You call this education, do you not?
Why, ’tis the forced march of a herd of bullocks
Before a shouting drover. The glad van
Move on at ease, and pause a while to snatch
A passing morsel from the dewy greensward;
While all the blows, the oaths, the indignation,
Fall on the troupe of the ill-fated laggard
That cripples in the rear.
OLD PLAY.
“WELL, sir,” said the old man, smiling, as we met at the appointed spot
about one o’clock, “now for Hawkshead school! I hope you have brought
all your stock of patience with you, and no appetite for any thing beyond
my little adventures on my first appearance under the frown of a
schoolmaster.”
“Speaking of appetites,” said I, interrupting him, “and seeing what I now
see before me, reminds me of a good joke against myself, which took place
when I first knew Manchester. I was standing upon this bridge, (or
rather its predecessor the old bridge, for the Victoria was not then
built,) at this hour of the day, when suddenly I saw a rush of men,
women, and children upon it, from the Manchester side, which astonished
me not a little. I should think there could not be fewer than three or
four hundred of them: all posting along at a great pace, with a good deal
of anxiety and determination written on their countenances; and, though
they said not a word to each other, with evidently one common object in
view. They were rather shabbily dressed, and clearly belonged to one
class of society. The imagination immediately conjured up various
startling reasons for this unexpected concourse, such as a fire, a fight,
or a radical meeting. Seeing one solitary individual who was standing
still, like myself, to let the crowd pass by, and whose countenance
seemed to express that he was quite aware of the cause of this irruption
into Salford, I could not resist the temptation of speaking to him, and
said—‘My good friend, where are all these people going to!’ ‘_To their
dinners_,’ said he, quietly and with a grin on his face, that made me
ashamed of my ignorance, and which raises a smile on my cheek every time
I see the same sight, which any man may do who stands here at one o’clock
in the day, and sees the workmen of Manchester hasten home to their
dinners in Salford.”
“Many a marvellous story,” said the old man, “has arisen out of a much
less plausible foundation.
“Well, sir, to my tale.—There stood I, an anxious and trembling little
boy, for the first time in my life at the door of a school. What a large
and awful place I thought it! The very outside frightened me almost
beyond endurance, and then, I thought, what is going on within! My fears
were more than realized on entrance; for the first thing that caught my
eye was the head master himself,—old Bowman, sitting in awful state at
the head of the school, with a great buzz wig on his head, and a most
formidable ferula lying on the desk before him. The old oak benches, cut
and carved with names, some of which, insignificant as they then were,
are now recorded in the history of our country, seemed formidable in my
eyes, as compared with the smaller articles of the same kind in my own
home; and the sight of so many boys all gathered together, and all busy
at their own occupations, made my poor little head almost spin round in
confusion. I and my companions were, of course, as new comers, placed on
the lowest form, and had to wait our turn to be called upon by the master
of the lower school. During that time I had leisure to look around me,
which I did with fear and trembling. At the head of the school, next to
the master, sat Joshua Prince, of whom I had often heard as the first boy
in the school, and a great favourite with the master. With what a
feeling of admiration did I regard him! He was the son of a miller in
the neighbourhood; but having shown great talents in early life, his
parents determined to give him a good education and send him to college,
in hopes that he might hereafter rise to eminence and distinction. Nor
did he disappoint their expectations. He carried off the highest honours
of his university, and is now one of the proudest boasts of Hawkshead
school—thanks to good old archbishop Sandys for having built and endowed
it! I don’t know how it is, sir, but I am as proud of Joshua Prince, and
my old school, as if I had succeeded like Joshua in the world, instead of
being what I am! Well, at last we were called up; and never shall I
forget the anxiety of that moment! Of course, I was at the bottom of my
class, and some boys much older and bigger than myself were at the top.
But I now found the advantage of my good mother’s early care, and soon
discovered that I was by no means the worst scholar among them. At last
we came to spelling:—‘Spell _kingdom_,’ said the master to the first boy
in the class, in a voice of thunder.—‘K, i, n, d, o, m,’ said the boy;
(and that boy, you must know, was Tom Hebblethwaite, the very person whom
you saw last summer cutting off the old cock’s tail—I dare say he was
thinking of me at the very time)—‘k, i, n, d, o, m,’ said Tom: ‘_g_,’
exclaimed I from the bottom of the class. ‘That’s right,’ said the
master, ‘stand up!’ So there was I, raised at once from the bottom to
the top, covered with glory! Tom made room for me very slowly, but the
eye of the master was upon him, and he gave way. At last the day was
over, and, as I thought, most triumphantly for myself: but I was wofully
mistaken! No sooner had the school broken up, and the masters left for
their own homes, than I saw Tom approaching me in the school-yard,
evidently with no friendly intentions. ‘So!’ said he, ‘_you_ think
yourself, I dare say, a very fine fellow—_I_ think you a mother’s
darling,’—accompanying this very civil speech with a box on the ear. My
blood was roused at this, more especially as he sneered at my mother,
which to my feelings was past endurance; and, though scarcely half his
size, I turned fiercely round upon him, and fairly knocked him down! ‘A
battle! a battle!’ was immediately the cry through the school-yard; and
though half the boys had seemed to be dispersed for their homes, yet
somehow their ears seemed to catch this _delightful_ sound in a most
extraordinary manner, and the whole school was round us in an incredibly
short space of time. A ring was immediately formed, and due preparations
were made for the contest, according to the laws of that brutal sport
which had prevailed in the school from time immemorial,—Joshua Prince
being at the head. How I felt the injustice of that moment! and though I
have in some degree changed my opinion on the subject since, yet I feel
much of that injustice to the present day. My opponent, as I have said,
was almost twice my size and strength, and was actuated by the worst and
most malignant feelings,—jealousy and revenge: I had nothing to support
me, except a sense of injustice done me, and a resolution to obtain a
character for manliness which I knew to be essential to a school-boy. I
hoped, therefore, that the bystanders would see the unfairness of such a
contest, and interfere in my behalf. But no; they were too anxious for
what they called ‘the sport,’ to give one thought to the merits of the
case. I looked imploringly at Joshua Prince, expecting to see a friend
in him at least; but his eye was inexorable, and, like the rest, he was
eager for the battle. We fought—he for revenge, I for honour—but in
despair! As might be expected, I was severely bruised and beaten, yet I
scorned to yield the victory as long as I was able to resist, and the
issue was what neither of the combatants expected. In his eagerness to
secure the victory, Tom at last struck me when I was on the ground. A
cry of ‘foul, foul,’ was immediately raised, and I was taken up from the
ground and carried round the yard by my schoolfellows, and formally
proclaimed victor by the whole school! Tom was forced to admit the
justice of this decision, and slunk away full of shame and
disappointment. So there was I, like many another conqueror, with no
other laurels to show as the fruit of my victory than the injuries which
I had received during the contest. It is true I had gained the respect
of my schoolfellows, but I had paid dearly for it, both in body and mind.
A cloud had been cast over the sunshine of my first school-day; and what
was worse, I had, in this plight, to face the anger of my father, and the
anxious looks of my poor expecting mother.”