attainments made me feel keenly the necessity for increasing my own. This post I retained until the increasing demands of the school compelled me to give it up.”In the summer holidays of the next year (1816) he made with some of his companions a tour in Derbyshire. He thus describes two of the views that he saw:—“The views in this valley, varying at every step, are extremely beautiful. Sometimes the river is pent in between the surrounding hills, and the eye is at a loss to discover the passage by which it enters or leaves the valley. Proceed a little further, and the spectator is enchanted with the long perspective of woody hills and barren rocks between which the rapid Derwent pours its foaming waters.... As we sat with the window open to enjoy the freshness of the air, the massive outline of the opposite rocks, just distinguished through the gloom of night, and the silence of evening, which was only broken by the low murmur occasioned by a fall in the river, created very pleasing sensations in our minds. It was a kind ofsilence hearable, if I may be allowed to use a parody.”They went to see a great chasm in the earth called Elden Hole. It was, as they learnt on the way, enclosed by a wall:—“The woman went with us who keeps the key. On the road we entered into a discussion respecting the right of the landholder to lock up such a place, which debate was interspersed with many learned remarks respecting the equality of birthright, &c., but when we came to the hole we were unanimous in agreeing that it was for the good of the neighbourhood that it should be very securely fenced.... We threw several large stones down the hole. The noise which they made was at first very loud; it then ceased, as though the stone had lodged upon some projecting part of the rock; directly after the noise was continued, but less loud; then it became a long unequal moan, which imperceptibly died away.”On his way home he and one of his companionswalked in one day from Ashbourne to Birmingham, a distance of forty-three miles. For many days heavy rains had fallen, and the river Dove had overflowed its banks:—“When we came to a turn in the road, about a furlong from the bridge, we were surprised to find the road and the fields on each side, as far as the eye could reach, covered with water. The top of the bridge was the only dry spot we could see.... It was a distressing sight. Most of the fields had but a few days before been mown. The tops of the haycocks could just be seen above the water. A great number of men were employed in carrying away as much of the hay as could be saved from the flood. Whilst we were waiting, undetermined what steps to take, two men came up who had ridden through the flood on horseback. They told us that the road was inundated for a mile and a-half, that in some places it was very deep, and that the water was rising very fast.“We inquired if there was any other road by which we could reach Lichfield (the next town on our road), and were informed that there was none but what, it was most probable, would be in the same situation. Our only alternative, therefore, was either to go back to Sudbury, and perhaps remain there two or three days, or wade through the flood. As we were both able to swim, should it be necessary, we determined to proceed. We were able to reach the bridge by going out of the road and along a field, but could proceed no further in that way. We now sat down and took off the lower parts of our dresses, made bundles of them, which, together with our folios, we fastened upon our backs, that our arms might be at liberty if we should find it necessary to swim, and waded through the water. We did not find it so deep as we expected. By keeping the highest part of the road, we never found the water more than three feet in depth.”They reached Lichfield at five in the afternoon. Not having yet had enough of the water, they stopped to bathe in the canal, and saw the Birmingham coach go by:—“After bathing, I found that my heel, in consequence of the continual rubbing of my shoe, had become very painful, so much so that it was with the greatest difficulty that I could walk at all.But I managed to double the heel of my shoe under my foot, and tie on the shoe with strings, and then I could walk very well.“The next coach passed us when we were within about eight miles of Birmingham, and then we determined to walk the whole of the way.“Before this it began to rain, and did not cease till we reached home, which was at about eleven o’clock. Having walked forty-three miles, we were not ashamed to own ourselves tolerably well tired.”Writing in 1817, he records in his Journal:—“A Hampden Club was formed in this place, I think about twelve months since, for the purpose of promoting a reform in the Commons House of Parliament. It consists chiefly of the working-class, though some of its members have a right to rank higher.... The conduct of this body of men throughout has been such as reflects great honour upon them. When their number was small, they met at some public-house; but our magistrates, by threatening to take away the publican’s licences, managed to displace them, and in this way they followed them from house to house....“These meetings throughout the country are the true reason of the suspension of the Habeas Corpus Act, and the passing of the gagging bills, and other tyrannical acts, tending to abridge the liberty of the people of this country, and not any conspiracy, as the ministers wish the old women, male and female, to believe.“It is very probable that a few individuals, whose distresses and misfortunes have accumulated upon them till they have been driven to despair, may have formed the mad scheme of conspiring against the government; not that I think they were at all connected with the attack upon the Prince Regent, which, in my opinion, was the mere ebullition of popular discontent. But what can three or four wretched fanatics do towards the overthrow of a government, though they may be in possession of astocking fullof ammunition?[58]Since the passing of these acts, great numbers of people have been arrested uponsuspicionand sent to prison, where they will be kept during the pleasure of a rascally administration, or till the expiration of the acts. Great numbers of valuable members of the communityhave left this country for America, unwilling to live where they can only enjoy their liberty at the pleasure of the ministry.”In the Easter holidays of 1817, he set out on another trip:—“April 4th, 1817.—After having breakfasted, we set out on foot at a quarter after three in the morning. We reached Wolverhampton at a little before seven.... We dined at Shifnal, at a baker’s shop, on bread and butter. Our dinner cost us not quite fourpence each.”At Shrewsbury he found that there was a strong competition among the coach proprietors, and that the fare to Liverpool had been reduced to four shillings:—“As such an opportunity might never occur again, we determined upon setting out the next morning.”At Chester he had time to see the cathedral:—“I do not know whether, as this was Easter Sunday, a better choir of singers than usual had been provided, but I never heard any singing which pleased me so much. The organ, a fine-toned instrument, was played with great skill. I cannot better describe the effect of this heavenly harmony than by a quotation from the beautiful poem of ‘The Sabbath.’”[59]From Liverpool they walked out to the village of Bootle, where they looked about for an inn in which to pass the night:—“The only inn in the village is ‘The Bootle Hotel.’ We were afraid of that word ‘hotel,’ and, learning that there was another inn to be found a little further on, we proceeded; but this we found as much too mean as the other was too grand for us. We went on, therefore, and soon came to a third inn; but here we were morefrightened than before, for the sign was ‘The Royal Waterloo Hotel.’”On the way home he passed a night at Shrewsbury, at the house of his father’s sister:—“In the evening my aunt showed us four or five letters addressed by John Howard to an uncle of my father’s, Mr. Symonds, a dissenting minister of Bedford. Mr. Howard was, at one time of his life, a member of his congregation. In one of these letters he mentions the pleasure he received, when at Rome, in seeing the monuments of ancient art. Foster, in his essay on ‘Decision of Character,’ mentions, as an instance of Howard’s unremitting perseverance in the attainment of one object, that he went to Rome without visiting its public buildings. I am not sorry that the author was mistaken. If Howard had done so, I think it would have been mere affectation.“At about four or five miles beyond Salop, we passed near to a curious old wall, which stands in a field to the right of the road. From the materials of which it is built, we judged it to be Roman masonry. We were all ignorant as to what building it belonged.”[60]He and his friend were out seven days, travelled 273 miles, and spent twenty-nine shillings each. Nevertheless he thought that these trips stood in need of justification, for his next entry is as follows:—“In reading these memoirs hereafter, I may perhaps think that I was extravagant in taking so many journeys; but it is necessary to my health. Without a journey about once a year, I never should be able to go through the business that I do. Towards the end of the half-year I always get thin and pale, and my headache (which for the last two years, with the exception of the holidays, has been almost constant,) generally is worse at that time, which makes it necessary for me to take some recreation, to get up a stock of health for the next half-year; this is the most lucrative mode of proceeding. Lately an application was made to me to undertake to give three lessons per week, of two hours each, to a young man, an old scholar of ours. As I had already plenty to do, I wasundetermined whether to undertake it or not; but I argued with myself thus: If I undertake this business, I shall receive about thirty pounds per annum for it. I shall certainly injure my health by such close application; but I shall be able to afford to take a journey oftener than before, which will put all straight again. Besides, this is the most pleasant way of proceeding to me; for if I am to be at work, the more constantly I am employed the better, and when the holidays come, the more perfect the holiday the better. I like either to have no business at all to do, or to be fully employed. The headache has become so habitual to me, that unless it is very bad, I am seldom aware that anything is the matter with me, unless my attention is called to it, as by some one inquiring whether I am better.”The next entry of any interest in his Journal is about his parents:—“May 11th, 1817.—It is my wish to say something of my parents; to express, if possible, the gratitude which I feel for their care during my childhood, for the pains they have taken in my education, and for their judicious treatment since I have attained maturer years. But the task is too great, and I shall not attempt it. I hope that I shall always show them, by kind and dutiful conduct, that I am fully aware of the magnitude of my obligations. I am thought, I believe, to have cold feelings; but if any one can entertain stronger feelings of gratitude towards his parents than I do, his heart must burst, for it cannot contain them.... My father and mother have acted most judiciously in using every means in their power to make home a place of comfort to us. The consequence is that we have none of that itching, which is so prevalent in most young people, to be always from home; and I think I may say without vanity that there is not a family in Birmingham where there is less discord than in ours. For this we are indebted to our parents, who, instead of interfering in all our undertakings, as is too common with many enlightened fathers and mothers, allow us to use our own judgment and discretion; and when we are in the wrong, rather let us find it out ourselves than by a continual interference beget a spirit of opposition in their children. My mother is a woman of strong native talents, but she has had few opportunities of cultivating them. She is kind, affectionate, possessed of great courage and spirit, and is well adapted to the situation she occupies as manager of a large household. My father possesses the strongest mind of any man I know.”Two days after he had made this entry he writes:—“May 13th.—It has frequently been a surprise to me that people should choose to scald their mouths and injure their health by eating and drinking hot food, particularly tea and coffee, the goodness of which they appear to estimate according to the pain it must give them in drinking it. For five or six weeks past I have had mine made by mixing with tea and coffee of the usual strength about one-half of cold water, brought directly from the pump; so that it is both cool and weak—two very good qualities in my estimation. Lately two of my brothers have followed my example.”“May 24th.—For the last month or two I have been in the habit of lying in bed rather too late. I now make a resolution to get up earlier in future. It is my intention to rise with the boys—that is, at six o’clock. That I may see whether this resolution is kept, I will keep an account of the time at which I rise every morning.”He kept up these entries for more than two years; but in August, 1819, he records:—“It is now some weeks since I discontinued the practice of entering the time at which I rise. My object in doing it at first was to break myself of a habit of lying late in bed. This object I have accomplished, nor do I fear a relapse; it is therefore unnecessary that I should continue the motive.”In June, 1817, he again went to London:—“June 23rd.—In the evening I went to Covent Garden Theatre, to see John Kemble play for the last time. He took his most celebrated character, Coriolanus. It is a part for which he is well calculated, as it requires a noble and dignified mien. Kemble has left the stage in good credit; yet I think if he had remained much longer he would have fallen in the public opinion, as he is become so old as not to be able to disguise it even on the stage; and his recitation is terribly monotonous.... The play of Coriolanus is well known to contain many aristocratic sentiments not very agreeable to the friends of liberty; and I was sorry to find that when any sentiment of this kind was expressed it always received the approbation of the audience. Upon mentioning this circumstance, I learned that, for some reason or other, the audience at Covent Garden Theatre has lately become very loyal.“After the play, Kemble came forward to address the audience. He appeared to suffer much from the feeling that it was for the last time. Whether this was real or affected I cannot say; but if acting, it was acting of a very superior kind. After he had retired, a crown of laurel and a scarf were thrown upon the stage. The manager was then called. He came forward, and promised to present them to Mr. Kemble.“When the curtain drew up for the farce, which was ‘The Portrait of Cervantes,’ a part of the audience, intending it as a mark of respect to Mr. Kemble, called out, ‘No farce, no farce! off, off!’ &c. The others, who wished to see the farce, clapped and called, ‘Go on, go on!’ It was doubtful which party was the more numerous. At length Fawcett, the manager, again came forward to say that, if it were the wish of the audience that, out of respect to Mr. Kemble, the farce should not be acted, he would desire the curtain to be dropped. Some immediately cried out, ‘Yes; down with it!’ Others, ‘No; go on!’ The poor man did not know what to do. He again attempted to speak, but the noise was too great for him to be heard; so he retired, and the curtain fell. This satisfied but one party; the other became directly more clamorous. After a few minutes, the curtain was again drawn up, and the farce proceeded; but the noise was still kept up, and I was unable to hear a sentence all the night. I heard afterwards that Talma was at the theatre this night, and that he was much pleased with the enthusiasm of the audience. He said that the French talked a great deal about enthusiasm, but that they possessed much less than the English.”He went to the House of Commons, and “heard the Lord Mayor, Lord Cochrane, and some others speak on the side of liberty.” The debate was on the Suspension of the Habeas Corpus Act[61]:—

In another passage he writes: “Whatever fifty years ago might be the merits of Hill Top, it was a gain to a boy to be in daily intercourse with men of such ability.” He goes on to say:—

“By juries and committees, by marks, and by appeals to a sense of honour, discipline was maintained. But this was done, I think, at too great a sacrifice. The thoughtlessness, the spring, the elation of childhood, were taken from us; we were premature men.... The school was, in truth, a moral hot-bed, which forced us into aprecocious imitation of maturity. I have heard an Oxford friend say that Arnold’s men had a little of the prig about them. I know too well that some of us had a great deal of the prig about us. I have often wished that I had the ‘giftie to see ourselves as others see us;’ but I have comforted myself with observing that in later life my schoolfellows (perhaps, therefore, I myself) outgrew this unamiable character. The Hazelwood constitution, discipline, instruction, were in a perpetual flux: the right to-day was wrong to-morrow; we learnt to criticise and doubt everything established; ‘whatever is, is wrong,’ might have been our motto. We had a conceit that we could amend everything, from education to driving a horse. This constituted our priggism.”

Rowland Hill as a schoolmaster was, in his way, as stern as Arnold. He voluntarily, indeed, gave up power, but he constantly held that a master must be first feared and then loved. He was certainly always feared by his pupils, and always respected; but he was never loved. Tender though his inward nature was, yet for their love he cared but little. He aimed at their welfare. In the discharge of the duty which he owed them, he was willing to make any sacrifice of his time, his liberty, and his pleasures. He ever strove to treat them with the strictest justice. But he asked for no return of their affection. Should he receive it, he was gratified; but was it refused him, he could do without it. No small insight into his character is given by the following passage in “Public Education”:—

“We perfectly agree with Rousseau, that the severest evil which children suffer is the bondage which they endure. We also agree with him, that the restraints of necessity are more easily borne than those which are imposed by the will of others. ‘It is in the nature of man,’ says he, ‘to endure patiently the absolute necessity of his circumstances.’ ‘It is all gone,’ is an answer against which a child never objects; at least, if he believes it to be true.’[55]Experience must establish the truth of this position in every mind; we all know that achild leaves off crying for the moon years before he submits without a struggle to the commands of his parents. The cause of this difference arises, we think, partly from the uniform regularity with which the natural restraints operate, and partly because the child observes that all around him are subjected to the same laws. If the child had ever had the moon, or if it had ever seen the moon in the possession of another person, it would not be so patient under the privation. Sagacious parents are aware of this, and take every means of showing their children that their determinations are as unalterable as those of nature; and certainly much may be done by prudently avoiding hasty determinations with respect to children, and by inflexibly persisting in all determinations when made.”

In governing his school, and in later years in governing all who were placed under his authority, this was the rule that he always aimed at carrying out. By nature, indeed, he was far too hasty in coming to a determination. Nay, he was hot-tempered, and even passionate. No sooner had he discovered his fault than he set about to find for it a cure. One of the methods that he took was certainly very strange. “He gave public notice to the boys that if any one saw him in a passion he might come up and tell him so; receiving a small reward for so doing. This reward was obtained more than once.” He was so rigidly just that no boy who had played the part of Gil Blas would have found in him an Archbishop of Granada. By his Code of Laws he still further put himself under restraint. Every breach of school law, every offence against a master, had its exact penalty fixed. But when once the penalty had been incurred, it was enforced to the full. His determinations, indeed, were as unalterable as those of nature. His strong will and his undaunted courage could not but have won his pupils’ respect. One of them has told me how he remembers a day at Hill Top, when a big fellow, who could easily have knocked his master down, sethim at defiance before all the boys. “Rowland Hill ran up to him, seized him by the collar, and said, ‘If you don’t do it this moment, I will knock you down.’ The fellow was cowed in a moment, and, though he was by far the stronger of the two, at once obeyed.” This happened, I should add, in the days before the Constitution had been promulgated, and while the rod still flourished. No doubt he would have been better liked had he not been so over-worked and so over-weary. “There was always in him,” another of his pupils tells me, “a nervous fidgetiness that things should be done rightly.” His impatience arose from an over-wrought brain. But few signs of it were seen by those who knew him only in later life in his hours of repose. Life’s evening brought him calm.

Though the system that I have thus described was mainly Rowland’s, yet at no time was he without the help of at least one of his brothers in the management of the school. Matthew withdrew at an early period to go to the Bar. His place was taken by the fourth brother, Arthur. I find the following record in Rowland’s Journal:—

“Arthur has made himself master of Latin by very intense application. This circumstance is a considerable relief to my mind. When I first determined to follow, at least for the first part of my life, the business of a schoolmaster, I had no doubt that Matthew would remain with us, and that eventually we should become partners in the management of the school. As Matthew was a good classical scholar, I thought that he would take that department of instruction, and that I had better pursue the mathematics, a study better suited to my taste than any other. When Matthew entered as a student at Lincoln’s Inn, all my plans and hopes were disarranged. I have been long undetermined how to proceed, and lately I made up my mind to pursue the study of languages, as I considered a classical knowledge as absolutely necessary to the master of a school; but now Arthur has taken that department,and as I have no doubt he will manage it well, I shall pursue my mathematical studies with increased ardour.”

The young master soon gave proof of his vigour:—

“June 17th, 1818.—This evening and the last some of our boys performed the whole of Plautus’s ‘Captives.’ They were astonishingly perfect.* * * * *“July 20th, 1820.—In Arthur I find a most able ally in the executive part of the business. His application is almost incessant, and I am sorry to say it has materially injured his eyesight. Under his care the boys have made wonderful progress in the classics. We have found that frequent exercise in Latin dialogue has been of the greatest use in the acquirement of that language: for this purpose an act of a Latin play is learned and performed every month. At the same time other boys are engaged in shorter Latin dialogues, in Greek recitation, and in the performance of scenes from the works of the French dramatists. The very frequent rehearsals which are necessary, the circumstance of their being engaged in a real conversation, frequently speaking of real and tangible objects, familiarizes them wonderfully with the language they are using, and is, I believe, the nearest approach that can be made to the mode in which we learn our native language. For this, as well as for many other valuable improvements, we are indebted to my brother Matthew.”

“June 17th, 1818.—This evening and the last some of our boys performed the whole of Plautus’s ‘Captives.’ They were astonishingly perfect.

* * * * *

“July 20th, 1820.—In Arthur I find a most able ally in the executive part of the business. His application is almost incessant, and I am sorry to say it has materially injured his eyesight. Under his care the boys have made wonderful progress in the classics. We have found that frequent exercise in Latin dialogue has been of the greatest use in the acquirement of that language: for this purpose an act of a Latin play is learned and performed every month. At the same time other boys are engaged in shorter Latin dialogues, in Greek recitation, and in the performance of scenes from the works of the French dramatists. The very frequent rehearsals which are necessary, the circumstance of their being engaged in a real conversation, frequently speaking of real and tangible objects, familiarizes them wonderfully with the language they are using, and is, I believe, the nearest approach that can be made to the mode in which we learn our native language. For this, as well as for many other valuable improvements, we are indebted to my brother Matthew.”

A week or two earlier than the date of this entry their father had thus written about the two young men:—

“Rowland and Arthur are most laborious and successful fellows. I hope that they are building a reputation that may make them comfortable in their fortunes. But all that is human is precarious. Time and chance must happen to them as to all. A good conscience is the only treasure insured against all risks, and this is a treasure which I trust my dear children will never feel the want of.”

The school steadily rose in reputation and in numbers. Hill Top was before long found to be tooconfined for the swelling scene, and a new school-house was built.

“December 21st, 1817.—During the holidays it is my intention to finish the plans, &c., and to make a model of a new house, which we intend to erect in the country, most probably at Edgbaston.“December 20th, 1818.—A few days ago, without any solicitation, or even a hint on my part, my father took me into partnership: that is to say, all our business since has been carried on under the firm of Thomas Wright Hill and Son. I do not know whether my father intends to give me a share of the profits of the business, and I shall say nothing about it myself till he can better afford it, which, when we have got over the difficulties occasioned by our building so large a house, will I hope be very soon. Our school has slowly increased for many years, and we have now upwards of seventy boys.”

“December 21st, 1817.—During the holidays it is my intention to finish the plans, &c., and to make a model of a new house, which we intend to erect in the country, most probably at Edgbaston.

“December 20th, 1818.—A few days ago, without any solicitation, or even a hint on my part, my father took me into partnership: that is to say, all our business since has been carried on under the firm of Thomas Wright Hill and Son. I do not know whether my father intends to give me a share of the profits of the business, and I shall say nothing about it myself till he can better afford it, which, when we have got over the difficulties occasioned by our building so large a house, will I hope be very soon. Our school has slowly increased for many years, and we have now upwards of seventy boys.”

In the following passage he has recorded how he was his own architect and his own clerk of the works:—

“As the duty of architect devolved entirely on me, I had fallen to drawing plans, designing elevations, &c., and after much labour—for I believe I drew at least twenty plans in all—my work being in a sufficiently forward state, a builder was applied to for an estimate; but the amount he named being too large for our means, I had gone to work a second time, and formed, after many attempts at economy, an entirely new set of plans, which considerably lowered the estimate; and on the more moderate expense we resolved to venture.“It was in the summer of 1818 that the building began. My father having found that, with but slight deviation from the line of road, the house might be made to stand in exact coincidence with the cardinal points, would, I believe, from that moment, have been almost more willing to abandon the scheme than to lose such an opportunity of gratifying his taste. For this purpose astronomical observations were necessary; and my father, my brother Frederic, and I, sat up the whole of one night (July 3rd) to determine the meridian. Of course the middle part of the night was unoccupied, but excitement kept us awake; and my brother Frederic, then a lad of fifteen, no more sleepy than the rest, passed the time in ascertaining by measurement and mental calculation the number of bricks already on the ground. Such calculations occupying the restlesshours of the night were too common with more than one member of our family, and most of all, I believe, with myself. One night, some time after this, when the building was completed, I passed a sleepless period in reckoning up mentally the total payment to be made for painting, colouring, and whitewashing the house from top to bottom. Having made the plans, I had all the dimensions in memory; but the number of rooms being large, their dimensions exceedingly various, and the charge per square yard differing also in respect of the description of paint used, number of coats, &c., there was of course a good deal of complication. The calculation was, however, completed. On the presentation of the bill I found that the amount somewhat exceeded my calculation, but I soon detected certain charges made contrary to agreement; and this error being admitted by the contractor, the excess above my estimate became so trifling that the bill was paid without further examination.“To return a little, I must mention that besides being architect, I found myself compelled to act as clerk of the works, as without sharp daily inspection—hourly would have been better if I could have spared the time—there were constant departures from the contract, some of which would have proved very injurious to the building. As I had the main responsibility of the school during most of the time, and no vehicle at command, the two miles and back having therefore always to be performed on foot, the work was very heavy, though probably the exercise involved was beneficial. In July, 1819, the house being finished, to which we gave the name of Hazelwood, the school was removed thither; and in our larger and more commodious premises we were enabled to make various improvements hitherto impracticable.”[56]

“It was in the summer of 1818 that the building began. My father having found that, with but slight deviation from the line of road, the house might be made to stand in exact coincidence with the cardinal points, would, I believe, from that moment, have been almost more willing to abandon the scheme than to lose such an opportunity of gratifying his taste. For this purpose astronomical observations were necessary; and my father, my brother Frederic, and I, sat up the whole of one night (July 3rd) to determine the meridian. Of course the middle part of the night was unoccupied, but excitement kept us awake; and my brother Frederic, then a lad of fifteen, no more sleepy than the rest, passed the time in ascertaining by measurement and mental calculation the number of bricks already on the ground. Such calculations occupying the restlesshours of the night were too common with more than one member of our family, and most of all, I believe, with myself. One night, some time after this, when the building was completed, I passed a sleepless period in reckoning up mentally the total payment to be made for painting, colouring, and whitewashing the house from top to bottom. Having made the plans, I had all the dimensions in memory; but the number of rooms being large, their dimensions exceedingly various, and the charge per square yard differing also in respect of the description of paint used, number of coats, &c., there was of course a good deal of complication. The calculation was, however, completed. On the presentation of the bill I found that the amount somewhat exceeded my calculation, but I soon detected certain charges made contrary to agreement; and this error being admitted by the contractor, the excess above my estimate became so trifling that the bill was paid without further examination.

“To return a little, I must mention that besides being architect, I found myself compelled to act as clerk of the works, as without sharp daily inspection—hourly would have been better if I could have spared the time—there were constant departures from the contract, some of which would have proved very injurious to the building. As I had the main responsibility of the school during most of the time, and no vehicle at command, the two miles and back having therefore always to be performed on foot, the work was very heavy, though probably the exercise involved was beneficial. In July, 1819, the house being finished, to which we gave the name of Hazelwood, the school was removed thither; and in our larger and more commodious premises we were enabled to make various improvements hitherto impracticable.”[56]

The responsibility that he had incurred weighed heavily on him, as more than one passage in his Journal shows:—

“I am very sanguine that the change of situation will be much to our advantage. If such is not the case, I shall be very miserable, as although the determination to build has been made with the consent and decided approbation of every member of the family, yet I have been the prime mover in the business, and have become, as it were, the responsible person. I must own that I am a little anxious about it.”

A year later (June 17th, 1819), writing to his eldest brother, he says:—

“This is an anxious time to us all. I hope the experiment will succeed. If it does not, I shall be very miserable, as I have been prime mover in inducing them to try it. But, however, at present everything promises well.”

His cares were soon lessened. The venture was found to be a sound one, and the new building thoroughly answered its purpose.

“We find that comfort we expected from the superior convenience of the house. Every one who visits it is delighted with its plan, and it is so seldom that a house is built purposely for a school that it has been the object of considerable interest. At present we have every reason to be satisfied with our determination to remove from Hill Top.”

He had seen but twenty-four years, and though old when measured by work, he was young enough thoroughly to enjoy his complete success. Three years later “Public Education” was brought out, and Hazelwood School became famous. It was while the book was ready for publication that the young enthusiast had pleased himself with the belief that the improvements which he and his brothers were making in the science of education would render their name illustrious in after ages. How bright for a brief time this vision was, and how it quickly faded away, I shall show later on. Here I shall make a break in my narrative, while I recount some of the incidents of his boyhood and early manhood.

From his early boyhood Rowland Hill delighted in long walks. He would go many a mile to see either fine scenery or an old building. Of what had pleased him as a boy, he never grew weary as a man. He had never, he said, to the best of his belief, come within thirty miles of Stonehenge without going to see it. When he was a lad of eleven he paid a visit to Shrewsbury. How deeply what he saw impressed him is shown by an account which he drew up in his old age:—

“Those who have travelled along the same road will remember [he writes] the fine view which bursts upon the sight from the top of a hill a little beyond Shifnal, and may imagine the delight felt thereat by three lads accustomed to little but the plains of Warwickshire.”

No less charmed was he with his first sight of the Severn:—

“Those who have lived from infancy where a river flows can have no conception of its attraction to those who at a later age see it for the first time. The motion of the water, the breadth of the stream, the barges on its surface, with their sails sometimes unfurled to the wind, the lofty bridges, with their series of arches, were such never-ending charms that we could not understand how any one could regard them with indifference.”

It was Assize time at Shrewsbury, and he was taken to see a criminal trial:—

“Of all that passed before our eyes or occupied our thoughts during this ever-to-be-remembered visit, incomparably the most striking and impressive scene was a criminal trial. The spacious court, the crowded benches, the barristers in their robes, the servitors with their javelins, the awful presence of the judge when he entered amidst the sound of the trumpet and took his seat on the lofty bench, all prepared our minds for the solemn inquiry about to begin. The case was one of burglary, attended with violence. The cottage of an aged couple had been entered and robbed, the old man being severely beaten by one of the offenders, who all—three in number—had been subsequently apprehended. Of these, one—whose part in the proceeding had gone no further than keeping watch at the door (so at least he alleged)—had, while in prison on another charge, given the information which enabled justice to lay hands on the others, and had consequently been admitted as King’s evidence. I need not say that we felt towards him the dislike and contempt with which an approver is generally regarded. His fellows in crime, particularly the chief offender, took their places at the bar with a demeanour that astonished us, so completely did it differ from all that we had expected. Doubtless they were seeking to cover their real trepidation with an appearance of unconcern; but this we could not then understand. They taboured on the front of the dock with their fingers, looked about in a defiant manner, and nodded in various directions, as if in recognition of acquaintances. They were defended by counsel; and an attempt was made to take the offence out of the category of burglary, first by the plea that it was not committed by night (the hour being no later than nine on a summer’s evening), and, secondly, by the allegation that as the door was on the latch, the house could not be said to have been broken open—points made, of course, in desperation, and very summarily dealt with by the judge. The only further attempt was to discredit the evidence of the approver, who was severely cross-examined, though the following short passage is all that I now remember of the process: ‘How came you to think of informing?’ ‘Because my conscience told me I had donewrang.’ ‘And why didn’t your conscience tell you you had donewrangbefore you got into prison for stealing the pig?’ The evidence was too strong to be shaken, and both prisoners were convicted. Of course when such a host of minor offences were capital, so grave a crime as this was on the fatal list;and we heard the judge, after putting on the black cap, pronounce the terrible sentence of death. The defiant look put on at first was still maintained by both prisoners; but when the judge, after warning the more ruffianly of the two that he could not hold out to him any hope of mercy, addressed his companion, telling him that, as he had abstained from violence, his life would be spared, this latter at once broke down, falling upon his knees, while he poured out his thanks and promises of amendment. Shortly afterwards the sentence passed on the other was executed; and somewhat beyond the fatal hour, while going on an errand, I unfortunately and most unintentionally caught a distant sight of the hanging body.”

For many years his excursions were chiefly made on foot. Though his health was at all times of his life delicate, yet his frame was active, and capable of great endurance. He was, when a boy, one of the quickest runners and best leapers in the school, and he became a strong swimmer. “I walked to Stourbridge once a week, to give a lesson,” he records in his Journal. “This I could do without the least fatigue, as it is only twelve miles from hence, and I have often walked upwards of thirty miles in one day.” His fondness for feats led him, he said, to hazard his health. Thus, once in a walk of five-and-twenty miles in a hilly country, he went the last mile on the run. In his Journal he recorded many of his trips. In the year 1813 he was taken, for the benefit of his health, to Margate. “We could see,” he wrote, “the coast of France. My mother was rather uneasy at being so near to the French.” He walked over to Dover, and began to sketch the castle and town from the Castle Hill. Some soldiers told him that a day or two before a man had been put into prison for drawing there:—

“I could not, however, believe them, and went on with my drawing. However, in a little time a file of soldiers came out of the Castle with fixed bayonets, and told me that if I did not go awaydirectly they would take me into custody. I now thought it time to be gone, and so walked away to our lodgings, with no wish to stop in a town where the inhabitants were under a military government.”

The following year peace was made with France:—

“June 3rd, 1814.—About three o’clock this morning the glorious news of the signature of the preliminaries for peace arrived in Birmingham. I was up at four o’clock for the purpose of going to Hagley, to which place I had the pleasure of taking the news. I never saw so many pleasant faces in my life.”

In the summer of 1815 he again went to Margate. How he found money to pay for the trip he has thus left on record:—

“My eldest brother and I, who, on account of depressed health, had two years before been taken by my mother to Margate (much to my delight, as I then first saw London and the sea), were eager to repeat the trip, and not having the means at hand, set about to acquire them. Availing ourselves of such of the apparatus used at my father’s late lecture, and those delivered eight years before, as belonged to the family, we boldly determined to give four public lectures ourselves, the admission to be by purchased tickets. My brother was to do the speaking part, and I, as before, to manage the experiments. While, however, we made every preparation with great diligence, we unluckily had yet to learn that audiences are scarcely to be collected without full notice; and our notification to the public was so short and imperfect, that when the day was close at hand we found that either we must be satisfied with an audience of thirty persons, or fill the school-room where the lecture was to be delivered by gratuitous admission. Taking this latter course, we performed to an audience which gave us abundant applause, but did little to forward our ulterior object. Nothing daunted, we resolved to try elsewhere, in a more advised manner; and being encouraged thereto by our friend Mr. Beasley, we proceeded, after due preparation of all sorts, to the little town of Stourbridge; hiring a man with a cart to convey the apparatus, and ourselves performing the journey on foot. Here our success was considerable, the result being due, I have no doubt, in great measure to our warm-hearted friend, who was an enthusiastic admirer of us both, and by no means kept his flattering estimate to himself.“Our total profits being sufficient to warrant the journey, we took it accordingly; intending thereby to get up such a stock of health as would carry us briskly through the next half-year.”[57]

“Our total profits being sufficient to warrant the journey, we took it accordingly; intending thereby to get up such a stock of health as would carry us briskly through the next half-year.”[57]

He left Birmingham for London at half-past six o’clock in the evening of June 23rd.

“At about three o’clock in the afternoon of the next day we entered London, amidst the thunder of carriages and the buzz of people.* * * * *“In the afternoon I went to see the Exhibition of Paintings at Somerset House. Of the landscapes, Turner’s pleased me most: there was one, a most beautiful painting, called ‘The Rebuilding of Carthage.’ Turner is almost the only man who attempts to paint the sun. It is done in this picture with great success. It quite dazzled my eyes to look at it. The reflection of the sun’s rays upon the water was remarkably fine. The Exhibition closed this evening for the season. I stopped as long as I could.”

“At about three o’clock in the afternoon of the next day we entered London, amidst the thunder of carriages and the buzz of people.

* * * * *

“In the afternoon I went to see the Exhibition of Paintings at Somerset House. Of the landscapes, Turner’s pleased me most: there was one, a most beautiful painting, called ‘The Rebuilding of Carthage.’ Turner is almost the only man who attempts to paint the sun. It is done in this picture with great success. It quite dazzled my eyes to look at it. The reflection of the sun’s rays upon the water was remarkably fine. The Exhibition closed this evening for the season. I stopped as long as I could.”

The same evening he went to Drury Lane and saw Kean. The after-piece was very bad. “I should have thought that a London audience would not have sat to hear such stuff.” On leaving the theatre he “walked about the streets to see the illuminations for the late victory at Waterloo.”

“Margate, July 3rd, 1815.—We went to see the steam-boat come in from London. It is worked by means of two wheels, resembling water-wheels, one of which is placed on each side of the vessel, and about a-half sunk in the water. It comes from London and returns three times in each week. It generally performs the voyage in about twelve hours. In the best cabin there is a handsome library, draught-boards, &c. It is surprising to see how most people are prejudiced against this packet. Some say that it cannot sail against the wind if it is high; but when it entered the harbour the wind and tide were both against it, and the former rather rough, yet Isaw it stem both.” “There was,” he said, “a great crowd, and much enthusiasm, though carpers predicted failure, and sneered at ‘smoke-jacks.’”

He visited Canterbury. In mentioning the destruction of Thomas a’Becket’s tomb, he writes:—

“There are, indeed, few monuments which were erected prior to the Reformation but what are defaced some way or other. It is surprising that people should be so bigoted against bigotry.”

On his return to London he was introduced to the painter West:—

“We went to his house this morning, and saw some hundreds of paintings, all by West. How proud must he feel in walking through his gallery to see so many proofs of his own industry! While we were looking at the paintings Mr. West came by. I was introduced to him, and had the honour of conversing with him for some time.... He is a fine old man, upwards of seventy years of age.”

Soon after his return home he obtained an appointment. His father might a second time have written “preferment goes on among us.”

“August 30th, 1815.—At the last meeting of the Committee of the Institution for the Education of Deaf and Dumb Children, established in this town a few years ago, my father was elected to the office of secretary, and I am to be sub-secretary, for which I am to receive a salary of £20 per annum.”

About this appointment he thus wrote in later years:—

“This post I gladly accepted, as it would make a very handsome addition to my pocket money. I soon found, however, that the duties were by no means merely nominal; the current labour being considerable, and the minutes, from the commencement of the Institution, which existed only in rough, having all to be transcribed. This appointment was very useful to me, as I was called upon totransact semi-public business, and was, moreover, at the meetings of the committee and elsewhere, brought into contact with men whose superior attainments made me feel keenly the necessity for increasing my own. This post I retained until the increasing demands of the school compelled me to give it up.”

In the summer holidays of the next year (1816) he made with some of his companions a tour in Derbyshire. He thus describes two of the views that he saw:—

“The views in this valley, varying at every step, are extremely beautiful. Sometimes the river is pent in between the surrounding hills, and the eye is at a loss to discover the passage by which it enters or leaves the valley. Proceed a little further, and the spectator is enchanted with the long perspective of woody hills and barren rocks between which the rapid Derwent pours its foaming waters.... As we sat with the window open to enjoy the freshness of the air, the massive outline of the opposite rocks, just distinguished through the gloom of night, and the silence of evening, which was only broken by the low murmur occasioned by a fall in the river, created very pleasing sensations in our minds. It was a kind ofsilence hearable, if I may be allowed to use a parody.”

They went to see a great chasm in the earth called Elden Hole. It was, as they learnt on the way, enclosed by a wall:—

“The woman went with us who keeps the key. On the road we entered into a discussion respecting the right of the landholder to lock up such a place, which debate was interspersed with many learned remarks respecting the equality of birthright, &c., but when we came to the hole we were unanimous in agreeing that it was for the good of the neighbourhood that it should be very securely fenced.... We threw several large stones down the hole. The noise which they made was at first very loud; it then ceased, as though the stone had lodged upon some projecting part of the rock; directly after the noise was continued, but less loud; then it became a long unequal moan, which imperceptibly died away.”

On his way home he and one of his companionswalked in one day from Ashbourne to Birmingham, a distance of forty-three miles. For many days heavy rains had fallen, and the river Dove had overflowed its banks:—

“When we came to a turn in the road, about a furlong from the bridge, we were surprised to find the road and the fields on each side, as far as the eye could reach, covered with water. The top of the bridge was the only dry spot we could see.... It was a distressing sight. Most of the fields had but a few days before been mown. The tops of the haycocks could just be seen above the water. A great number of men were employed in carrying away as much of the hay as could be saved from the flood. Whilst we were waiting, undetermined what steps to take, two men came up who had ridden through the flood on horseback. They told us that the road was inundated for a mile and a-half, that in some places it was very deep, and that the water was rising very fast.“We inquired if there was any other road by which we could reach Lichfield (the next town on our road), and were informed that there was none but what, it was most probable, would be in the same situation. Our only alternative, therefore, was either to go back to Sudbury, and perhaps remain there two or three days, or wade through the flood. As we were both able to swim, should it be necessary, we determined to proceed. We were able to reach the bridge by going out of the road and along a field, but could proceed no further in that way. We now sat down and took off the lower parts of our dresses, made bundles of them, which, together with our folios, we fastened upon our backs, that our arms might be at liberty if we should find it necessary to swim, and waded through the water. We did not find it so deep as we expected. By keeping the highest part of the road, we never found the water more than three feet in depth.”

“We inquired if there was any other road by which we could reach Lichfield (the next town on our road), and were informed that there was none but what, it was most probable, would be in the same situation. Our only alternative, therefore, was either to go back to Sudbury, and perhaps remain there two or three days, or wade through the flood. As we were both able to swim, should it be necessary, we determined to proceed. We were able to reach the bridge by going out of the road and along a field, but could proceed no further in that way. We now sat down and took off the lower parts of our dresses, made bundles of them, which, together with our folios, we fastened upon our backs, that our arms might be at liberty if we should find it necessary to swim, and waded through the water. We did not find it so deep as we expected. By keeping the highest part of the road, we never found the water more than three feet in depth.”

They reached Lichfield at five in the afternoon. Not having yet had enough of the water, they stopped to bathe in the canal, and saw the Birmingham coach go by:—

“After bathing, I found that my heel, in consequence of the continual rubbing of my shoe, had become very painful, so much so that it was with the greatest difficulty that I could walk at all.But I managed to double the heel of my shoe under my foot, and tie on the shoe with strings, and then I could walk very well.“The next coach passed us when we were within about eight miles of Birmingham, and then we determined to walk the whole of the way.“Before this it began to rain, and did not cease till we reached home, which was at about eleven o’clock. Having walked forty-three miles, we were not ashamed to own ourselves tolerably well tired.”

“The next coach passed us when we were within about eight miles of Birmingham, and then we determined to walk the whole of the way.

“Before this it began to rain, and did not cease till we reached home, which was at about eleven o’clock. Having walked forty-three miles, we were not ashamed to own ourselves tolerably well tired.”

Writing in 1817, he records in his Journal:—

“A Hampden Club was formed in this place, I think about twelve months since, for the purpose of promoting a reform in the Commons House of Parliament. It consists chiefly of the working-class, though some of its members have a right to rank higher.... The conduct of this body of men throughout has been such as reflects great honour upon them. When their number was small, they met at some public-house; but our magistrates, by threatening to take away the publican’s licences, managed to displace them, and in this way they followed them from house to house....“These meetings throughout the country are the true reason of the suspension of the Habeas Corpus Act, and the passing of the gagging bills, and other tyrannical acts, tending to abridge the liberty of the people of this country, and not any conspiracy, as the ministers wish the old women, male and female, to believe.“It is very probable that a few individuals, whose distresses and misfortunes have accumulated upon them till they have been driven to despair, may have formed the mad scheme of conspiring against the government; not that I think they were at all connected with the attack upon the Prince Regent, which, in my opinion, was the mere ebullition of popular discontent. But what can three or four wretched fanatics do towards the overthrow of a government, though they may be in possession of astocking fullof ammunition?[58]Since the passing of these acts, great numbers of people have been arrested uponsuspicionand sent to prison, where they will be kept during the pleasure of a rascally administration, or till the expiration of the acts. Great numbers of valuable members of the communityhave left this country for America, unwilling to live where they can only enjoy their liberty at the pleasure of the ministry.”

“These meetings throughout the country are the true reason of the suspension of the Habeas Corpus Act, and the passing of the gagging bills, and other tyrannical acts, tending to abridge the liberty of the people of this country, and not any conspiracy, as the ministers wish the old women, male and female, to believe.

“It is very probable that a few individuals, whose distresses and misfortunes have accumulated upon them till they have been driven to despair, may have formed the mad scheme of conspiring against the government; not that I think they were at all connected with the attack upon the Prince Regent, which, in my opinion, was the mere ebullition of popular discontent. But what can three or four wretched fanatics do towards the overthrow of a government, though they may be in possession of astocking fullof ammunition?[58]Since the passing of these acts, great numbers of people have been arrested uponsuspicionand sent to prison, where they will be kept during the pleasure of a rascally administration, or till the expiration of the acts. Great numbers of valuable members of the communityhave left this country for America, unwilling to live where they can only enjoy their liberty at the pleasure of the ministry.”

In the Easter holidays of 1817, he set out on another trip:—

“April 4th, 1817.—After having breakfasted, we set out on foot at a quarter after three in the morning. We reached Wolverhampton at a little before seven.... We dined at Shifnal, at a baker’s shop, on bread and butter. Our dinner cost us not quite fourpence each.”

At Shrewsbury he found that there was a strong competition among the coach proprietors, and that the fare to Liverpool had been reduced to four shillings:—

“As such an opportunity might never occur again, we determined upon setting out the next morning.”

At Chester he had time to see the cathedral:—

“I do not know whether, as this was Easter Sunday, a better choir of singers than usual had been provided, but I never heard any singing which pleased me so much. The organ, a fine-toned instrument, was played with great skill. I cannot better describe the effect of this heavenly harmony than by a quotation from the beautiful poem of ‘The Sabbath.’”[59]

From Liverpool they walked out to the village of Bootle, where they looked about for an inn in which to pass the night:—

“The only inn in the village is ‘The Bootle Hotel.’ We were afraid of that word ‘hotel,’ and, learning that there was another inn to be found a little further on, we proceeded; but this we found as much too mean as the other was too grand for us. We went on, therefore, and soon came to a third inn; but here we were morefrightened than before, for the sign was ‘The Royal Waterloo Hotel.’”

On the way home he passed a night at Shrewsbury, at the house of his father’s sister:—

“In the evening my aunt showed us four or five letters addressed by John Howard to an uncle of my father’s, Mr. Symonds, a dissenting minister of Bedford. Mr. Howard was, at one time of his life, a member of his congregation. In one of these letters he mentions the pleasure he received, when at Rome, in seeing the monuments of ancient art. Foster, in his essay on ‘Decision of Character,’ mentions, as an instance of Howard’s unremitting perseverance in the attainment of one object, that he went to Rome without visiting its public buildings. I am not sorry that the author was mistaken. If Howard had done so, I think it would have been mere affectation.“At about four or five miles beyond Salop, we passed near to a curious old wall, which stands in a field to the right of the road. From the materials of which it is built, we judged it to be Roman masonry. We were all ignorant as to what building it belonged.”[60]

“At about four or five miles beyond Salop, we passed near to a curious old wall, which stands in a field to the right of the road. From the materials of which it is built, we judged it to be Roman masonry. We were all ignorant as to what building it belonged.”[60]

He and his friend were out seven days, travelled 273 miles, and spent twenty-nine shillings each. Nevertheless he thought that these trips stood in need of justification, for his next entry is as follows:—

“In reading these memoirs hereafter, I may perhaps think that I was extravagant in taking so many journeys; but it is necessary to my health. Without a journey about once a year, I never should be able to go through the business that I do. Towards the end of the half-year I always get thin and pale, and my headache (which for the last two years, with the exception of the holidays, has been almost constant,) generally is worse at that time, which makes it necessary for me to take some recreation, to get up a stock of health for the next half-year; this is the most lucrative mode of proceeding. Lately an application was made to me to undertake to give three lessons per week, of two hours each, to a young man, an old scholar of ours. As I had already plenty to do, I wasundetermined whether to undertake it or not; but I argued with myself thus: If I undertake this business, I shall receive about thirty pounds per annum for it. I shall certainly injure my health by such close application; but I shall be able to afford to take a journey oftener than before, which will put all straight again. Besides, this is the most pleasant way of proceeding to me; for if I am to be at work, the more constantly I am employed the better, and when the holidays come, the more perfect the holiday the better. I like either to have no business at all to do, or to be fully employed. The headache has become so habitual to me, that unless it is very bad, I am seldom aware that anything is the matter with me, unless my attention is called to it, as by some one inquiring whether I am better.”

The next entry of any interest in his Journal is about his parents:—

“May 11th, 1817.—It is my wish to say something of my parents; to express, if possible, the gratitude which I feel for their care during my childhood, for the pains they have taken in my education, and for their judicious treatment since I have attained maturer years. But the task is too great, and I shall not attempt it. I hope that I shall always show them, by kind and dutiful conduct, that I am fully aware of the magnitude of my obligations. I am thought, I believe, to have cold feelings; but if any one can entertain stronger feelings of gratitude towards his parents than I do, his heart must burst, for it cannot contain them.... My father and mother have acted most judiciously in using every means in their power to make home a place of comfort to us. The consequence is that we have none of that itching, which is so prevalent in most young people, to be always from home; and I think I may say without vanity that there is not a family in Birmingham where there is less discord than in ours. For this we are indebted to our parents, who, instead of interfering in all our undertakings, as is too common with many enlightened fathers and mothers, allow us to use our own judgment and discretion; and when we are in the wrong, rather let us find it out ourselves than by a continual interference beget a spirit of opposition in their children. My mother is a woman of strong native talents, but she has had few opportunities of cultivating them. She is kind, affectionate, possessed of great courage and spirit, and is well adapted to the situation she occupies as manager of a large household. My father possesses the strongest mind of any man I know.”

Two days after he had made this entry he writes:—

“May 13th.—It has frequently been a surprise to me that people should choose to scald their mouths and injure their health by eating and drinking hot food, particularly tea and coffee, the goodness of which they appear to estimate according to the pain it must give them in drinking it. For five or six weeks past I have had mine made by mixing with tea and coffee of the usual strength about one-half of cold water, brought directly from the pump; so that it is both cool and weak—two very good qualities in my estimation. Lately two of my brothers have followed my example.”“May 24th.—For the last month or two I have been in the habit of lying in bed rather too late. I now make a resolution to get up earlier in future. It is my intention to rise with the boys—that is, at six o’clock. That I may see whether this resolution is kept, I will keep an account of the time at which I rise every morning.”

“May 24th.—For the last month or two I have been in the habit of lying in bed rather too late. I now make a resolution to get up earlier in future. It is my intention to rise with the boys—that is, at six o’clock. That I may see whether this resolution is kept, I will keep an account of the time at which I rise every morning.”

He kept up these entries for more than two years; but in August, 1819, he records:—

“It is now some weeks since I discontinued the practice of entering the time at which I rise. My object in doing it at first was to break myself of a habit of lying late in bed. This object I have accomplished, nor do I fear a relapse; it is therefore unnecessary that I should continue the motive.”

In June, 1817, he again went to London:—

“June 23rd.—In the evening I went to Covent Garden Theatre, to see John Kemble play for the last time. He took his most celebrated character, Coriolanus. It is a part for which he is well calculated, as it requires a noble and dignified mien. Kemble has left the stage in good credit; yet I think if he had remained much longer he would have fallen in the public opinion, as he is become so old as not to be able to disguise it even on the stage; and his recitation is terribly monotonous.... The play of Coriolanus is well known to contain many aristocratic sentiments not very agreeable to the friends of liberty; and I was sorry to find that when any sentiment of this kind was expressed it always received the approbation of the audience. Upon mentioning this circumstance, I learned that, for some reason or other, the audience at Covent Garden Theatre has lately become very loyal.“After the play, Kemble came forward to address the audience. He appeared to suffer much from the feeling that it was for the last time. Whether this was real or affected I cannot say; but if acting, it was acting of a very superior kind. After he had retired, a crown of laurel and a scarf were thrown upon the stage. The manager was then called. He came forward, and promised to present them to Mr. Kemble.“When the curtain drew up for the farce, which was ‘The Portrait of Cervantes,’ a part of the audience, intending it as a mark of respect to Mr. Kemble, called out, ‘No farce, no farce! off, off!’ &c. The others, who wished to see the farce, clapped and called, ‘Go on, go on!’ It was doubtful which party was the more numerous. At length Fawcett, the manager, again came forward to say that, if it were the wish of the audience that, out of respect to Mr. Kemble, the farce should not be acted, he would desire the curtain to be dropped. Some immediately cried out, ‘Yes; down with it!’ Others, ‘No; go on!’ The poor man did not know what to do. He again attempted to speak, but the noise was too great for him to be heard; so he retired, and the curtain fell. This satisfied but one party; the other became directly more clamorous. After a few minutes, the curtain was again drawn up, and the farce proceeded; but the noise was still kept up, and I was unable to hear a sentence all the night. I heard afterwards that Talma was at the theatre this night, and that he was much pleased with the enthusiasm of the audience. He said that the French talked a great deal about enthusiasm, but that they possessed much less than the English.”

“After the play, Kemble came forward to address the audience. He appeared to suffer much from the feeling that it was for the last time. Whether this was real or affected I cannot say; but if acting, it was acting of a very superior kind. After he had retired, a crown of laurel and a scarf were thrown upon the stage. The manager was then called. He came forward, and promised to present them to Mr. Kemble.

“When the curtain drew up for the farce, which was ‘The Portrait of Cervantes,’ a part of the audience, intending it as a mark of respect to Mr. Kemble, called out, ‘No farce, no farce! off, off!’ &c. The others, who wished to see the farce, clapped and called, ‘Go on, go on!’ It was doubtful which party was the more numerous. At length Fawcett, the manager, again came forward to say that, if it were the wish of the audience that, out of respect to Mr. Kemble, the farce should not be acted, he would desire the curtain to be dropped. Some immediately cried out, ‘Yes; down with it!’ Others, ‘No; go on!’ The poor man did not know what to do. He again attempted to speak, but the noise was too great for him to be heard; so he retired, and the curtain fell. This satisfied but one party; the other became directly more clamorous. After a few minutes, the curtain was again drawn up, and the farce proceeded; but the noise was still kept up, and I was unable to hear a sentence all the night. I heard afterwards that Talma was at the theatre this night, and that he was much pleased with the enthusiasm of the audience. He said that the French talked a great deal about enthusiasm, but that they possessed much less than the English.”

He went to the House of Commons, and “heard the Lord Mayor, Lord Cochrane, and some others speak on the side of liberty.” The debate was on the Suspension of the Habeas Corpus Act[61]:—

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