During the time of my life at Doncaster I was extremely religious, having a firm belief in providential interferences on my behalf, even in trifling matters, such as being asked to stay from Sat.u.r.day to Monday in the country. My prayers had especial reference to a country house that belonged to an old lady who was grandmother to a friend of mine, and extended a sort of grandmotherly kindness to myself also. [Footnote: She was a very remarkable and peculiar old lady. The house was very large; but she would only use a few small rooms. She never would travel by railway, but made long journeys, as well as short ones, in an old carriage drawn by a pair of farm-horses. She had a much handsomer carriage in the coach-house, a state affair, that was never used.]

At Doncaster we were always obliged to take notes of the sermons, and write them out afterwards in an abridged form. As I had a theological turn, I sometimes inserted pa.s.sages of my own in these reports which made the masters declare that they did not remember hearing the preacher say that; and on one occasion, being full of ideas of my own about the text which had effectually supplanted those of the preacher, I produced a complete original sermon, which cost me a reprimand, but evidently excited the interest of the master. Dr. Sharpe was Vicar of Doncaster in those days, but after forty years I may be excused if I do not remember much about what he preached. The pulpit was arranged in the old-fashioned three stages, for preacher, reader, and clerk, and on one occasion the highest of these was occupied by the famous Dr. Wolff, the missionary to Bokhara. He was a most energetic preacher, who thumped and pushed his cushion in a restless way, so that at last he fairly pushed it off its desk. He was quick enough to catch it by the ta.s.sel, but he did not catch his Bible, which fell on Dr. Sharpe's head or shoulder, and thence to the floor of the church. It was impossible to keep quite grave under the circ.u.mstances. Even the clergy smiled, the clerk sought refuge in fetching the fallen volume, and a thrill of humorous feeling ran through the congregation.

Mr. Cape did not say much to us about religion. He read prayers every morning and evening, and once or twice I heard him preach when he took duty in a village church not far from the famous castle of Conisborough.

There is an advantage to an active-minded boy in being with a quiet routine-clergyman like Mr. Cape, who proposes no exciting questions. I came under a very different influence afterwards, which plunged me into the stormy ocean of theological controversies at a time of life when it would have been better for me not to concern myself about such matters.

The religion of a boy should be quiet and practical, and his theology should be as simple as possible, and quite uncontroversial in its temper. That was my case at Doncaster; I was a very firm believer, but simply a Christian not belonging to any party in the Church of England, and hardly, indeed, in any but an accidental way to the Church of England herself. Nothing could have been better. A boy is not answerable for the doctrines which are imposed upon him by his elders, and if they have a beneficial effect upon his conduct he need not, whilst he remains a boy, trouble himself to inquire further.

Mr. Cape's health was gradually failing during the time of my stay at Doncaster School, and on the beginning of my fourth half-year after a holiday I found the house managed by his sister, and Mr. Cape himself confined to his room with hopeless disease. Very shortly afterwards the few boys who had come were sent home again, and Mr. Cape died. His sister was a kind old maid, who at once conceived a sort of aunt-like affection for me, and I remember that when I left she gave me a kiss on the forehead. I was grieved to part with her, and showed some real sympathy with her sorrow about her dying brother. I felt some grief on my own account for Mr. Cape, though he had thrashed me many a time with his ever-ready cane. Altogether the three half-years at Doncaster had been well spent, and I had got well on with my work.

Mr. Cape's brother kept a good school at Peterborough, and wanted to have me for a pupil, but as he was especially strong in mathematics, and prepared young men for Cambridge, it was thought that, as I was to go to Oxford, it would be better that I should study under an Oxford man. I never had the slightest natural bent for mathematics, though I did the tasks that were imposed upon me in a perfunctory manner, and with sufficient accuracy just to satisfy my masters.

CHAPTER X.

1847-1849.

My education becomes less satisfactory.--My guardian's state of health.

--I pursue my studies at Burnley.--Dr. Butler.--He encourages me to write English.--Extract from a prize poem.--Public discussions in Burnley School.--A debate on Queen Elizabeth.

The story of my education becomes less satisfactory for me to write as I proceed with it. At thirteen I was a well-educated boy for my age, at fifteen or sixteen I had fallen behind, and if I have now any claim to be considered a fairly well-educated man, it is due to efforts made since youth was past.

The main cause of this r.e.t.a.r.dation may be told before proceeding further. I have already said what a strong affection I had for my guardian. It was a well-placed affection, as she was one of the n.o.blest and best women who ever lived, and all my grat.i.tude to her, though it filled my heart like a religion, was not half what she deserved or what my maturer judgment now feels towards her memory; but like all strong affections, it carried its own penalty along with it. About the time of Mr. Cape's death, I happened to be staying with some near relations, and one of them made a casual allusion to my guardian's heart-disease. I had never heard of this, and was inexpressibly affected by the news. My informant said that the disease was absolutely incurable, and might at any time cause sudden death. This was unhappily the exact truth, and from that moment I looked upon my dear guardian with other eyes. The doctors could not say how long she might live; there was no especial immediate danger, and with care, by incurring no risks, her life might be prolonged for years. After the first shock produced by this terrible news, I quickly resolved that as Death would probably soon separate us, and might separate us at any moment, I would keep as much as possible near my guardian during her life. She may have been tempted to keep me near her by the same consideration, but she was not a woman to allow her feelings to get the better of her sense of duty, and if I had not persistently done all in my power to remain at Burnley, she would have sent me elsewhere. Some reviewer will say that these are trifling matters, but in writing a biography it is necessary to take note of trifles when they affect the whole future existence of the subject. The simple fact of my remaining at Burnley for some years made me turn out an indifferent cla.s.sical scholar, but at the time left my mind more at liberty to grow in its own way.

It is time to give some account of Dr. Butler, the headmaster of Burnley Grammar School, who now became my master, and some time afterwards my private tutor. He was a most liberal-minded, kind-hearted clergyman, and a good scholar, but his too great tenderness of heart made him not exactly the kind of master who would have pushed me on most rapidly.

I had a great affection for him, which he could not help perceiving, and this completely disarmed him, so that he never could find in his heart to say anything disagreeable to me, and on the contrary would often caress me, as it were, with little compliments that I did not always deserve. One tendency of his exactly fell in with my own tastes. He did not think that education should be confined to the two dead languages, but incited the boys to learn French and German, and even chemistry. I worked at French regularly; German I learned just enough to read one thin volume, and went no further. [Footnote: I resumed German many years afterwards, and had a Bavarian for my master; but he was unfortunately obliged to go back to his own country, and I stopped again, having many other things to do. All my literary friends who know German say it is of great use to them; but I never felt the natural taste for it that I have for French and Italian.] As for the chemistry, I acquired some elementary knowledge which afterwards had some influence in directing my attention to etching; indeed, I etched my first plate when a boy at Burnley School. It was a portrait of a Jew with a turban, and was frightfully over-bitten.

Mr. Butler (he had not received his D.C.L. degree in those days) was a very handsome man, with most gentlemanly manners, and all the boys respected him. He governed the school far more by his own dignity than by any severity of tone. He always wore his gown in school, and had a desk made for himself which rather resembled a pulpit and was ornamented with two carved crockets, that of the a.s.sistant-master (who also wore his gown) being dest.i.tute of these ornaments. My progress in cla.s.sics and mathematics was now not nearly so rapid as it had been under the severer _regime_ at Doncaster, but Mr. Butler thought he discovered in me some sort of literary gift, and encouraged me to write English essays, which he corrected carefully to show me my faults of style. This was really good, as Mr. Butler wrote English well himself, and was a man of cultivated taste. He even encouraged me to write verses,--a practice that I followed almost without intermission between the ages of twelve and twenty-one. I am aware that there are many very wise people in the world who think it quite rational, and laudable even, to write verses in the Latin language to improve their knowledge of that tongue, and who think it is a ridiculous waste of time to do the same thing in English.

In my opinion, what holds good for one language holds good equally for another, and I no more regret the time spent on English versification than a Latin scholar would regret his imitations of Virgil. Perhaps the reader may like to see a specimen of my boyish attempts, so I will print an extract from one,--a poem that won a prize at Burnley School in the year 1847.

The subject given us was "Prince Charles Edward after the Battle of Culloden." The poem begins with a wild galloping flight of the Prince from the battlefield of Culloden under the pale moonlight, and then of course we come to the boat voyage with Flora Macdonald. Here my love of boating comes in.

The lovely lamp of Heaven shines brightly o'er The wave cerulean and the yellow sh.o.r.e; As, o'er those waves, a boat like light'ning flies, Slender, and frail in form, and small in size.

--Frail though it be, 'tis manned by hearts as brave As e'er have tracked the pathless ocean's wave,-- High o'er their heads celestial diamonds grace The jewelled robe of night, and Luna's face Divinely fair! O G.o.ddess of the night!

Guide thou their bark, do thou their pathway light!

--Like sea-bird rising on the ocean's foam, Or like the petrel on its stormy home, Yon gallant bark speeds joyously along; The wild waves roar, and drown the boatmen's song.

The sails full-flowing kiss the welcome wind, And leave the screaming sea-gulls far behind!

Onward they fly. 'Tis midnight's moonlit hour!

When Fairies hold their court and Sprites have power.

And now 'tis morn! A fair Isle's distant strand Tempts the tired fugitives again to land.

Fiercely repulsed, they dare once more the wave Fired with undying zeal their Prince to save; And when night flings her sable mantle o'er The giant crags where sea-hawks idly soar, They unmolested gain the wished-for land, And soon with rapid steps bestride the strand.

To Kingsburgh's n.o.ble halls the path they gain And leave afar the ever-murmuring main.

[Footnote: In the printed copies of the poem, the age of the writer was given as thirteen, but I was only in my thirteenth year.]

Very likely this extract will be as much as the reader will have patience for. I think the verses are tolerably good for a boy not yet thirteen years old. The versification is, perhaps, as correct as that of most prize poems, and there is some go in the poetry. It cannot, however, lay claim to much originality. Even in the short extract just given I see the influence of three poets, Virgil, Scott, and Byron. The best that can be expected from the poetry of a boy is that he should give evidence of a liking for the great masters, and in my case the liking was sincere.

In later years Mr. Butler made me translate many of the Odes of Horace into English verse. I did that work with pleasure, but have not preserved one of the translations. I have said that he also encouraged me to write essays. He always gave the subject, and criticized my performance very closely. I wrote so many of these essays that I am afraid to give the number that remains in my memory, for fear of unconscious exaggeration.

Besides these exercises we had public discussions in the school on historical subjects, and of these I remember a great one on the character of Queen Elizabeth. I was chosen for the defence, and the attack on Elizabeth's fame was to be made by the Captain of the school, a lad of remarkable ability named Edward Moore, who was greatly my superior in acquirements.

It happened, I remember, that my guardian was staying at a country house (the Holme), which had formerly belonged to Dr. Whitaker, the celebrated historian of Craven, Whalley, and Richmondshire, and this learned man had left a good library, so I went to stay a few days to read up the subject. Those days were very pleasant to me; the house is very beautiful, with carved oak, tapestry, mullioned windows, old portraits, and stained gla.s.s, and just the old-world surroundings that I have always loved, and it nestled quietly in an open s.p.a.ce in the bottom of a beautiful valley, between steep hills, with miles of walks in the woods.

If ever I have been in danger of coveting my neighbor's house, it has been there.

When we came to the debate, it turned out that my materials were so abundant that I spoke for an hour and a half; Moore spoke about forty minutes, and made a most telling personal hit when attacking Elizabeth for her vanity. "She was vain of her complexion, vain even of her hair"

... (here the orator paused and looked at me, then he added, slowly and significantly), "_which was red_." The point here was, that my hair was red in those days, though it has darkened since. I need not add that the allusion was understood at once by the whole school, and was immensely successful.

After we had spoken, a youth rose to give his opinion, and as his speech was sufficiently laconic, I will repeat it _in extenso_. The effect would be quite spoiled if I did not add that he was suffering from a very bad cold, which played sad havoc with his consonants. This was his speech, without the slightest curtailment:--

"Id by opidiod Queed Elizabeth was to be blabed, because she was a proud wobad."

My opponent in the debate on Elizabeth was, I believe, all things taken into consideration, the most gifted youth I ever knew during my boyhood.

He kept at the head of the school without effort, as if the post belonged to him, and he was remarkable for bodily activity, being the best swimmer in the school, and, I think, the best cricketer also. He afterwards died prematurely, and his brother died in early manhood from exhausting fatigue during an excursion in the Alps.

The school was in those days attended by lads belonging to all cla.s.ses of society, except the highest aristocracy of the neighborhood, and it did a good deal towards keeping up a friendly feeling between different cla.s.ses. That is the great use of a good local school. Many of the boys were the sons of rich men, who could easily have sent them to public schools at a distance, and perhaps in the present generation they would do so.

CHAPTER XI.

1850.

My elder uncle.--We go to live at Hollins.--Description of the place.-- My strong attachment to it.--My first experiment in art-criticism.--The stream at Hollins.--My first catamaran.--Similarity of my life at Hollins to my life in France thirty-six years later.

My elder uncle, the owner of my grandfather's house and estate at Hollins, had been educated to the law, as the income of our branch of the family was insufficient, and he had begun to practise as a solicitor in Burnley, where at that time there was an excellent opening; but he had not the kind of tact which enables lawyers to get on in the world, so his professional income diminished, and he went to live in Halifax, and let the house at Hollins.

His family was large, and for some years he did all in his power to live according to his rank in society, for he had married a lady of good family (they had thirty-six quarterings between them), and, like most men in a similar position, he was unwilling to adopt the only safe plan, which is to take boldly a lower place on the ladder. At Halifax he lived in a large house (Hopwood Hall), which belonged to his father-in-law, and there his wife and he received the Halifax society of those days, at what, I believe, were very pleasant entertainments, for they had the natural gift of hospitality, and lacked nothing but a large fortune to be perfect in the eyes of the world.

My uncle's father-in-law was living in retirement at Scarborough when Hollins happened to fall vacant, so he became the tenant; but as the house was too large for him, my uncle divided it into two, and proposed to let the other half to my guardian and her sister.

They accepted, and the consequence was that we went to live in the country,--a most important change for me, as I soon acquired that pa.s.sion for a country life which afterwards became a second nature, and which, though it may have been beneficial to my health, and perhaps in some degree to the quality of my work, has been in many ways an all but fatal hindrance to my success.

There are, or were, a great many old halls in Lancashire that belonged to the old families, which have now for the most part disappeared. They were of all sizes, some large enough to accommodate a wealthy modern country gentleman (though not arranged according to modern ideas), and others of quite small dimensions, though generally interesting for their architecture,--much more interesting, indeed, than the houses which have succeeded them. Hollins was between the two extremes, and when in its perfection, must have been rather a good specimen, with its mullioned windows, its numerous gables, and its formal front garden, with a straight avenue beyond. Unfortunately, my grandfather found it necessary to rebuild the front, and in doing so altered the character by introducing modern sash windows in the upper story; and though he retained mullioned windows on the ground floor, they were not strictly of the old type. My uncle also carried out other alterations, external and internal, which ended by depriving the house of much of its old character, and still more recent changes have gone farther in the same direction.

However, such as it was in my youth, the place inspired in me one of those intensely strong local attachments which take root in some natures, and in none, I really believe, more powerfully than in mine.

Like all strong pa.s.sions, these local attachments are extremely inconvenient, and it would be better for a man to be without them; but all reasoning on such subjects is superfluous.

Hollins is situated in the middle of a small but very pretty estate, almost entirely bounded by a rocky and picturesque trout-stream, and so pleasantly varied by hill and dale, wood, meadow, and pasture, that it appears much larger than it really is. In my boyhood it seemed an immensity. My cousins and I used to roam about it and play at Robin Hood and his merry men with great satisfaction to ourselves. We fished and bathed in one of the pools, where our ships delivered real broadsides of lead from their little cannons. These boyish recollections, and an early pa.s.sion for landscape beauty, made Hollins seem a kind of earthly Paradise to me, and the idea of going to live there, instead of in a row of houses in a manufacturing town, filled me with the most delightful antic.i.p.ations. My uncle put workmen in the house to prepare it, and on every opportunity I walked there to see what they were doing. Even at that age I knew much more about architecture than my elders, being perfectly familiar with the details of the old halls, and so I was constantly losing temper at what seemed to me the evident stupidity of the masons. There was an old master-mason, who did not like me and my criticisms, and he swore at me freely enough, in an explicit Lancashire manner. One day, simply by the eye, I perceived that he was four inches out in a measurement, and told him of it, when he swore frightfully. He then took his two-foot rule, and finding himself in the wrong, swore more frightfully than ever. This was my first experience in the thankless business of art-criticism, and it was the beginning of a false position, in which I often found myself in youth, from knowing more about some subjects than is usual with boys.

The small estate on which Hollins is situated is divided from Towneley Park by a road and a wall, and on the opposite side its boundary, for most of the distance, is the rocky stream that has been already mentioned. The stream had a great influence on my whole life, by giving me a taste for the beauty of wild streams in Scotland and elsewhere. It is called the Brun, and gives its name to Burnley. The rocks are a sandstone sufficiently warm in color to give a very pleasant contrast to the green foliage, and the forms of them are so broken that in sunshine there are plenty of fine accidental lights and shadows. It was one of my greatest pleasures to follow the course of this stream, with a leaping-pole, up to the moors, where it flowed through a wide and desolate valley or hollow in the hills. As the aspect of a stream is continually changing with the seasons and the quant.i.ty of water, it is always new. The only regret I have about my residence near the Brun is that I did not learn at the right time to make the most of it in the way of artistic study; but I did as much, perhaps, as was to be expected from a boy who was receiving a literary and not an artistic education.

The defect of the Brun was the absence of pools big enough for swimming and boating, but it gave a tantalizing desire for these pleasures, and I was as aquatic as my opportunities would allow. In June, 1850, my first catamaran was launched on a fish-pond. I built it myself, with an outlay of one pound for the materials. It was composed of two floats or tubes, consisting of a light framework of deal covered with waterproofed canvas. These were kept apart in the water, but joined above by a light open framework that served as a deck, and on which the pa.s.sengers sat.

The thing would carry five people, and was propelled by short oars.