I AM SENT TO A CHARITY SCHOOL, WHERE THE BOYS DO NOT CONSIDER CHARITY AS
A PART OF THEIR EDUCATION--THE PECULIARITIES OF THE MASTER, AND THE
MAGICAL EFFECT OF A BLOW OF THE NOSE--A DISQUISITION UPON THE LETTER A,
FROM WHICH I FIND ALL MY PREVIOUS LEARNING THROWN AWAY.
Before I quitted the room, Sarah and I were in deep converse at the
window, and Mr and Mrs Drummond employed likewise at the table. The
result of the conversation between Sarah and me was the intimacy of
children; that of Mr and Mrs Drummond, that the sooner I was disposed
of, the more it would be for my own advantage. Having some interest
with the governors of a charity school near Brentford, Mr Drummond lost
no time in procuring me admission; and before I had quite spoiled my new
clothes, having worn them nearly three weeks, I was suited afresh in a
formal attire--a long coat of pepper and salt, yellow leather breeches
tied at the knees, a worsted cap with a tuft on the top of it, stockings
and shoes to match, and a large pewter plate upon my breast, marked with
Number 63, which, as I was the last entered boy, indicated the sum total
of the school. It was with regret that I left the abode of the
Drummonds, who did not think it advisable to wait for the completion of
the barge, much to the annoyance of Miss Drummond, and before we arrived
met them all out walking. I was put into the ranks, received a little
good advice from my worthy patron, who then walked away one way, while
we walked another, looking like a regiment of yellow-thighed field-fares
straightened in human perpendiculars. Behold, then, the last scion of
the Faithfuls, peppered, salted, and plated, that all the world might
know that he was a charity-boy, and that there was charity in this
world. But if heroes, kings, great and grave men, must yield to
destiny, lighter-boys cannot be expected to escape; and I was doomed to
receive an education, board, lodging, raiment, etcetera, free, gratis,
and for nothing.
Every society has it chief; and I was about to observe that every circle
has it centre, which certainly would have been true enough, but the
comparison is of no use to me, as our circle had two centres, or, to
follow up the first idea, had two chiefs--the chief schoolmaster and the
chief domestic--the chief masculine and the chief feminine--the chief
with the ferula, and the chief with the brimstone and treacle--the
master and the matron, each of whom had their appendages--the one in the
usher, the other in the assistant housemaid. But of this quartette, the
master was not only the most important, but the most worthy of
description; and as he will often appear in the pages of my narrative,
long after my education was complete, I shall be very particular in my
description of Dominie Dobiensis, as he delighted to be called, or
Dreary Dobs, as his dutiful scholars delighted to call him. As in our
school it was necessary that we should be instructed in reading,
writing, and ciphering, the governors had selected the Dominie as the
most fitting person that had offered for the employment, because he had,
in the first place, written a work that nobody could understand upon the
Greek particles; secondly, he had proved himself a great mathematician,
having, it is said, squared the circle by algebraical false quantities,
but would never show the operation for fear of losing the honour by
treachery. He had also discovered as many errors in the demonstrations
of Euclid as ever did Joey Hume in army and navy estimates, and with as
much benefit to the country at large. He was a man who breathed
certainly in the present age, but the half of his life was spent in
antiquity or algebra. Once carried away by a problem, or a Greek
reminiscence, he passed away, as it were, from his present existence,
and everything was unheeded. His body remained, and breathed on his
desk, but his soul was absent. This peculiarity was well known to the
boys, who used to say, "Dominie is in his dreams, and talks in his
sleep."
Dominie Dobiensis left reading and writing to the usher, contrary to the
regulations of the school, putting the boys, if possible, into
mathematics, Latin, and Greek. The usher was not over competent to
teach the two first; the boys not over willing to learn the latter. The
master was too clever, the usher too ignorant; hence the scholars
profited little. The Dominie was grave and irascible, but he possessed
a fund of drollery and the kindest heart. His features could not laugh,
but his trachea did. The chuckle rose no higher than the rings of the
wind-pipe, and then it was vigorously thrust back again by the impulse
of gravity into the region of his heart, and gladdened it with hidden
mirth in its dark centre. The Dominie loved a pun; whether it was let
off in English, Greek, or Latin. The last two were made by nobody but
himself, and not being understood, were, of course, relished by himself
alone. But his love of a pun was a serious attachment: he loved it with
a solemn affection--with him it was no laughing matter.
In person Dominie Dobiensis was above six feet, all bone and sinews.
His face was long and his lineaments large; but his predominant feature
was his nose, which, large as were the others, bore them down into
insignificance. It was a prodigy--a ridicule; but he consoled himself--
Ovid was called Naso. It was not an aquiline nose, nor was it an
aquiline nose reversed. It was not a nose snubbed at the extremity,
gross, heavy, or carbuncled, or fluting. In all its magnitude of
proportions, it was an intellectual nose. It was thin, horny,
transparent, and sonorous. Its snuffle was consequential and its sneeze
oracular. The very sight of it was impressive; its sound, when blown in
school hours, was ominous. But the scholars loved the nose for the
warning which it gave: like the rattle of the dreaded snake, which
announces its presence, so did the nose indicate to the scholars that
they were to be on their guard. The Dominie would attend to this world
and its duties for an hour or two, and then forget his scholars and his
school-room, while he took a journey into the world of Greek or algebra.
Then, when he marked _x_, _y_, and _z_, in his calculations, the boys
knew that he was safe, and their studies were neglected.
Reader, did you ever witness the magic effects of a drum in a small
village, when the recruiting party, with many-coloured ribbons, rouse it
up with a spirit-stirring tattoo? Matrons leave their domestic cares,
and run to the cottage door: peeping over their shoulders, the maidens
admire and fear. The shuffling clowns raise up their heads gradually,
until they stand erect and proud; the slouch in the back is taken out,
their heavy walk is changed to a firm yet elastic tread, every muscle
appears more braced, every nerve, by degrees, new strung; the blood
circulates rapidly: pulses quicken, hearts throb, eyes brighten, and as
the martial sound pervades their rustic frames, the Cimons of the plough
are converted, as if by magic, into incipient heroes for the field;--and
all this is produced by beating the skin of the most gentle, most
harmless animal of creation.
Not having at hand the simile synthetical, we have resorted to the
antithetical. The blowing of the Dominie's nose produced the very
contrary effects. It was a signal that he had returned from his
intellectual journal, and was once more in his school-room--that the
master had finished with his _x_, _y_, _z_'s, and it was time for
scholars to mind their _p_'s and _q_'s. At this note of warning, like
the minute-roll among the troops, every one fell into his place;
half-munched apples were thrust into the first pocket--popguns
disappeared--battles were left to be decided elsewhere--books were
opened, and eyes directed to them--forms that were fidgeting and
twisting in all directions, now took one regimental inclined position
over the desk--silence was restored, order resumed her reign, and Mr
Knapps, the usher, who always availed himself of these interregnums, as
well as the scholars, by deserting to the matron's room, warned by the
well-known sound, hastened to the desk of toil; such were the
astonishing effects of a blow from Dominie Dobiensis' sonorous and
peace-restoring nose.
"Jacob Faithful, draw near," were the first words which struck upon my
tympanum the next morning, when I had taken my seat at the further end
of the school-room. I rose and threaded my way through two lines of
boys, who put out their legs to trip me up in my passage through their
ranks; and surmounting all difficulties, found myself within three feet
of the master's high desk, or pulpit, from which he looked down upon me
like the Olympian Jupiter upon mortals, in ancient time.
"Jacob Faithful, canst thou read?"
"No, I can't," replied I; "I wish I could."
"A well-disposed answer, Jacob; thy wishes shall be gratified. Knowest
thou thine alphabet?"
"I don't know what that is."
"Then thou knowest it not. Mr Knapps shall forthwith instruct thee.
Thou shall forthwith go to Mr Knapps, who inculcateth the rudiments.
_Levior Puer_, lighter-boy, thou hast a _crafty_ look." And then I
heard a noise in his throat that resembled the "cluck, cluck" when my
poor mother poured the gin out of the great stone bottle.
"My little navilculator," continued he, "thou art a weed washed on
shore, one of Father Thames' cast-up wrecks. `_Fluviorum rex
Eridanus_,' [Chuck, cluck.] To thy studies; be thyself--that is, be
Faithful. Mr Knapps, let the Cadmean art proceed forthwith." So
saying, Dominie Dobiensis thrust his large hand into his right coat
pocket, in which he kept his snuff loose, and taking a large pinch (the
major part of which, the stock being low, was composed of hair and
cotton abrasions which had collected in the corners of his pocket), he
called up the first class, while Mr Knapps called me to my first
lesson.
Mr Knapps was a thin, hectic-looking young man, apparently nineteen or
twenty years of age, very small in all his proportions, red ferret eyes,
and without the least sign of incipient manhood; but he was very savage,
nevertheless. Not being permitted to pummel the boys when the Dominie
was in the school-room, he played the tyrant most effectually when he
was left commanding officer. The noise and hubbub certainly warranted
his interference--the respect paid to him was positively _nil_. His
practice was to select the most glaring delinquent, and let fly his
ruler at him, with immediate orders to bring it back. These orders were
complied with for more than one reason; in the first place, was the
offender hit, he was glad that another should have his turn; in the
second, Mr Knapps being a very bad shot (never having drove a
Kamschatdale team of dogs), he generally missed the one he aimed at, and
hit some other, who, if he did not exactly deserve it at that moment,
certainly did for previous, or would for subsequent, delinquencies. In
the latter case, the ruler was brought back to him because there was no
injury inflicted, although intended. However, be it as it may, the
ruler was always returned to him; and thus did Mr Knapps pelt the boys
as if they were cocks on Shrove Tuesday, to the great risk of their
heads and limbs. I have little further to say of Mr Knapps, except
that he wore a black shalloon loose coat; on the left sleeve of which he
wiped his pen, and upon the right, but too often, his ever-snivelling
nose.
"What is that, boy?" said Mr Knapps, pointing to the letter A.
I looked attentively, and recognising, as I thought, one of my father's
hieroglyphics, replied, "That's half-a-bushel;" and I was certainly
warranted in my supposition.
"Half-a-bushel! You're more than half a fool. That's the letter _A_."
"No; it's half-a-bushel; father told me so."
"Then your father was as big a fool as yourself."
"Father knew what half-a-bushel was, and so do I: that's half-a-bushel."
"I tell you it's the letter A," cried Mr Knapps, in a rage.
"It's half-a-bushel," replied I, doggedly. I persisted in my assertion:
and Mr Knapps, who dared not punish me while the Dominie was present,
descended his throne of one step, and led me up to the master.
"I can do nothing with this boy, sir," said he, red as fire; "he denies
the first letter in the alphabet, and insists upon it that the letter A
is not A, but half-a-bushel."
"Dost thou, in thine ignorance, pretend to teach when thou comest here
to learn, Jacob Faithful?"
"Father always told me that that thing there meant half-a-bushel."
"Thy father might, perhaps, have used that letter to signify the measure
which thou speakest of, in the same way as I, in my mathematics, use
divers letters for known and unknown quantities; but thou must forget
that which thy father taught thee, and commence _de novo_. Dost thou
understand?"
"No, I don't."
"Then, little Jacob, that represents the letter A, and whatever else Mr
Knapps may tell thee, thou wilt believe. Return, Jacob, and be docile."