‘The feature in my character which was to distinguish it at a later
period of life, namely, some few pretensions to literary acquirement,
has appeared for a time to have lain dormant. After I left Berkshire,
circumstances had been so little favourable to me, that, except the
mighty volume of Sacred Writ (which I always continued more or less to
peruse, wherever I found a Bible) and the two small remnants of romance
I have mentioned, letters seemed to have lost sight of me, and I of
letters. Books were not then, as they fortunately are now, great or
small, on this subject or on that, to be found in almost every house: a
book, except of prayers, or of daily religious use, was scarcely to be
seen but among the opulent, or in the possession of the studious; and by
the opulent they were often disregarded with a degree of neglect which
would now be almost disgraceful. Yet in the course of six or seven
years, it can hardly be imagined that not a single book fell in my way;
or that if it did, I should not eagerly employ such opportunity as I had
to know its contents. Even the walls of cottages and little alehouses
would do something; for many of them had old English ballads, such as
Death and the Lady, and Margaret’s Ghost, with lamentable tragedies, or
King Charles’s golden rules, occasionally pasted on them. These were at
that time the learning, and often, no doubt, the delight of the vulgar.
However, I may venture to affirm, that during the period we have passed,
I neither had in my possession, nor met with any book of any kind which
I had leisure and permission to read through. During my residence at
Newmarket, I was not quite so much in the desert, though, as far as my
limits extended, I was little removed: a tolerable estimate of the
boundary may be formed from the remaining chapters of this book.
‘Whether I had or had not begun to scrawl and imitate writing, or
whether I was able to convey written intelligence concerning myself to
my father for some months after I left him, I cannot say, but we were
very careful not to lose sight of each other; and following his
affection, as well as his love of change, in about half a year he came
to Newmarket himself, where he at first procured work of the most
ordinary kind at his trade. There was one among his shop-mates whom I
well remember, for he was struck with me and I with him: he not only
made shoes, but was a cock-feeder of some estimation; and what was to me
much more interesting, he had read so much as to have made himself
acquainted with the most popular English authors of that day. He even
lent me books to read: among which were Gulliver’s Travels, and the
Spectator, both of which could not but be to me of the highest
importance. I remember after I had read them, he asked me to consider
and tell him which I liked best: I immediately replied, “there was no
need of consideration, I liked Gulliver’s Travels ten times the best.”
“Aye,” said he, “I would have laid my life on it, boys and young people
always prefer the marvellous to the true.” I acquiesced in his judgment,
which, however, only proved that neither he nor I understood Gulliver,
though it afforded me infinite delight. The behaviour of my father, who
being at work, was present at this, and two or three other dialogues in
which there was a kind of literary pretension, denoted the pride and
exultation of his heart. He remarked, “that many such boys as Tom were
not to be found! It was odd enough! He knew not where Tom had picked it
up, he had never had a brain for such things; but God gave some gifts to
some, and others to others, seeing He was very bountiful: but, if he
guessed rightly, He had given Tom his share!” My father was not a little
flattered to find that the cock-feeder was inclined to concur with him
in opinion. I remember little else of my literary cock-feeder; yet the
advantages I had gained from him in letting me know there were books
like these, and introducing me, though but to a momentary view of Swift
and Addison, were perhaps incalculable.
‘That love of the marvellous which is natural to ill-informed man, is
still more lively in childhood. I used to listen with the greatest
pleasure to a tale of providential interference; my blood thrilled
through my frame at a story of an angel alighting in a field, walking up
to a worthy clergyman, telling him a secret known only to himself, and
then persuading him to change his road, by which he avoided the
murderers that were lying in wait for him. Yet I know not how it
happened, but even at this time I refused to believe in witches; and
when stories of hobgoblins, of houses that were haunted, or of nightly
apparitions were repeated, I remained incredulous. I had either invented
or heard some of the plain arguments which shewed the absurdity of such
opinions. It will be seen in the following chapter, that my incredulity
in this respect was of use to me, though I cannot account for the manner
in which I came by it at so early an age.
‘Books of piety, if the author were but inspired with zeal, fixed my
attention whenever I met with them: “the Whole Duty of Man” was my
favourite study, and still more Horneck’s “Crucified Jesus.” I had not
yet arrived at Baxter’s “Saint’s Everlasting Rest,” or “The Life of
Francis Spira;” but John Bunyan I ranked among the most divine authors I
had ever read. In fact I was truly well-intentioned, but my zeal was too
ardent, and liable to become dangerous.
‘One day as I happened to be passing the church, I heard voices singing,
which exercise I admired; and having, as I thought, a tuneful voice, I
was desirous of becoming acquainted with so pleasing an art. I
approached the church door, found it open, and went in, when I found my
ear charmed with some heavenly addition to the sweet melody of music;
and on inquiry was told, they were singing in four parts. At the head of
them was a Mr Langham, who could sing in a feigned soprano’s voice, and
who was their instructor in music; for they were all acknowledged
learners except himself, and each of them paid him five shillings a
quarter for his trouble in teaching them. Having stood with delight to
listen some time, a conversation at length began, I was invited to try
my voice, and after a ready compliance, both my voice and ear were
pronounced to be good. Thus encouraged, I ventured to ask if I might
come among them; and was answered, yes; they should be very glad to have
me, for they much wanted a treble voice, and all they required was that
I should conform to the rules of the society. I inquired what those
rules were, and was told, they each paid five shillings entrance, and
five shillings a quarter to Mr Langham, another five shillings for
Arnold’s Psalmody; and that they paid forfeits of pennies and
two-pences, if they were absent on certain days, at certain hours, or
infringed other necessary bye-laws. An expense so great alarmed me: I
would willingly have complied with their forfeits, because I depended on
my own punctuality; but fifteen shillings was a vast sum, and I told
them what it was that made me hesitate. As they were desirous to have
me, they agreed that I should sing out of their books; and Langham, who
had great good-nature, said, since I was but a boy, and my wages could
not be great, he would give up the entrance money. It was therefore
agreed, that with the payment of five shillings a quarter to Mr Langham,
I should be instructed by him in the art of psalmody.
‘From the little I that day learned, and from another lesson or two, I
obtained a tolerable conception of striking intervals upwards or
downwards; such as the third, the fourth, and the remainder of the
octave, the chief feature in which I soon understood, but of course I
found most difficulty in the third, sixth, and seventh. Previously
however to any great progress, I was obliged to purchase Arnold’s
Psalmody; and studious over this divine treasure, I passed many a
forenoon extended in the hay-loft. My chief, and almost my only
difficulty, lay in the impenetrable obscurity of such technical words as
were not explained either by their own nature, or by the author in other
language. I was illiterate, I knew the language of the vulgar well, but
little more. Perhaps no words ever puzzled poor mortal more than I was
puzzled by the words, _major_ and _minor_ keys. I think it a duty, which
no one who writes an elementary book ought to neglect, to give a
vocabulary of all the words which are not in common use, in the language
in which he writes; and to explain them by the simplest terms in that
language; or if that cannot be done, by a clear and easy paraphrase. The
hours I spent by myself in mastering whatever belonged to notation, and
in learning the intervals, occasioned my progress to be so very
different from that of the others, that it excited the admiration of
them all; and Mr Langham, the great man whom I then looked up to,
declared it was surprising. If any part was out, I heard it immediately,
and often struck the note for them, getting the start of Mr Langham. If
he should happen to be absent, he said that I could set them all right;
so that by this, and the clearness of my voice, I obtained the nickname
of the sweet singer of Israel.
‘My quickness at whatever related to reading became so far known, that a
man about fifty, who had many years kept a school in Newmarket, made me
the offer, if I would become his scholar, to teach me gratis. Thoroughly
glad of the opportunity, I thanked him kindly, and instantly complied.
The next morning I went to his school, where I saw a number of boys, to
whom I was introduced by the master, as one whom they ought to respect.
“I’ll set him a word of six syllables,” said he, “and I’ll engage for
him that he shall spell it instantly without the least mistake, or
without ever perhaps having seen it before. Pray, my boy,” said he, “how
do you spell Mahershalalashbas?” The boys first stared at a word of so
foreign a sound, and next at the immediate readiness with which I
spelled it, though it would be difficult to find a word that could
puzzle less: however, since they all wondered at me, it was very natural
I should wonder at myself, and that I did most assuredly. The master
shewed me the first seat as an honour to his school, where he assured me
I might remain as long as he could teach me any thing, and he had by no
means the character of ignorance. But, poor gentleman, he had another
failing, which I could still less pardon; for every afternoon he was to
be seen drunk in the streets, and that to such an offensive and shameful
degree, that though I was very desirous to gain some little addition to
my stock of knowledge, I felt myself so disgraced by my master, that I
went but three times to his school.
‘This plan, however, suggested another. By trade, Mr Langham was a maker
of leather breeches, which were worn through all Newmarket: but he had
by some means acquired rather a greater love of knowledge, and more of
it than at that period belonged to his station; for I believe he was
only a journeyman. Hearing me bewail the opportunity I had lost, and
especially that of acquiring the first rudiments of arithmetic, he
joined in my regret, saying it was a pity he could not afford to teach
me himself for nothing, and that I could not spare another five
shillings a quarter out of my wages; otherwise he would have given me
one lesson daily between stable-hours. To this proposal, after turning
it in my mind, I however agreed. I continued with him three months, and
in that time mastered rule after rule so well, as to understand Practice
and the Rule of Three. Except what I have already related, these three
months, as far as others were concerned, may be truly called my course
of education. At the age of two and three and thirty, indeed, when I was
endeavouring to acquire the French language, I paid a Monsieur Raymond
twenty shillings for a few lessons, but the good he did me was so little
that it was money thrown away. At Newmarket I was so intent on studying
arithmetic, that for want of better apparatus, I have often got an old
nail, and cast up sums on the paling of the stable-yard. The boys
prophesied I should go mad; in which sagacious conjecture our old maid
and housekeeper, for she was both, joined them.