“And then the whining schoolboy, with his satchel,
And shining morning face, creeping like snail
Unwillingly to school.”
SHAKSPERE.
“I BELIEVE,” continued the old man, “that if a man were to live an
hundred years,—so long as to forget every thing else that ever happened
to him, he would never forget the first day of his going to school! I am
sure _I_ never shall. I recollect at this moment, as well or better than
if it had taken place yesterday, every thing that happened, every thing
that I did and saw, nay, every thing that I thought on that all-important
day. When I first woke in the morning, I knew, before I opened my eyes,
that something particular was going to happen, though it was some time
before I was sufficiently wide awake to call to mind exactly what it was.
When it at last flashed across me that I was that day going for the first
time to school, I jumped into the middle of the floor, and was dressed,
(and in my best suit of fustians,) in half my usual time. I shall never
forget the care with which my good mother packed up my little dinner in
my bag, putting my spelling-book carefully on the top of it, nor the
pleased look with which she put my new hat on my head, and bid me to ‘be
a good boy.’ I recollect I thought at that time, as I started off—‘to be
sure I shall; how could any one doubt it!’ but I said nothing: I was in
too great haste to join my young companions, whom I heard hallooing out
for me from the top of the hill. What a glorious morning it was! I told
you that I did not care, then, much about the scenes of nature; nor did I
ever much think or talk about them. It is not the custom in that
country; for men are there too familiar with them to make them the
subject of their daily conversation. But the impression which they made
on me shows that I felt them; for there was not a beam of sunshine or a
cloud that crossed my path on that morning, which I do not recollect, at
this moment, as distinctly as the everlasting hills over which they
passed—never to visit them again!” A shade passed over the old man’s
countenance, and I fancied he was thinking, that he himself might be
compared to the cloud and the sunshine, never more to visit his native
hills. “The sun was rising right over the top of Penigent, as I and my
young companions reached the brow of the hill from which the road
descends down upon the quiet village of Hawkshead. His rays just crossed
the point on which we stood, and stretched across, like so many golden
rules or lines of light, to the top of Coniston Old Man, and the side of
Bowfell, leaving Yewdale and Coniston Water Head lost in mist and
darkness. The birds were singing on the heights, the cattle lowing to be
milked in the valleys below, and the sheep bleating on a thousand hills
The whole air was filled, as far as the eye could reach, with the
glittering spider’s web, or gossamer, of which nobody, I believe, could
ever yet give a clear account; and every bunch of heath and whin-bush was
sparkling with drops of dew so full and large, as to seem ready to fall
like a shower of rain upon the ground. There stood we, three raw lads of
the dale, setting out in the world for the first time, and certainly
looking out upon as bright a prospect before us, as ever cheered the
sight of any adventurous youths, going forth to seek their fortunes in
the world! Alas! the prospect has often been sadly dimmed since then!
On many a dark scene have I looked, and many a melancholy pang has shot
through my heart since I gazed down, as I did then, in such bright hopes
and high spirits, from the top of that hill, upon the lowly roof of
Hawkshead School! But what of that? Sorrow would have come, even if joy
had not come before it! and the recollections of my youth, instead of
being a ground of repining at my after-lot, have a thousand times been a
subject of heartfelt comfort; as I have ever felt that GOD did not intend
me to be miserable; but that all my sorrow has arisen, either from my own
vices and follies, or from those of my brother-men. I have often
thought, sir, what a contrast does my first school-day present with that
of thousands of the poor children in this wretched town of ours, who go
for the first time to their Infant or Sunday school, with no such
brilliant sun to light them on their way,—with no such mountain prospects
and bracing air to gladden their hearts, and breathe health into their
sickly frames,—with no such well-filled satchel prepared by the hands of
a watchful and pious mother; but through dingy and soot-discoloured
streets, without a single ray of the sun, unless it be as yellow as a
marigold, with but a crust of dry bread for breakfast, which the mother
puts into her child’s hand that she may at once indulge herself in her
bed, and get rid of the care of her offspring for the remainder of the
day.—Oh, sir! too truly has it been said by the poet,
“‘GOD made the country, but Man made the town.’”
“I fear, my good friend,” said I, “that your recollections of early youth
have prejudiced you against the manifold benefits arising to society from
the manufacturing system.”
“By no means,” said he, “by no manner of means; as you shall hear by and
by. But here have I been talking about myself in a most unreasonable
way, and kept you waiting all the while, at the door of Hawkshead school!
Let us walk in, if you please!”