My dear, wise, and excellent guardian was always anxious that I should receive as good an education as my opportunities would permit, so she insisted on my learning French, and had herself taught me the elements of that language, which she was able to read, though she did not pretend to speak it. On going to Doncaster I found Latin and Greek so serious a business that I wanted to lighten my burdens, and begged to be excused from going on with French; but my guardian (who, with all her exquisite gentleness, had a very strong will) would not hear of any such abandonment, and wrote very determinedly on the subject both to me and to Mr. Cape. It is extremely probable that this exercise of my guardian's will may have had a great influence on my future life, as without some early knowledge of French I might not have felt tempted to pursue the study later, and if I had never spoken French my whole existence would have been quite different.

Our French master at Doncaster was an Italian of good family named Testa, one of the most perfect gentlemen I ever met, and an excellent teacher. My deepest regret about him now is that I did not learn Italian with him also, then or afterwards. [Footnote: It is astonishing how many chances of improvement young men foolishly allow to slip by them. It would have been quite worth while after I became a free agent to go and spend six months or more at Doncaster, simply to read Italian with so good a master as Testa.] I learned Italian later in life, and with a far inferior master. Signor Testa was a tall, thin man, of rather cold and stately manners, with a fine-looking, n.o.ble head covered with curly brown hair. He was always exquisitely clean and orderly, both about his person and the books and things that belonged to him in his rooms, where there was an atmosphere of almost feminine refinement, though their occupant was by no means effeminate in his thoughts or bearing. We understood that he had left Italy in consequence of some political difficulty, and we knew that he had still relations there. One day, as we were engaged with our lesson at his lodgings, he took some leaves and a faded flower or two that had just arrived in a letter from Italy, and said, with tears in his eyes, "These have come from my father's place."

Now it so happened that the eldest boy in our cla.s.s was liable to fits of perfectly uncontrollable laughter (what the French call _le fou rire_), and, as the reader is sure to know, if he has ever been troubled with that disease himself, the fit very often comes on just at the moment when the patient feels that he is called upon to look particularly grave. This is what happened in the present case. Our unlucky fellow-pupil was tickled with something in Testa's accent or manner, or perhaps as he was an English boy the foreigner's tenderness of feeling may have seemed to him absurd; but whatever may have been the reason, his face became convulsed with suppressed laughter, which burst forth at last uncontrollably. This made the rest of us laugh too--not at poor Testa, but at our unworthy comrade. I shall never forget the Italian gentleman's look on that occasion. His eyes were still br.i.m.m.i.n.g with tears, but he laid down the flattened leaves and flowers and looked at us all round with an expression that cut me, at least, to the quick.

"_Young gentlemen_," he said, "_I did not expect you to be so unkind_."

I longed to explain, but did not find words at the moment, and we went on with our lesson. The fact was that Testa had not the least sense of humor in his composition, and so he could not understand what had happened. A humorous man, acquainted with the nature of boys, would have understood the attack of _fou rire_, and forgiven it; but then a humorous man would have thought twice before appealing to a set of English boys for sympathy with the feelings of an exile. The incident certainly increased my feelings of respect for Signor Testa, and made me try to please him. The French lessons were very agreeable to me, and besides duly preparing them, I read some French on my own account, and acquired a liking for the language that has remained with me ever since.

If the reader has the sound old-fashioned notions about education by which all subjects were strictly divided into the two cla.s.ses of serious and frivolous pursuits, he will already have suspicions about the soundness of a training that included the two idle accomplishments of Drawing and French, and what will he say, I wonder, when music is added to the list? My initiation into music took place in the following manner. We had a dancing-master who came regularly to Mr. Cape's house to prepare us to shine in society, and his instrument was the convenient dancing-master's pocket fiddle or kit. Although this instrument gives forth but a feeble kind of music, I was far more enchanted with it than by the dancing, and wrote a most persuasive letter to my good guardian imploring her to let me study the violin. Those were the happy times when one had energy for everything! I had already three languages on hand, and the art of painting in water-colors, besides which I was in a mathematical school where boys were prepared for Cambridge, [Footnote: Doncaster School at that time was a sort of little nursery for Cambridge. Mr. Cape was a Cambridge man, and so was his brother, the able master of Peterborough School.] but there seemed to be no reason why the art of violin-playing should not be added to these pursuits. My guardian, before consenting, prudently wrote to Mr. Cape to ask if this new accomplishment would not interfere too much with other matters, and his answer was in these words: "The lad is getting on well enough with his studies, so if he wants to amuse himself a little by sc.r.a.ping catgut, even let him sc.r.a.pe away!" It will be seen that Mr. Cape did not a.s.sign to music the high rank in education which has been attributed to it by some famous thinkers in ancient and modern times. Few musical sensations experienced during my whole life have equalled in intensity the sensation of hearing our dancing-master play upon a full-sized violin, after the weak and thin tones that our ears had been accustomed to by his kit. I was so little in the way of hearing music at Doncaster that the richer note of the violin seemed musical as the lyre of Apollo.

A contrast so striking made me more pa.s.sionately eager to learn, but I was informed by one of the private pupils who exercised considerable authority over the younger boys, that although I might study the violin with the dancing-master, I was never to practise it by myself. This restriction was pardonable in one who might reasonably dread the torturing attempts of a beginner, but it was certainly not favorable to my progress. However, in course of time it came to be relaxed; that is, as soon as I could play tunes.

It is very odd that any one who dislikes dancing as heartily as I have always disliked it in manhood, should have been rather a brilliant performer when a boy. Our dancing-master was extremely pleased with me, and encouraged me by many compliments; nay, he even went so far as to teach me a sailor's hornpipe, which I danced in public as a _pas seul_ when the school gave a theatrical entertainment on the approach of the Christmas holidays. All this is simply inconceivable now, for there is nothing which bores me so thoroughly as a ball, and I would at any time travel fifty miles to avoid one.

At school the princ.i.p.al amus.e.m.e.nt was cricket, for which I soon acquired an intense aversion. All games bore me except chess and billiards, and it was especially hard to be compelled to field out to please the elder boys, and so waste the precious holiday afternoons. Our cricket ground was on the racecourse, and when I could get away I did so most joyfully, and betook myself to a quiet place amongst the furze nearer to the Red House than the Grand Stand. There my great delight was to read Scott's poems, which I possessed in pocket volumes. The same volumes are in my study now, and simply to handle them is enough to bring back many sensations of long-past boyhood. Of all the influences that had sway over me in those days and for long afterwards, the influence of Scott was by far the strongest. A boy cannot make a better choice. Scott has the immense advantage over dull authors of being almost always interesting, and the equally great advantage over many exciting authors that he never leaves an unhealthy feeling in the mind. I began with "The Lady of the Lake," then read "Marmion," and "The Lay of the Last Minstrel" and the Ballads, and finally "Rokeby." These were in separate small volumes, which gave me a desire to possess other authors in the same convenient form, so I added Goldsmith, Crabbe, Kirke White, and Moore's "Irish Melodies." A prize for history gave me "Paradise Lost" in two volumes of my favorite size, and two school-fellows, who saw that I had a taste for such volumes, kindly gave me others. During the holidays my guardian authorized the purchase of a Shakespeare in seven pocket volumes, and the "Spectator" in eight, so I had quite a little library, which became inexpressibly dear to me. It is very remarkable that for a long time I knew Scott thoroughly as a poet without having read a single novel by him. Having been invited by one of my school-fellows to a country house not very far from Doncaster, I was asked by the lady of the house what authors I had read, and on mentioning Scott's poems was told that he was greater as a novelist than as a poet, and that the Waverley novels were certainly his finest works. This seemed incredible to me then, the poems being so delightful that they could not possibly be surpa.s.sed. On another occasion I happened to be standing with Mr.

Cape in the little chapel at Conisborough Castle, and having heard from an older school-fellow that Athelstane had died there, I asked Mr. Cape if it was true. "Yes," he answered, "if you believe Sir Walter Scott."

Not having read "Ivanhoe," I was under the impression that the Athelstane in question was an historical personage.

Nothing in the retrospect of life strikes me as more astonishing than the rapid mental growth that must have taken place between the date of my father's death and its second or third anniversary. When my father died I was simply a child, though rather a precocious one, as the journal in Wales testifies; but between two and three years after that event the child had become a boy, with a keen taste for literature, which, if it had been taken advantage of by his teachers, ought to have made his education a more complete success than it ever became.

The misfortune was that the cla.s.sics were not taught as literature at all, but as exercises in grammar and prosody. They were dissected by teachers who were simply lecturers on the science of language, and who had not large views even about that. Our whole attention being directed to the technicalities of the pedagogue, we did not perceive that the cla.s.sic authors had produced poems which, as literature, were not inferior to those of our best English poets. So it happened that those of us who had literary tastes were content to satisfy them in reading English authors, and left them, as it were, at the door of the cla.s.sroom. I worked courageously enough at the Latin books which were set before me, but never found the slightest enjoyment in them; indeed, it was only much later, and through the medium of French and Italian, that I gained some partial access to the literary beauty of Latin. As for Greek, I began it vigorously at Doncaster, but I did not get beyond the rudiments during my stay there.

CHAPTER VIII.

1845.

Early attempts in English verse.--Advantages of life at Doncaster.--A school incident.--f.a.gging.--Story of a dog.--Robbery.--My schoolfellow, Henry Alexander.--His remarkable influence.--Other schoolfellows.

--Story of a boat.--A swimming adventure.--Our walks and battles.

The love of literature was naturally followed by some early attempts at versification in English, which is generally looked upon as a silly waste of time in a boy, though if he writes Latin verses, which we were taught to do, he is thought to be seriously occupied. Prom the age of eleven to that of twenty-one I wrote English verses very frequently, and am now very glad I did so, being quite convinced that it was a most profitable exercise in the language. My early verses were invariably echoes of my dearly beloved Sir Walter Scott, a master whom it is not very difficult to imitate so far as mere versification is concerned. One little incident about this early verse-making is worth mentioning in this place. I was staying for a few days with a school-fellow at a house near Doncaster, when I dreamed a new ballad about a shipwreck, and on awaking wrote it down at once. The thing would not be worth quoting, if it were possible to remember it; but it was correct enough in rhymes and metre.

My life at Doncaster was not on the whole unhappy, and the steady discipline of the school was doing me much good. Mr. Cape was a very severe master, and he used the cane very freely; but to a boy who had lived under the tyranny of my father Mr. Cape's severity seemed a light affliction. He kept up his dignity by seldom appearing in the schoolroom; he sat in his library or in the dining-room in a large morocco-covered arm-chair, holding a book in one hand whilst the other was always ready to clasp the cane that he kept close by. Any failure of memory would cause him to dart a severe look at the delinquent, a false quant.i.ty made him scowl, and when he suspected real carelessness the cane was resorted to at once. Unfortunately he could not apply it and keep his temper at the same time. The exercise roused him to fury, and a punishment which in his first intention was to have been mild became cruel through the effect of his own rapidly increasing irritation. Mr.

Cape's health was not good, and no doubt this added to the natural irritability of his temper. There was one unfortunate youngster whose hands were covered with chilblains, and who was constantly displeasing Mr. Cape by inattention or inaccuracy, so he incurred such perpetual canings that his hands were pitiable to see, and must have been extremely painful. Our head-master was no doubt laudably, or selfishly, anxious that we should get on with our work so as to do him credit at Cambridge, where most of us were expected to go; but he seemed almost incapable of pity. I remember having the intense pleasure of playing him a little trick just after he had been caning a lad who was a very good friend of mine.

It happened in this way--but first I must describe the topography of the place. Mr. Cape's house was a tall brick building that looked upon the street on one side, and on our playground (which had formerly been a garden) on the other. At the other end of the garden was a wash-house with the schoolroom over it, and in the wash-house there was a large copper for boiling linen. In the house the dining-room looked over the play-ground, and it somehow happened (perhaps it was in the Easter holidays) that there were no pupils left in the place but my friend Brokenribs and I. [Footnote: We always called him Brokenribs, which recalled his real name by a sort of imitation; besides which, though his ribs had not actually been broken, he had suffered from a good many bruises.] Mr. Cape called him up into the dining-room after dark, and began to thrash him. Brokenribs, after some time, began to think that a sufficient number of strokes had been administered, and put the dining-table between himself and his adversary, who could not get at him any longer. I was in the playground, and understood all that was pa.s.sing by the shadows on the window-blinds.

It was most amusing to me, as a spectator, to see the shadow of Brokenribs flit rapidly past, and still better perhaps to see it followed by that of Mr. Cape, with bald head and uplifted cane. When this entertainment had lasted some time I heard a great banging of doors, and Brokenribs issued from the house, rushing like a hunted deer the whole length of the playground. "Cape's after me!" he said. "Where shall I hide?"

"In the copper!" I answered with a sudden inspiration, and ran into the wash-house with him, where I lifted the lid and stowed him away in safety. The lid had but just been replaced when Mr. Cape appeared in the playground and asked if I had seen Brokenribs. "Yes, sir, certainly; he was running this way, sir." I accompanied Mr. Cape into the wash-house, which had an outer door giving access to a lane, and observed with pleasure that he was forced to the irresistible conclusion that Brokenribs had taken flight. The lad's parents lived at an accessible distance (perhaps twenty miles), so Mr. Cape was tormented with the unpleasant idea that the lad had gone home to tell his own story. He therefore ordered a gig and drove off so as to catch Brokenribs during his flight. As my friend had been sitting in cold water, I got him out when the coast was clear, and made him go to bed, where the housekeeper sent him a treacle posset. After driving many a mile in vain, Mr. Cape returned very late, and never said a word on the subject to either of us.

Poor Brokenribs was not only very often caned, but he was f.a.g to a tyrannical private pupil, who made him suffer severely. The private pupils upheld the sacred inst.i.tution of f.a.gging, which gave them a pleasant sense of authority, and as they sat like G.o.ds above us, they were not in danger of retaliation. Brokenribs was f.a.g to a young man who determined that he should learn two things,--first, to endure pain without flinching, and secondly, to smoke tobacco. To achieve the first of these great purposes, he used to twist the lad's arms and administer a certain number of hard blows upon them. This he did every day so long as the whim lasted. As for the smoking, poor Brokenribs had to smoke a certain number of pipes every day. A single pipe made him look ghastly, and the whole series made him dreadfully ill. I remember his white face at such times; but he attained his reward in becoming an accomplished and precocious smoker.

I was f.a.g myself at one time to a private pupil; but he was not very tyrannical with me, and only ordered me to light fires, which was a valuable element in my education.

It gives one a fine independence of servants to be able to light a fire quickly and well. This accomplishment enables a man to get up as early as he chooses, even in winter, and I have never forgotten it; indeed, I lighted a fire an hour before writing this page. In my opinion, it would be wise to teach every boy the art of doing without servants on occasion.

The private pupils exercised authority in other ways than by converting us into f.a.gs. It so happened that I became possessor of an unfortunate tawny dog. How one boy should be owner of a dog at school when the others had nothing to do with him may be difficult to understand; and indeed my ownership did not last for very long, but it was pleasant to me whilst it lasted. The poor beast, if I remember rightly, belonged to somebody who did not want him, and was going to have him slain. I had always an intense affection for dogs, and begged Mr. Cape to let me keep this one, promising that it should not be a nuisance. I was rather a favorite with the head-master, so he granted this very extraordinary request, and it was understood that the dog was to lodge in a box in the wash-house. I bought some fresh straw for him, and took the greatest care of him, so that he soon became strongly attached to me. Had there been no private pupils the creature would have been safe enough, as I would have fought any lad of my own age in his behalf, and Brokenribs, who was older, would have fought the bigger boys; but we none of us dared to resist the privates, who were grown men. One of the privates thought that a small boy ought not to possess a dog, and began to affirm that the animal was a nuisance. He then said it would be an improvement to cut off its tail, which he did accordingly, in spite of all my remonstrances. I pitied the poor beast when it lay suffering with its bleeding stump, and did all that affection could suggest for its consolation; but shortly afterwards the same private pupil, who had a taste for pistol-shooting, thought it would be good fun to shoot at a living target, so he took my dog away into a field and shot him there. I knew what he was going to do, but had no power to prevent it, as he had begun by persuading Mr. Cape that the poor beast was a nuisance, which he certainly was not. He was a very quiet, timid dog, of an anxious, apprehensive temperament, having probably never had reason to place much trust in the human species.

There was one lad at the school who was a coa.r.s.e bully, and I remember his playing a trick on me which was nothing less than pure brigandage.

He ordered me to give him my keys, and rummaged in my private box. He found a small telescope in it which was to his liking, and took it. I never got any redress about that telescope, as the bully coolly said it had always belonged to him, and he was powerful enough to act on the great principle that _la force prime le droit_.

It is most astonishing how some boys gain a great ascendency over others when there seems to be no substantial reason for it. One of my school-fellows, who was cousin to some of my cousins, and bore my surname as one of his Christian names, had quite a remarkable ascendency over boys, and yet he had not the physical size and strength which usually impose upon them. He was slight and small, though he had a handsome face; but he had an aristocratic temperament, which inspired a sort of respect, and a governing disposition, which made other boys yield to him. Nothing was more curious than to see how completely the bully effaced himself before that young gentleman's superiority. The bully was also a sn.o.b, and probably believed that Henry Alexander belonged to the highest aristocracy. He was well descended and well connected (there was an abeyant peerage in his family), but in point of fact, his social position was not better than that of some other boys in the school. I remember well the intense astonishment of the bully when he found out one day that Alexander bore my name as a Christian name, and learned the reason.

Alexander was a perfect little dandy, being at all times exceptionally well dressed for a schoolboy, and on Sundays he came out with remarkable splendor. In spring and summer he wore a jacket and trousers of the most fashionable cut and of the very finest blue cloth, with a gloss upon it, and a white waistcoat adorned with a bunch of valuable trinkets to his watch-chain.

His hat, his gloves, his wonderfully small boots, were all the pink of perfection. He smoked very good cigars, and talked about life with an air of the most consummate experience, that gained him profound respect.

Most boys hesitate about the choice of a profession, but Alexander had no such indecision. He had made up his mind to be an officer, with his father's consent, and guided by a sure instinct, as he had exactly the qualities to make himself respected in a regiment. It does a young officer no harm to be rather a dandy and to shine in society, whilst the extreme decision and prompt.i.tude of Alexander's peremptory will, and the natural ease with which he a.s.sumed authority, would be most useful in command. A few years later he joined the 64th Regiment and went to India, where in spite of his rather delicate frame he became an active sportsman. One day, however, the surgeon of the regiment saw him by accident in his bath, and declared that he was too thin to be well, so he examined him, and found that consumption had begun. Alexander returned to England, where he lingered a few months, and then died. He came to see me not very long before his death, not looking nearly so ill as I had expected, but the doctor knew best. With better health he might have had a brilliant career, and was certain, at least, to be an efficient and popular officer, with the right degree of love for his profession.

Another of my fellow-pupils who died early was the eldest son and heir of a country squire, and one of the handsomest and most able young men I ever met. He was a private pupil, yet not at all disliked by the younger boys, as he was always kind and friendly towards us. There was a project for his going out to India, and he talked over the matter with his father one evening at his own home. A dispute arose between father and son as they sat talking late, and when they separated for the night they were not on good terms. The next morning the young gentleman was found dead in bed under circ.u.mstances which led to a very strong suspicion of suicide. We were all deeply grieved by his death, as he seemed to have the best gifts of Nature, and life was opening so brightly before him; but he had a very high spirit, and if he really did commit suicide, which is not improbable, it is very likely that his pride had been wounded. Whenever I read in the poets or elsewhere of gifted young men who have ended sadly and prematurely, his image rises before me, though it is now forty years since we met. Poor Brokenribs is gone too, though he lived long enough to be a clergyman for some years. He was a thoroughly good fellow, bearing all his hardships with admirable equanimity.

Before quitting the history of my school-days, I ought, perhaps, to tell the story of a great swimming exploit whereof I was the hero. The reader, after this expression, will count upon some display of prowess and of vanity at the same time, but there is neither in this case.

After I had been at Doncaster about a year, one of the private pupils came to me one day with a pencil and a piece of paper in his hand, and said, "We are going to buy a boat at Cambridge; will you subscribe?" Now it so happened that I was born a boating creature, just as decidedly as I was _not_ born to be a cricketing creature, and such a question addressed to me was much as if one said to a young duck, "Would you like to go on the pond, or would you prefer being shut up in a cage?" Of course I said "yes" at once, and wrote an artful letter to my dear guardian begging for the four guineas which were to const.i.tute me a shareholder in the expected vessel.

The future captain of the boat took my money very readily when it came, and n.o.body could have felt more certain of a boating career than I did; but just before the arrival of the vessel itself, it occurred to Mr.

Cape (rather late in the day) that he would take a prudent precaution, so he issued a ukase to the effect that none but good swimmers were to make any use of the boat. Now I had often heard, and read too in books, that man was naturally a swimming animal, and that any one who was thrown into water would swim if only he was not afraid, so I said inwardly, "It is true that I never _did_ swim, but that is probably because I have only bathed in shallow water; I have courage enough, and if they pitch me into the river Don, most probably I shall swim, as man is naturally a swimming animal and fear is the only impediment." One day at dinner Mr. Cape asked all the subscribers, one after another, if they could swim. There was a boy of about fourteen who was a splendid swimmer, and well known for such both to the masters and his school-fellows, but Mr. Cape did not omit him, and I envied the simple ease of his "Yes, sir." When it came to me, I too said "Yes, sir,"

affecting the same ease, and Mr. Cape looked at me, and the a.s.sistant-master looked at me, and every one of the fellows looked at me, and then a slight smile was visible on all their countenances. After dinner the fine swimmer expressed his regret that he had not known sooner about my possession of this accomplishment, as we might have enjoyed it together in the Don. The next Sat.u.r.day afternoon was fine, so the swimmers went to the river with the a.s.sistant-master, and I was very politely invited to accompany them. On this an older boy, who had always been kind to me, said privately, "You can't swim, I know you can't, and you'd better confess it, for if you don't, you run a good chance of being drowned this afternoon; the water is thirty feet deep." I answered, with cold thanks, that my friend's apprehensions were groundless; and we set off.

On our way to the river the unpleasant reflection occurred to my mind, that possibly the books and the people might be wrong, and that mere courage might _not_ enable me to dispense with acquired skill.

[Footnote: The doctrine that courage is enough is most mischievous and perilous nonsense. I have become a good swimmer since those days, and have taught my sons: but we had to learn it as an art, just as one learns to skate.] But I put away this idea as too disagreeable to be dwelt upon. Unfortunately the disagreeable idea that we set aside is often the true and the wise one.

As we went through the town to the water the boy who had expressed his scepticism disappeared for a moment in a rope-maker's shop, and soon emerged with a long and strong cord over his shoulder. I guessed what that was for, and felt humiliated, but said nothing. The swimmers stripped and plunged, but just at the moment when I was going to plunge too I felt the strong hand of the a.s.sistant-master on my shoulder, and he said, "Wait one moment," The moment was employed by my school-fellow in fastening the cord round my waist, "Now, plunge as much as you like!"

I was soon in the depths and struggling to get to the surface, but, somehow, did _not_ swim. My preserver on the bank thought it would be as well to convince me of my inability by a prolonged immersion, so he let me feel the unpleasant beginning of drowning. They say that the sensation is delightful at a later stage, and that the patient dreams he is walking in flowery meadows on the land. The first stage is undoubtedly disagreeable,--the oppression, the desire to breathe, are horrible,--but I did not get so far as to fill the lungs with water.

Just in proper time there came a great tug at the cord, and I was fished up. I dressed, and felt very small, looking with envy on the real swimmers, and especially at the fat usher, who was rolling about like a porpoise in the middle of the river.

The boat came, and I was allowed only to see her from the bank. How lovely she looked with her outside varnish and her internal coat of Cambridge blue! How beautiful were the light and elegant oars that I was forbidden to touch!

Some time after that one of my school-fellows said: "You know, Hamerton, you're just as well out of that boat as in her, for whenever we want to go out on Wednesday or Sat.u.r.day afternoons we always find that the privates have got the start of us. The fact is, the boat is as if she belonged to them." In a word, the private pupils looked on the aspirations of the others with marked disapproval. There ought, of course, to have been a plurality of boats; but Mr. Cape was not himself a boating man, and did not encourage the amus.e.m.e.nt. He dreaded the responsibility for accidents.

One result of my adventure was a firm resolution that I would learn to swim, and not only that, but become really a good swimmer. I never attempted anything that seemed so hopelessly difficult for me, or in which my progress was so slow; but in course of time I did swim, and many years afterwards, from daily practice in the longer and warmer summers of France, I became an expert, able to read a book aloud in deep water whilst holding it up with both hands, or to swim with all my clothes on and a pair of heavy boots, using one hand only and carrying a paddle in the other, whilst I drew a small boat after me. The perseverance that led to this ultimate result is entirely due to that early misadventure at Doncaster. I have learned one or two other things in consequence of being stung with shame in a like manner, and am convinced that there is nothing better for a boy than to be roused to perseverance in that way.

I never felt the least shame, however, in not being able to play cricket in a manner to please connoisseurs. I hated the game from the very beginning, and it was pure slavery to me, and I never had the faintest desire to excel in it or even to learn it. This dislike was a misfortune, as not to love cricket is a cause of isolation for an English boy.

A kind of exercise that I was fond of was ordinary walking. We often took long walks on half-holidays that were delightful, and I have escaped very early on the summer mornings and taken a walk round the race-course, being back in time for the usual hour of rising. This, however, was found out in course of time and put an end to; but I had occasional headaches, so the doctor (who was a very kind friend of mine and invited me to his house) told Mr. Cape that he must send me out for a walk when I had a headache. "But how am I to know that his head really aches?" inquired the head-master. I heard the reply and took note of it.

The doctor said it would usually be accompanied with flushing; so whenever I thought I was sufficiently red in the face I applied for leave to go to the race-course.

The doctor had a son who was a good-natured, pleasant boy about my own age. There never was the slightest ill-feeling between us, but quite the contrary; and yet we fought many a hard battle simply because the elder boys backed us and set us on. They enjoyed the sport as they would have enjoyed c.o.c.k-fighting, though perhaps not quite so much, as it was not quite so b.l.o.o.d.y and barbarous. This fighting was of no practical use; but if I had been able to thrash the bully who took my telescope _that_ would have been of some use. Unfortunately he was my senior, and considerably my superior in strength, so prudence forbade the combat.

CHAPTER IX.

1846.

Early interest in theology.--Reports of sermons.--Quiet influence of Mr.

Cape.--Failure of Mr. Cape's health.--His death.