CHAPTER I.

E-text prepared by MWS, Adrian Mastronardi, The Philatelic Digital Library

Project (http://www.tpdlp.net), and the Online Distributed Proofreading

Team (http://www.pgdp.net) from page images generously made available by

Internet Archive (https://archive.org)

Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this

file which includes the original illustrations.

See 59390-h.htm or 59390-h.zip:

(https://www.gutenberg.org/cache/epub/59390/pg59390-images.html)

or

(https://www.gutenberg.org/files/59390/59390-h.zip)

Images of the original pages are available through

Internet Archive. See

https://archive.org/details/lifeofsirrowland01hilluoft

Project Gutenberg has the other volume of this work.

Volume II: see https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/46498

Some characters might not display properly in this UTF-8

text file (e.g., empty squares). If so, the reader should

consult the html version or the original page images noted

above.

THE LIFE OF SIR ROWLAND HILL AND THE HISTORY OF PENNY POSTAGE.

[Illustration]

THE LIFE

OF

SIR ROWLAND HILL

K.C.B., D.C.L., F.R.S., F.R.A.S., etc.

AND THE

HISTORY OF PENNY POSTAGE.

BY

SIR ROWLAND HILL

AND

HIS NEPHEW

GEORGE BIRKBECK HILL, D.C.L.

AUTHOR OF

“DR. JOHNSON: HIS FRIENDS AND HIS CRITICS,” ETC.

_IN TWO VOLUMES._

VOL. I.

LONDON:

THOS. DE LA RUE & CO.

110, BUNHILL ROW.

1880

(_The right of Translation and Reproduction is reserved._)

PRINTED BY

THOMAS DE LA RUE AND CO., BUNHILL ROW,

LONDON.

TO THE RIGHT HON. WILLIAM EWART GLADSTONE, M.P.

FIRST LORD OF THE TREASURY, CHANCELLOR OF THE EXCHEQUER, ETC., ETC.

_Sir_,

_The following pages tell how much Sir Rowland Hill felt your kindness

in a time of great trouble. In his Private Journal I find even stronger

expressions of his gratitude. “I spoke,” he says in recording one of

his interviews with you, “in strong terms, and with emotion which I in

vain tried to suppress, of the feeling I entertained towards him for the

uniform kindness, sympathy, and support I have received at his hands.” In

asking you, therefore, to allow me to dedicate to you all in this work

that is mine, I am sure that I have done what would have been pleasing to

him._

_I am, Sir, with the highest respect_,

_Your obedient servant_,

_G. B. HILL._

PREFACE.

Sir Rowland Hill, after his retirement from the public service, as soon

as prolonged rest had given him back some portion of his former strength,

satisfied a mind which had always found its chief happiness in hard work,

by taking upon himself the task of writing the history of his great

postal reform. In a “Prefatory Memoir” he gave, moreover, a sketch of

the earlier part of his life. It had been his hope that he might live

to bring out his book himself; but, for reasons which the reader will

find set forth in his Preface,[1] he at last, though with reluctance,

came to the decision that the publication must be delayed till after his

death. Though he had, as it seemed, really finished his work, and had

even gone so far as to have a few copies printed, yet he spent many an

hour on its revision. He went through it more than once with the utmost

care, sparing no pains to obtain complete accuracy. In the year 1872

he asked me to examine it carefully, and to point out whatever might

strike me as being defective either in its method or its execution. I

found, as I told him, that the “Prefatory Memoir” was too short, and

“The History of Penny Postage” too long. Too little was told of the way

in which his character had been trained for the hard task which awaited

it, and too much was told of the improvements which had been effected.

In the case of inventors it is not so much what a man does, as how he

learns to do it, and how he does it, that we all care to know. We so soon

come to think that what is has always been, that our curiosity is not

much excited about the origin of the conveniences of modern life. Though

the improvements themselves we accept as a matter of course, yet if in

getting them adopted there was a hard struggle with ignorance, routine,

indifference, and jealousy, then our interest is at once aroused. In his

book there were very many passages which I had read with the strongest

interest, containing as they did the history of a great and a very

curious fight. In these there was scarcely any change that I could wish

made. But mixed up with these there were accounts of improvements which,

though important in themselves, were of little interest to an outsider.

I suggested, therefore, that certain parts should be altogether struck

out, and that others should be gathered either into one Appendix at the

end of the History, or into Appendices at the end of the chapters. Though

he did not by any means adopt all my recommendations, yet he entrusted

me with the duty of writing the history of his early life. In the course

of the next few years he drew up many interesting papers containing the

recollections of his childhood and youth. In this he was aided by his

brother Arthur, in whose mind, though he has seen more than fourscore

years, the past seems to live with all the freshness of yesterday. These

papers he put into my hands some months before his death, and, together

with them, a large number of old letters and a manuscript history of his

life which he had begun to write when he was but seventeen years old. In

fact, the abundance of the materials thus placed at my disposal was so

great, that my chief difficulty has been to keep my part of the work at

all within reasonable limits.

If the “Prefatory Memoir” in which his early life was told had really

been an Autobiography, I might well have hesitated, and hesitated long,

before I ventured to rewrite it. So much of a man’s character is shown by

his style, that even an imperfect life written by himself will, likely

enough, be of far greater value than the most perfect life written by

another. But, as will be seen later on,[2] so far as the style goes,

this Memoir was in no sense autobiographical. It was, indeed, told in

the first person; but “I had,” he said, “to devolve upon another the

task of immediate composition.” I may add that his brother, who thus

assisted him, had not at his command many of the materials which were

afterwards placed at my disposal. My uncle had not at that time wished

that a full account should be given of his early days, and he had not,

therefore, thought it needful to lay before him either the letters or

the fragment of an early autobiography which I have mentioned above. He

had a strange unwillingness to let this history of his youthful days

be seen. In a memorandum which he made a few years ago he says, “These

memoirs of the early part of my life having been written, for the most

part, when I was very young and ill-informed, contain much which I have

since known to be ridiculous; and for this reason I have never shown

them to any one—except, I think, a small portion to my wife. After some

hesitation I have decided to preserve the memoirs for any use to which

my executors may think proper to put them.” A far greater value is added

to them by the fact that the author intended them for no other eye but

his own. None of his brothers, I believe, even knew that he was writing

them. He used, in late years, often to speak to me about them; but it was

only a short time before his death that he could bring himself to let me

read them. When he gave them to me he bade me remember that he was very

young and ignorant when he wrote them. “You must not,” he said, “judge me

harshly.” Happily I was soon able to tell him that, though I had been a

great reader of autobiographies, there were few which had interested me

more than his. I found nothing to dispose me to ridicule, but much that

moved my pity, and still more that roused my admiration.

I need scarcely say that the “Prefatory Memoir” has been of great service

to me in my task. It is not for me to say how well it is written, or to

praise the work of one to whom I owe everything. I may, at all events,

acknowledge my debt. I have, as the reader will see, largely drawn upon

it. That it was, however, imperfect—necessarily so, as I have shown—will

be at once recognised by any one who considers how much I have quoted

from my uncle’s Memoirs and from the letters. It contained, for instance,

no mention of the visit to Edgeworth-Town, and not a single extract from

a letter.

In giving so full an account of my grandparents and of their home-life,

I have borne in mind the saying of Mr. Carlyle, that “the history of a

man’s childhood is the description of his parents and environment.”[3]

In a very large sense is this true of the childhood of Rowland Hill.

I have not dwelt so much, as I should otherwise have done, on the

character of his eldest brother, towards whom he felt himself indebted

in so many ways. By “The Life of Matthew Davenport Hill, the Recorder of

Birmingham,” by his daughters, I find myself forestalled in this part of

my work.

In my duty as Editor of “The History of Penny Postage,” I have ventured

not only here and there on a verbal alteration, but also on considerable

omissions, and in some places, on a change of arrangement. In fact, I

have acted on the advice which I gave eight years ago. I have gathered

into Appendices some of the less important matters, and I have thus

enabled my readers, as their tastes may lead them, either to read the

whole History, or, if they find that too long, to follow a somewhat

briefer but still a connected narrative. In making changes such as these

I was running, I was well aware, a great risk of falling into serious

errors. A reference, for instance, might be left in to a passage which,

by the new arrangement, was either not given at all, or else was found

on a later page. I have, however, spared no pains to guard against such

blunders, trying always to keep before me the high standard of strict

accuracy which the subject of my biography ever set me.

G. B. HILL.

The Poplars, Burghfield, September 21st, 1880.

CONTENTS OF THE FIRST VOLUME.

BOOK I.

CHAPTER I.

Birth of Rowland Hill. His Father’s Ancestors, 1—His Mother’s

Ancestors, 5—His Father’s unusual Character, 7—His Relish of

Life, 8—His legal reading, 9—Study of Astronomy. Priestley,

11—His Short-hand, 13—A Schoolmaster, 14—His Love of Theories,

18—Admirable as a Father, 19—A Reformer, 20—A Free-trader, 23—A

bad Man of Business, 24—His Death, 26—Rowland Hill’s Mother,

27—He himself a Combination of the strong Qualities of each

Parent, 31—Bailie Lea, 32—Birmingham Riots, 33—Birth-place,

34—Life at Horsehills. Dearth of 1800, 35—A Night-alarm,

37—Peace of Amiens, 38—Trafalgar, 39—Currency, 40—Forgers,

41—Mr. Joseph Pearson, 42—Early Courtship, 43—Love of Counting.

Water-wheel, 44—Perpetual Motion, 45.

CHAPTER II.

Hill Top, 47—School opened, 48—Young Traders, 49—Miss

Edgeworth, 50—Workshop. Household Work, 51—Feeling of

Responsibility, 52—Debts. Ruling Machine, 53—Rowland Hill

becomes a Teacher, 54—His Father’s Lectures, 55—Electrical

Machine, 56—A young Astronomer, 57—Habit of Criticism,

58—Mathematics, 60—Learning by teaching, 61—Mr. Beasley,

62—Discovery of his own Deficiencies, 63-67—Horse-dealing,

64—Literary and Scientific Societies, 68—Representation of

Minorities, 69—William Matthews, 73—Prize for Drawing, 74.

CHAPTER III.

Early Perseverance, 76—School Theatre, 77—Map-making, 79—His

Father’s Lecture on Electricity, 80—Family Help, 82—Alarum

Water-clock, 83—Screw Steamboats, 84—Land Surveying. Map of

Scene of Thornton’s Murder, 85—Ambition. A model College,

87—No Jealousy of the Sons in the Father, 88—Punctuality,

89—Enforcement of Penalties, 90—Family Debts paid off.

“Exhibition.” Shakespeare corrected, 91—Eighteen Hours’ Work

a-Day. Zerah Colbourn, 92—Mental Arithmetic, 93—Trigonometrical

Survey, 94—A Rival School, 97—Survey of a Coal-pit, 98—Roman

Road, 99.

CHAPTER IV.

Dr. Arnold, 100—Charter House, 101—“Public Education,”

103—The New System, 104—Overwork, 105—Court of Justice,

107—A Constitution, 108—Benevolent Society, 109—Magistrates,

110—Character on leaving, 111—Band. Corporal Punishment. Marks,

112—School “a little World,” 113—Conference of Teachers,

114—Code of Laws, 115—Juries. “Voluntary Labour,” 116—Fights,

118—“School Fund,” 119—Punctuality, 120—Rank, 121—“Edinburgh

Review.” Captain Basil Hall, 122—Mr. W. L. Sargant,

123—Unalterable Determinations. Enforcement of Penalties,

124—Restraint of Temper. Rowland Hill’s Courage, 125—His

Brother Matthew goes to the Bar. His Brother Arthur takes his

Place, 126—Becomes his Father’s Partner. Architect of the new

School-house, 128—Hazelwood opened, 130.

CHAPTER V.

Long Walks. Shrewsbury, 131—Criminal Trial, 132—Margate,

133—Peace of 1814. Public Lectures, 134—Illuminations after

Waterloo. First Sight of a Steam-boat, 135—Benjamin West.

Sub-Secretary to a Deaf and Dumb Institution, 136—Derbyshire,

137—Floods, 138—Hampden Club, 139—Chester. Liverpool, 140—John

Howard. Uriconium, 141—Gratitude to his Parents, 142—Early

Rising. John Kemble, 143—Lord Mayor’s English. Habeas Corpus

Act, 144—Netley Abbey, 145—Freshwater. Stonehenge, 146—Diet,

147—Thomas Campbell. New Hall Hill Meeting, 149—Major

Cartwright. Election of first Member for Birmingham, 150.

CHAPTER VI.

Fire at Hazelwood, 151—Origin of the Fire, 158—Fire Insurance,

158—Trip to Ireland. Gas. Steamboats, 160. Ireland in 1821,

161—Edgeworth Town Assisting School, 162—Miss Edgeworth,

163—“Public Education,” 164—Miss Edgeworth’s Father, 165—A

Sunday Evening at Edgeworth Town, 166—The “Monsoons.”

Steamboats, 168—Hermit’s Cave, 169.

CHAPTER VII.

“Public Education” published, 170—Jeremy Bentham. An active

Schoolmaster, 171—The Greek Committee. Wilberforce. Grote,

172—Hillska Skola. Hazelwood famous, 173—Joseph Hume.

“Edinburgh Review.” De Quincey, 174—Overwork. Tour in Scotland,

175—Paris, 176—Break-down in Health, 177—Hazelwood full,

178—Plan of a model School, 179—“A Sucker from the Hazelwood

Tree,” 180—Bruce Castle, 181—Marriage, 182.

CHAPTER VIII.

Family Group broken up, 184—Brotherly Love, 185—All Things

in common, 186—Articles of Partnership, 187—Family Fund,

188—Family Council, 191—League of Brothers, 192—Reason _versus_

Authority, 194—Rowland Hill’s Sisters, 195—Howard Hill, 196—“A

little ideal World,” 198—Early Prejudices, 199—Society for

the Diffusion of Useful Knowledge. Vernier Pendulum, 201—Home

Colonies, 202—Rowland Hill retires from School-keeping.

Confidence in himself, 203—Schemes, 204—Robert Owen, 206—Social

Community, 207—Sir J. Shaw-Lefevre, 209—Professor Wheatstone,

210—Pantisocracy, 213—Mr. Roebuck, 214—A new Career, 215.

CHAPTER IX.

Mr. E. G. Wakefield. South Australian Association. Past

Training, 216—Stamp Duty on Newspapers, 217—Mr. Charles Knight

and Stamped Covers. Pauper Education, 218—Lord Brougham. South

Australian Colonisation, 219—Secretary to the Commission,

220—Survey of the Colony. Emigrant Ships, 221—Progress of

the Colony, 222—Representation of Minorities. Resignation of

Secretaryship, 223—Printing Machine, 224—First Hopes of Postal

Reform, 229.

BOOK II.

Preface to the History of Penny Postage, 233.

CHAPTER I.

CONCEPTION OF MY PLAN. CHIEFLY 1836.

The Post Office as it used to be, 237—Coleridge and Miss

Martineau, 239—Franks, 240—A Travelling Post Office,

241—Effects of Reduction in Taxation, 243—Post Office Revenue,

244—Systematic Study of Postal Accounts, 246—Cost of Primary

Distribution, 248—Cost of Conveying a Letter from London to

Edinburgh, 249;—Uniform Rate, 250—Secondary Distribution,

251—Contraband Conveyance, 253—Effects of Cheapness on

Consumption, 255—Mr. Wallace, 257—Commission of Inquiry of

1835-8, 259.

CHAPTER II.

PROMULGATION OF MY PLAN.

“Post Office Reform,” 262—Plan laid before Government. Mr.

Villiers, 263—Stamped Covers, 265—Publication of “Post Office

Reform,” 267—Examined before the Commission of Inquiry,

268—Stamps, 270—Recommendation of Commissioners, 273—Government

does Nothing, 274—Appeal to Public, 275—Instances of heavy

Postage, 276—Support of the Press, 278—Court of Common

Council, 280—Post Office Consolidation Act, 281—“The old

state of things,” 282—Difficulties raised, 285—Appointment

of Parliamentary Committee, 287—City of London Petition,

289—Ignorance of the Postmaster-General, 290.

CHAPTER III.

PARLIAMENTARY COMMITTEE.

Letters to Lord Lichfield, 292—Mercantile Committee,

294—Parliamentary Committee, 295—Postage Rates, 296—Number

of Letters, 298—Contraband Conveyance, 300-4—High Postage

and the Poor, 305-9—Mr. Jones-Loyd, 310—Low Postage no Tax,

311—Uniform Rate, 312—Mode of Prepayment, 315—Charge by Weight,

317—Conveyance of Mails, 319—Letters _not_ sent by Post,

320—Franks, 321—Colonel Maberly’s Plan, 323—Examined before the

Committee, 325—Votes of Committee, 327—Lord Seymour’s Report,

329—Committee’s Report, 331—Mr. Warburton, 333.

CHAPTER IV.

PENNY POSTAGE BILL.

United States, 336—Issue of Report, 337—Reduction _by_ a

Penny. Petitions, 339—“Post Circular,” 340—Deputation to Lord

Melbourne, 341—Adoption of Plan, 343—Stamps, 345—Envelopes,

346—“Facts and Estimates,” 347—Stationers. The Budget, 348—The

Chancellor of the Exchequer’s Resolution, 350—The Division,

352—Duke of Wellington, 353—Penny Postage Bill, 355—“Kitchen”

of the House of Commons, 356—Interview with Lord Melbourne,

357—The Bill before the Lords, 359—The Bill becomes Law. Miss

Martineau, 361—Lord Ashburton, 362—Wolverhampton Testimonial,

363.

CHAPTER V.

APPOINTMENT IN TREASURY (1839).

Interview with Mr. Baring, 365—Mr. M. D. Hill’s letter,

366—Appointment Accepted, 369—First Visit to the Post Office,

371—Proposed Establishment of London District Offices,

373—Private Journal Resumed, 374—Sorting of Letters, 375—Visit

to the French Post Office, 376—“Quarterly Review.” Post-paid

Envelopes in 1653, 377—“Edinburgh Review,” 378.

CHAPTER VI.

PENNY POSTAGE (1839-40).

Competing Plans of Collecting the Postage, 381—Mr. Cobden’s

Expectations, 382—Stamps, 383—Fourpenny Rate, 384—The

Chancellor of the Exchequer at Home, 385—“My Lords,”

386—Franking Abolished, 388—Treasury Warrant, 389—Penny Postage

begins, January 10th, 1840, 390.

CHAPTER VII.

STAMPS (1840).

Mr. Edwin Hill’s Appointment, 392—The Mulready Envelope,

393—Number of Letters in the First Quarter, 395—Official

Dignity, 396—First Issue of Stamps, 397—Attempts at Forgery.

Obliteration of Stamps, 399—The Commissioners of Stamps and

Taxes and Mr. Edwin Hill, 405—Manufacture of Stamps, 406—Number

Issued, 407.

CHAPTER VIII.

SUBSIDIARY PROCEEDINGS.

Registration. Negotiations with France, 410—Money Orders.

Increase in Expenditure partly caused by Railways,

411—Applications for Increase of Salaries, 413—Pillar

Letter-Boxes, 417—Captain Basil Hall. Gummed Envelopes,

418—Envelope Folding Machine, 419—“A Princess Royal,” 420—Miss

Edgeworth, 421.

CHAPTER IX.

PROGRESS UNDER DIFFICULTIES.

Mr. Baring’s increasing Confidence, 422—Post-Office

Correspondence. Messengers, 425—Lecture at the Polytechnic,

426—Threatened Break-down in the Post Office, 427—Errors in

Accounts. Distribution of Stamps, 429—Slow Progress, 431—Want

of Statistics, 433—Question of a Twopenny Rate, 435—Liberal

Administration falling, 437—Change of Ministry, 439—Mr.

Baring’s Letter, 440—Testimonials, 442.

CHAPTER X.

NEW MASTERS (1841-2).

Mr. Goulburn, 443—Lord Lowther, 444—Lack of Employment,

445—Mr. Cole, 447—Errors in Returns, 448—“Penny Postage is

safe,” 449—Country Post Offices, 451—Mr. Baring’s Minute on

Rural Distribution, 452—Modes of Waste, 453—Frauds, 454—Lord

Lowther’s Plan of Registration, 455—Cost of the Packet

Service, 460—Official Reticence, 462—Letters to Mr. Goulburn,

463—Announcement of Dismissal, 467—Sir Robert Peel, 469.

CHAPTER XI.

OUT OF OFFICE (1842-3).

Proposed Publication of Correspondence with the Treasury,

473—Earl Spencer, 474—Mr. Baring, 475—Mr. Cobden, 477—Thomas

Hood, 479—Personal Expenditure, 480—Mr. Stephen, 481—Official

Publication of Correspondence, 482—Petition to House of

Commons, 483—Publication of the whole Correspondence,

484—Australian Letters and India, 485—Sir T. Wilde’s Motion,

487—Mr. Goulburn’s Amendment, 489—Sir Robert Peel’s Defence,

491—Committee of Enquiry, 492—Sir George Clerk, 493.

APPENDICES.

A.—Royal Astronomical Society, p. 497.

B.—Preface to the Laws of the Society for Literary and

Scientific Improvement, p. 511.

C.—Cube Roots, p. 513.

D.—Vernier Pendulum, p. 517.

E.—Coach Company, p. 520.

F.—Sir Rowland Hill’s Printing Press, p. 525.

G.—Speech at Greenock, p. 529.

H.—“Facts and Estimates as to the Increase of Letters,” p. 534.

I.—Extracts from Reports of Commissioners of Inland Revenue

(Mr. Edwin Hill), p. 539.

J.—Letter to the Chancellor of the Exchequer (June 23rd, 1841),

p. 542.

LIST OF PLATES.

PORTRAIT OF SIR ROWLAND HILL (_Frontispiece_)

THOMAS WRIGHT HILL (Father of Sir Rowland Hill) Facing page 8

SARAH HILL (Mother of Sir Rowland Hill) ” 28

THE BIRTH-PLACE OF SIR ROWLAND HILL, KIDDERMINSTER ” 34

BRUCE CASTLE, TOTTENHAM ” 181

FAC-SIMILE OF THE MULREADY ENVELOPE ” 393

BOOK I.

THE LIFE OF SIR ROWLAND HILL.

“When I was yet a child ...

... my mind was set

Serious to learn and know, and thence to do

What might be public good; myself I thought

Born to that end.”

—MILTON

THE LIFE

OF

SIR ROWLAND HILL.

CHAPTER I.

Rowland Hill, the third son of Thomas Wright Hill and Sarah Lea, his

wife, was born at Kidderminster on the third day of December, 1795. On

both sides he sprang from families which belonged to the middle-class,

but which, by the time of his birth, had somewhat come down in the world.

When he was presented with the freedom of the City of London a few months

before his death, the Chamberlain informed him that he belonged to a line

which already twice before had received that high distinction. Whether

he could claim kindred with Sir Rowland Hill of Queen Elizabeth’s time,

and with Sir Rowland Hill, the famous soldier of the Peninsular War, I

have no means of knowing. In a fire which sixty years ago burnt down part

of his father’s house, many family deeds were destroyed, some of which,

he informed me, went back to the age of the Tudors. He was not, however,

without ancestors, who justly raised in him a strong feeling of pride.

His father’s mother, Sarah Symonds, “had a common descent with the family

of Symons, or Symeon, of Pyrton, the heiress of which branch married John

Hampden.”[4] His father, who had many kinsmen of the name of Butler,

had been told in his youth that he was related by blood to the author of

“Hudibras.”[5] With these two famous men his connection was but remote.

But both father and mother could tell the boy of nearer and undoubted

ancestors, who had shown, some of them, strong independence of character,

and one or two a noble spirit of self-sacrifice. In the eloquent words

of Romilly, he might have said that “his father left his children no

other inheritance than the habits of industry, the example of his own

virtuous life, an hereditary detestation of tyranny and injustice,

and an ardent zeal in the cause of civil and religious freedom.” With

perfect truthfulness he might have applied these words to his mother

also. The detestation of tyranny and injustice, and the ardent zeal in

the cause of civil and religious freedom were, indeed, hereditary, in

most of the branches of his family. They were chiefly old Puritan stocks,

with much of the narrowness, but all the integrity of the best of the

Nonconformists.

His father had received a hurt in defending a house against the brutal

mob which, in the year 1791, burned down in Birmingham the chapels and

the dwellings of unoffending dissenters. His grandfather, James Hill,

had shown his attachment to civil liberty in a curious way. He was a

baker in Kidderminster—“a substantial freeholder,” as his son described

him. He was descended from a considerable landowner who had married

twice, and had left the children of his first wife very much to shift for

themselves. One of them had settled in trade in Kidderminster.[6] James

Hill was his grandson. In his time the bakers all heated their ovens

with faggots, which they bought of the neighbouring squire. An election

for the county came on; the squire was one of the candidates, and the

steward asked James Hill for his vote. “My father,” his son records,

“could not bring himself to the expected compliance. The result was that

at the next faggot-harvest[7] his application was refused, and he was

thus put to great inconvenience.” The baker, however, was an ingenious

man. Coals were cheap if faggots were dear. He began by trying a mixture

of coals and wood. He found, by repeated trials, that he could go on

lessening the quantity of faggots and increasing the quantity of coal.

Other bakers profited by his experience, and the faggots now lacked

purchasers. “Applications were made to him to know if he had no room for

faggots, from the quarter which had refused the supply.”[8] James Hill’s

brother, John, had enrolled himself as a volunteer against the Young

Pretender in 1745; for, like a famous brother-volunteer, Fielding’s Tom

Jones, “he had some heroic ingredients in his composition, and was a

hearty well-wisher to the glorious cause of liberty and of the Protestant

religion.” He was once summoned to Worcester to serve on a jury, when

he alone of the twelve jurymen refused a bribe. The judge, coming to

hear of this, praised him highly, and whenever he went the same circuit

asked whether he was to have the pleasure of meeting “the honest juror.”

Later on in life he became, like Faraday, a Sandemanian, and was bound by

conscience to a kind of practical communism. He died in the year 1810,

at the age of ninety-one, and so was well known by Rowland Hill and his

brothers. It is a striking fact that there should still be living men who

can well remember one who volunteered against the Young Pretender.

James Hill’s wife was the grand-daughter of a medical practitioner at

Shrewsbury of the name of Symonds, who had married Miss Millington,

the only sister of a wealthy lawyer of that town. An election for the

borough came on. The doctor refused to place his vote at the disposal

of his rich brother-in-law, the attorney. “The consequence is,” writes

Thomas Hill “that Millington’s Hospital now stands a monument of my

great-grandfather’s persistence and his brother-in-law’s implacability.

Of this privation,” he adds, “my mother used to speak with very good

temper. She said the hospital was a valuable charity, and she believed

that no descendant of her grandfather’s was the less happy for having

missed a share of the fortune bestowed upon the hospital.” Through this

lady Rowland Hill was related to the Rev. Joshua Symonds, the friend

and correspondent of Howard and Wilberforce.[9] Such were the worthies

he could undoubtedly boast of on his father’s side. There is no man

among them whom the world would reckon as famous; and yet I remember how

proud I felt as a mere child when my father first told me of the “honest

juror,” and of the forefather who had lost a fortune by his vote. To

such feelings as these Rowland must have been susceptible in a singular

degree.

The story of his mother’s ancestors is more romantic, but, perhaps,

even more affords a just cause for honest pride. Her grandmother’s name

was Sarah Simmons. She had been left an orphan at an early age, and was

heiress to a considerable fortune. She was brought up by an uncle and

aunt, who were severe disciplinarians, even for the time in which they

lived. They tried to force her to marry a man for whom she had no liking,

and, when she refused, subjected her to close confinement. She escaped

from their house in the habit of a countrywoman, with a soldier’s coat

thrown over it. In those days, and much later also, poor women in wet

weather often wore the coats of men. She set out to walk to Birmingham,

a distance of some fifteen miles. On the road she was overtaken by one

of her uncle’s servants, mounted on horseback, who asked of her whether

she had been passed by a young lady, whose appearance he described.

She replied that no such person had passed her, and the man rode away,

leaving her rejoicing at the completeness of her disguise. She reached

Birmingham, and there supported herself by spinning. To her fortune she

never laid claim. At the end of two years she married a working man

named Davenport. For thirteen years they lived a happy life, when a

fever broke out in the town, and carried off a great number of people.

One of her neighbours died among the rest. The alarm was so great that

no one was found daring enough to go near the dead man’s house. Mrs.

Davenport, fearful that his unburied body might spread the pestilence

still more widely through the neighbourhood, herself ordered his coffin,

and with her own hands laid him in it. Her devotion cost her her life. In

a few days this generous woman was herself swept away by the fever. Her

husband never held up his head after her death, and in about a year was

himself carried to his grave. They left four children behind them; the

eldest a girl of thirteen. She showed herself the worthy child of such a

mother. From her she had learnt how to spin, and by her spinning, aided

no doubt by that charity which the poor so bountifully show to the poor,

she managed to support herself and her brothers until the two boys were

old enough to be apprenticed to trades. Then she went out to service in

a farm-house. She married her master’s son, whose name was William Lea.

He had been called out to serve in the militia when it was raised on the

landing of the Young Pretender. He, like John Hill, the volunteer, lived

till he was past ninety, and, like him, was known by kinsmen who are

still living. Once he saved a poor old woman from death by drowning, to

which she had been sentenced on a charge of witchcraft by a brutal mob.

Where the Birmingham cattle-market now is, there was of old a piece of

water known as the Moat. In it he saw the unhappy woman struggling for

her life, and surrounded by a crowd as cruel as it was ignorant. Being

a powerful man he easily forced his way through, leapt into the water,

and brought the poor creature to land. He took her home and kept her in

his house for some days till she had recovered her strength. Mrs. Lea,

according to her daughter, was a woman of considerable information. She

had been taught by her mother by word of mouth as they sat spinning

together, and she, in her turn, in the same way taught her daughter. Her

views of political events were much wider and more liberal than those of

most of the people round her. Her daughter often heard her condemn the

harsh policy of the mother-country towards our settlements in America,

and foretell as the result the separation between the two that soon

followed. She had had too heavy a burthen of care thrown on her when

she was still a child, and her health broke down almost before she had

reached middle life. She died when her daughter Sarah, Rowland Hill’s

mother, was but fifteen. The young girl had for some years, during her

mother’s long illness, taken upon herself the chief part of all the

household duties. At the same time she had been a most devoted nurse. For

most of her life she was troubled with wakefulness. She had, she said,

formed the habit when she was a mere child, and used to lie awake in the

night fearing that her sick mother might require her services. She had

a brother not unworthy of her. He settled in Haddington, where the name

of Bailie Lea was long held in respect. When the cholera visited that

town in 1832 he was found “fearlessly assisting all who stood in want of

aid.” In the houses on both sides of him the dreadful disorder raged, and

at length his own servant was struck down. The old man showed no signs

of fear, but bore himself as became the grandson of the woman who had

lost her life by her devotion to the public good when the fever raged in

Birmingham.

In the short account that I have thus given of Rowland Hill’s kindred,

there is seen much of that strong sense of duty, that integrity, that

courage, and that persistency which in so high a degree distinguished him

even from his very childhood. There are but few signs shown, however,

of that boldness of thought and fertility of mind which were no less

his mark. These he inherited from his father. Thomas Wright Hill was,

indeed, as his son said of him, a man of a very unusual character. I

have never come across his like, either in the world of men or books.

He had a simplicity which would have made him shine even in the pages

of Goldsmith. He had an inventiveness, and a disregard for everything

that was conventional, that would have admirably fitted him for that

country where kings were philosophers, or philosophers were kings. He

had, his friends used to say, every sense but common-sense. He was the

most guileless of men. He lived fourscore years and eight, and at the

end of his long life he trusted his fellow-men as much as he had at the

beginning. His lot had been for many years a hard one. His difficulties

had been great—such as might have well-nigh broken the heart of many

a man. “If ever,” he once wrote, “that happy day shall arrive when we

can pay off every account as presented, we should fancy ourselves in

a terrestrial Paradise.” He longs “to accelerate the arrival of that

blessed hour, if that be ever to come, when I shall be able to say, ‘I

owe no man anything but love.’” Yet he had always been cheerful. When

death one winter came upon his household, and carried off his youngest

son, he wrote, “Christmas, for the first time, as far as I can remember,

comes without a smile.” He had by this time seen sixty-eight Christmases,

and at one period of his life, poverty had been an unfailing guest at his

board. He had inherited from his father, as he said, a buoyant spirit of

optimism which carried his thoughts beyond all present mishaps. He never

spoke ill of the world. Like Franklin, he said on his death-bed that he

would gladly live his days over again. His relish of life had even at the

last lost but little of its keenness. Yet he met his death with the most

unruffled calmness, and with profound resignation. I account myself happy

in that he lived to such an age, that I was able to know him well. The

sitting-room in the house where he spent his last years faced, indeed,

the south. The sun could not, however, every day have shone in at his

window. Nevertheless in my memory it seems as if the aged man were always

seated in perpetual sunshine. How much of the brightness and warmth must

have come from his own cheerful temperament!

[Illustration: THOMAS WRIGHT HILL.

(FATHER OF SIR ROWLAND HILL.)]

When at the age of fourteen he left the Grammar School of his native

town, he was apprenticed to one of his uncles, a brass-founder in

Birmingham. It had been at one time his strong wish to be articled to an

attorney; but “his good mother was incredulous as to the possibility of

a lawyer and an honest man being united in the same person.” His eldest

son, the late Mr. Matthew Davenport Hill, said that his father had many

of the qualities which make an able lawyer:—

“He had what is known in the profession as a good head for law.

He was quick at discovering distinctions, possessed logical

powers, both strong and subtle, and a memory exceedingly

retentive: while his language was at once lucid and accurate.

In conversation he was a fluent speaker, and with early

practice doubtless would have learnt to make fluent speeches;

but I do not think he could ever have brought himself to utter

an unnecessary word.”

He used to read with eagerness all law books that came in his way, and

was, says his son, better informed on all matters pertaining to the

law than almost any layman he ever met with. I greatly doubt, however,

whether as a lawyer he could have made his way. When he was in his

seventieth year, his son was counsel in a political trial, where the

judge so far forgot his position on the bench, as in summing-up to speak

of the learned gentleman who was opposed to him. “Thanks to God,” wrote

the old man on hearing of the case, “that it is not my profession to

plead before such judgment-seats. I should ruin the best of causes by

unbridled indignation.” With his eager and impatient mind, with his love

for “the divine principle of utility,” he would never have borne “the

tyranny of lawyers,” which was, to use Gibbon’s words, “more oppressive

and ridiculous than even the old yoke of the clergy.”

Leaving school as he did at an early age his education was but imperfect.

Nevertheless in his Calvinistic home he had studied one book thoroughly,

and that was the Bible. Its beautiful language was ever at his command.

On Sunday afternoons, while he was still a child, it had been his

father’s wont to entertain him and his brother with Scripture stories

told in homely words. “The story of Gideon,” wrote the old man, more than

eighty years later, “was a great favourite, and ecstatic was the moment

when my father came to narrate the breaking of the jugs, the sudden

blaze of the lamps, and the accompanying shout of the watchword—‘The

sword of the Lord, and of Gideon.’” The child used to delight in reading

the Latin quotations in Stackhouse’s “History of the Bible.” He did not

understand them, but he found pleasure in the melody of the words. Later

on at school he acquired a fair knowledge of Latin and some knowledge

of Greek, but he was removed at too early an age to become much of a

scholar. Like many another youth of those days eager after knowledge,

he had but few books at his command. Even his copy of Robinson Crusoe

was but a fragment. It began, as he vividly recollected, with the words

“‘More than thirty dancing round a fire,’ by which,” he wrote, “those who

are familiarly acquainted with that fascinating book will perceive how

dreadfully my copy had suffered mutilation.” A friend of his father’s—a

man of secluded habits and of a studious turn of mind, and therefore set

down by some of the good people of Kidderminster as being in league with

the Evil One—knowing that the boy was fond of reading, bequeathed to

him two volumes. One of the trustees wished to have them burnt at once,

as they bore a suspicious appearance and came from a dangerous quarter.

“My father,” wrote his son, “who was somewhat less credulous than his

neighbours, said, ‘Oh! let the boy have them;’ whereupon were put into

my hands a ‘Manual of Geography,’ and a copy of ‘Euclid’s Elements.’”

On Euclid he at once fastened, and soon mastered it. He went on to

algebra and the higher mathematics. To astronomy he devoted himself

with an ardour that never flagged. When he was eighty-four years old he

repaired with his telescope to Willingdon that he might observe the great

eclipse of the sun of the year 1847. To this eclipse he had long been

looking forward, but unhappily he was disappointed by a cloudy sky. Even

within a month or two of his death he was engaged in framing a system of

nomenclature for the stars.

His settlement at Birmingham was, in one way, most fortunate. It

brought him under the instruction of the excellent Priestley. He left

the strict and narrow sect in which he had been brought up, and joined

a congregation which its pastor, perhaps with justice, described as

the most liberal of any in England. He became an orthodox Unitarian.

“For about five years I had,” as he said on his death-bed, “great

privileges in the pastoral services of Dr. Priestley, and especially

in his lectures to the younger members of his congregation, and in

occasional conversations with him. This delightful period was closed

by the Birmingham riots.” The philosopher could not but have liked his

thoughtful and high-minded disciple. In fact, Thomas Hill was heard to

say, with not a little pride, that when he had once made some request of

Priestley, he received as answer, “You know, Hill, I never can refuse you

anything.”

Rowland Hill said that through his father he himself owed much to

Priestley as a teacher of politics and science. To him as a teacher

of religion he acknowledged no obligation. From Priestley Thomas

Hill got, no doubt, an increased relish for the study of Natural

Philosophy. When he was a child of nine, he had been present at some of

Ferguson’s lectures. Much that he had heard and seen had been beyond

his understanding, but “some parts of the lecturer’s apparatus were,”

as he said, with a memory that had with the flight of nearly eighty

years lost none of its freshness, “delightfully comprehensible.” He

gradually acquired a considerable knowledge of most of the branches of

Natural Philosophy, and what he knew he knew thoroughly. On some of these

subjects he lectured at the Birmingham Philosophical Institution, and

lectured well. He did not, however, servilely follow authority. So early

as 1807, and perhaps earlier, writes his son, “he emphatically protested

against the use of the term, ‘electric fluid,’ (substituting that of

‘electric influence,’) and against the Franklinian theory of positive and

negative electricities.”

His favourite study, next to astronomy, was the formation of our

letter-sounds, and here he was under no obligation, either to Priestley,

or, so far as I know, to anyone else. In a lecture that he delivered

before the Institution so early as 1821, he established the distinction

between vocal and whispered sounds. It is to him that Dr. Guest, the

learned master of Caius College, Cambridge, refers in the following

passage in his “History of English Rhythms.”[10] “The distinction here

taken between vocal and whisper letters appears to me important. I

once thought it was original; but in conversing on this subject with a

respected friend, to whose instructions I owe much, I found his views so

nearly coinciding with my own, that I have now but little doubt the hint

was borrowed.”

For years he laboured at a philosophic system of short-hand. It never

came into general use, nor, with all its ingenuity, was it likely to do

so. For were brevity set on one side, and philosophy on the other, he

would not have hesitated for a moment in his choice. His hand should be

as short as philosophy allowed, but not one whit shorter. “After nearly

half-a-century of thought, and many a year of labour,” he wrote to one

of his sons, “I have, as I think, succeeded beyond my most sanguine

expectations in constructing a short-hand. Cast your eye over it, and

observe the distinctness of the elementary characters—the graceful shape

of the words—the perfect continuity of every combination as to the

consonants—the distinctness of the lines resulting from the lineality of

the short-hand writing. The art rests almost wholly in myself, and it

is, my dear fellow, too good, I feel sure, to be lost now so perfect.”

In a later letter, written in the spring of the year in which the great

Reform Bill was carried, he says, with a charming and touching simplicity

of character not unworthy of Don Quixote himself, “Were THE BILL once

passed, one might hope for general amendment. Then should I think

seriously of publishing my short-hand, which I am sure is a good thing.

The more closely I compare my own system with others, the more I like it.”

It was not vanity that led him to wish for the spread of his short-hand.

He was not, indeed, insensible to fame, but the ruling passion that was

strong in him to the very end of his life was the love of his fellow-men.

In one letter he speaks of “the divine principle of divided labour;” in

another he prays that “the divine principle of utility may be carried

into every corner of human practice.” There might justly be applied to

him the words that he himself used of a friend: “He had a matchless

benevolence—an interest in the happiness of others.” His youngest

son’s death was a dreadful blow to him. “The vacancy,” he wrote, “seems

appalling.” One brother was lying dead at home, another had fallen ill

in London. The old father feared that some “inconsiderate expression of

impatience” of his, written before the news had reached him of his son’s

illness, might have increased his fever. “You must forgive one who knew

not what he did.” In the midst of all his sorrow and anxiety he found

no small comfort. His beloved child had lived to see the beginning of

good times. “The French Revolution (of 1830,) and the change of ministry

to a liberal complexion, he had to rejoice in, and this affords us

great consolation.” So, too, his private troubles were at another time

overwhelmed beneath the greater troubles of his country. “Our family

trials,” he writes, “merge completely in the sad prospects for our

country.”

At the age of forty he had left trade, for which he was but little

fitted, and had opened a school. One of the ablest among his pupils thus

describes him:—

“‘Old Daddy,’ as he was afterwards more familiarly called, was

one of the kindest and most upright men I ever knew: irascible

as became his profession: tender-hearted: intelligent,

and reflective: imbued with the liberalism which is now

predominant: of moderate scholastic attainments, having indeed

been originally engaged in some small business; but resolute in

making his boys understand whatever he taught them.”[11]

He had, indeed, some high qualifications for the schoolmaster’s life.

His “great and pure simplicity”—I use the words of another of his

pupils—could not but win the hearts and ennoble the characters of all

who were under him. He was, wrote a third, “a genuine man, to whom, if

to any of the children of men, may be applied the emphatically Christian

praise, that ‘He was an Israelite indeed, in whom there was no guile.’”

On his simplicity his boys could easily impose, but though they tricked

him, they never ceased to respect him. The morality of his school was, on

the whole, high. It was, above all, distinguished by great truthfulness

and honesty. Certainly, in one respect, he was an excellent teacher. He

was, as Mr. Sargant says, resolute in making his boys understand whatever

he taught them. He was altogether free from one of the worst, and one

of the commonest, faults of a teacher. He never confounded rules with

reasons. He cared far more that his pupils should understand _why_ a

thing is done, than _how_ a thing is done. “His explanations of the first

principles in mathematics,” says one of his pupils, “were very clear.”

From this same gentleman I learn that not a little that is now taught

as new in the modern system of geometry had been taught him by his old

master. A week before his death he mentioned with satisfaction, that a

definition which he had given of a straight line had been pronounced by a

mathematician to be the best that existed.[12]

“He looked,” as I have been told by one who was long under him, “at the

bearings of every subject, irrespective of its conventionalities. In

every case he would be asking, ‘If we were to begin the world afresh,

how should we proceed?’ He would always consider what is the best thing

to be done, and next how can it be done irrespectively of everything

conventional. When he had once arrived at his conclusions, and laid down

his principles, he would carry them out without regard to anyone or

anything.” Yet he was as free from arrogance as any man could well be. He

had an old-fashioned courtesy which never forsook him even when he caned

an unruly boy. Towards women, towards children, towards the oppressed,

towards the poor, in a word towards those who were weaker than himself,

he bore himself like a second Knight of La Mancha, or another Colonel

Newcome. Nevertheless he was not a good teacher. He had at least one

great failing. He was wanting, as one of his sons has said, in mental

perspective. There was no “keeping” in his mind. In the image that he

formed to himself of the world of learning, all things seemed to be

equally in the foreground. He could not distinguish between the relative

values of the different branches of study. All kinds of knowledge ranked

in his eyes as of equal importance. He was, for instance, an excellent

teacher of correct pronunciation and clear articulation. “We were,” says

Mr. Sargant, “thoroughly taught the elements of English; and our spelling

was immaculate.... The dropping of an ‘h’ was one of the seven deadly

sins.” He had a quick ear for melodious and rhythmical sounds. In writing

of the year 1770, he said, “It was a date which I found no pleasure in

expressing. The previous year, 1769, was that in which I first became

acquainted with the way of distinguishing years by their number, and I

was well pleased with the metrical expression of the number first learnt.

That of the subsequent 1770 ended in what my ear felt as a bathos, and

I longed for the metrical restoration of 1771.” He was not seven years

old when 1770 thus distressed him. He used to tell how as a child he had

been delighted with the name Melinda, and how he used to repeat it again

and again. His ear was grievously offended by what he called a collision.

There was a collision when two like sounds came together. When his

boys repeated the multiplication table they had to speak euphoniously.

A collision here would have been a most serious offence. They said five

sixes are thirty, but five times five is twenty-five. Five fives would

have set their master’s teeth on edge, as Dean Gaisford’s were set by a

wrong Greek accent. “Your old friend, Mr. A——,” he wrote to his eldest

son, “has sent No. 1. of his Birmingham—m—m—Mercury. I hope more skill

and more taste will appear in the selection of materials than has been

evinced in the choice of a name.” In returning home from the lectures

that he gave at the Philosophical Institution—and very good lectures they

were, too—he would with pride draw the attention of his friends to the

fact that they had not heard that night one single collision. “He used to

delight,” as his son once told me, “in peculiar terms, and would amend

Euclid’s language. Thus, instead of allowing the boys to say ‘the lines

are at right angles to each other,’ he taught them to say, ‘the lines

have a mutual perpendicularity.’ To my great annoyance the boys made a

catch-cry of this, and I could hear them shouting out in the playground,

‘the lines have a mutual perpendicularity.’”

He had devised an admirable plan for curing stammering, and here he

was as successful in practice as in theory. He never failed to work

a cure, but he had to complain that “strange as it might appear, it

was frequently much more easy to induce the capacity for speaking

without stammering than the inclination.” The regard that he paid to

mere utterance was, however, so excessive that the general progress

of his pupils was greatly retarded. He took months to carry a class

through numeration, for, fond though he was of mathematics, he paid

more attention to the modulation of the voice when the figures had to

be expressed aloud in words, than to the figures themselves. He took

the class up to decillions. Why he stopped there it was not easy to see.

It was no slight task to get a Midland County lad to express, with a

correctness that would satisfy the master’s ear, a number far smaller

than a decillion. When he had learnt the arithmetical value of the

figures, when he had been taught to say _hundred_, and not _underd_,

_nine_ and not _noine_, _five_ and not _foive_, the modulation of the

whole sentence remained as a vast, but not, as he at length found, an

insuperable task. If far too much time was wasted, no small good was thus

done. His pupils were always known by the distinctness and correctness of

their utterance.

He was, indeed, very fond of forming theories, but he too often forgot

to test them by practice. Having once convinced himself by a process of

reasoning that they were sound, he did not think it needful to put them

to the proof. He was also in this part of his character like Don Quixote,

who, when he had found that his pasteboard helmet did not bear the blows

of his sword, having patched it up, was satisfied of its strength, and,

without putting it to a second trial, looked upon it as a most finished

piece of armour. When he came to build his new school-house he showed

his love of theory in a curious way. “My father,” wrote his son, “having

found that, with but slight deviation from the line of road, the house

might be made to stand in exact coincidence with the cardinal points,

would, I believe, from that moment, have been almost more willing to

abandon the scheme than to lose such an opportunity of gratifying his

taste.” Now most men when they build a house, build it to serve, not as

the letters on a vane to show the points of the compass, but as a place

of residence. A place of residence is certainly not the better, but a

good deal the worse, for standing in exact coincidence with the cardinal

points.

Notwithstanding his faults as a schoolmaster, he was, in many ways,

admirable as a father. His children could say of him what Burns said of

his father:—“He conversed familiarly on all subjects with us, as if we

had been men.” “Perhaps,” wrote Mr. M. D. Hill, “after all, the greatest

obligation we owe to our father is this: that from infancy he would

reason with us—argue with us, would perhaps be a better expression, as

denoting that it was a match of mind against mind, in which all the rules

of fair play were duly observed; and we put forth our little strength

without fear. Arguments were taken at their just weight; the sword

of authority was not thrown into the scale.” He did not much delight

to season his fireside with personal talk. It was all those matters

that make up the life of a good citizen in a free state that he mostly

discussed. In subjects such as these, time has proved that he was no

fanciful theorist. Strong and staunch Liberal though he always was, in

no single respect was he ever a man of violent or extreme views. He

never was a Republican. The news of the opening scenes of the French

Revolution had, indeed, been to him glad tidings of great joy. But the

horrors of the Reign of Terror he never forgot or condoned. They did not

scare him however from the path of reform. Unlike many of the Whigs, he

always hated Bonapartism. He had, indeed, condemned as much as any man

the conduct of England when in 1793 she joined the confederacy against

France. He could never forgive Pitt his share in that proceeding. But

when Bonaparte wantonly broke through the Peace of Amiens, and renewed

the war, he was dead against him. He would have said with Southey,

that had he only a single guinea in the world, he would, rather than

see peace made for want of funds, give half of it in war-taxes. “My

own wish,” he wrote in 1807, when the fear of a French invasion was

still in the minds of men, “is that every man and every boy throughout

the United Islands should be compelled, under a penalty that would be

submitted to for conscience sake alone—that each should be compelled to

provide himself with arms, and learn to use them.” He had his children

and his pupils drilled. He was above all things a sturdy Englishman. But

he longed for reforms—reforms of all kinds, but reforms that kept well

within the lines of the Constitution. Above all he longed for a thorough

reform of Parliament, as the fount and source of all other reforms. In

that gloomiest of all years, 1811, he wrote, “a Parliamentary reform, a

strong effusion of the healthy vigour of Democracy, is the only hope.”

Six years later, writing to his eldest son, he says, “You will see that

I have not lost sight of the excellent maxim—‘The whole man must stand

or fall together.’ If your father cannot get rich without fawning, he

must remain poor. If he cannot live without it, he must die, as by far

the easiest alternative. Your account of London is appalling. But the

land, the sunshine, the rain on our planet are as ever. Why then despair?

The political heavens lower; but who shall say of what force the storm

shall be, and of what duration? Who shall predict ravages too great

to be compensated by succeeding seasons of calm? Let us not fear for

ourselves—little indeed is needful to life—let us fear for our beloved

country, and each to his utmost so trim the bark as to avoid the rocks of

anarchy on the one hand, and the equally fatal, though less conspicuous,

shoals of despotism on the other. The time is coming, I apprehend, when

none that carries a conscience will be able to remain neuter.” He had

in political matters that reasonableness which is the mark of the best

English mind. When in 1819 the proposal had been made that the franchise

of Grampound should be transferred to some large town, he wrote, “Cobbett

and Co. would persuade the multitude to despise the boon as falling

far short of what should be granted, and thus they furnish the foes of

all reform with a pretence for withholding this trifling, but far from

unimportant, concession.”

Evil, indeed, were the days in which the vigour of his manhood was

spent, and gloomy ofttimes must have been the family talk. But amid all

the gloom there was no despondency. He belonged to that hopeful but

small band of brave men who amid the darkest days of the long Tory rule

steadfastly held up the banner of freedom and progress. He did his best

to train up his children as soldiers in the good cause. Recruits were

indeed needed. The government was the most oppressive that there had been

in England since the days of the Stuarts, while the upper and middle

classes were sunk in an indifference that had not been witnessed since

the evil times of the Restoration. “If any person,” wrote Romilly in

1808, “be desirous of having an adequate idea of the mischievous effects

which have been produced in this country by the French Revolution and

all its attendant horrors, he should attempt some legislative reform, on

humane and liberal principles. He will then find, not only what a stupid

dread of innovation, but what a savage spirit it has infused into the

minds of many of his countrymen.” There were scarcely any Reformers left

in Parliament. The great Whig party was either indifferent or hopeless.

The Criminal Law was everywhere administered with savage severity. The

Bishops, with the Archbishop of Canterbury at their head, were ready to

hang a poor wretch for the crime of stealing goods that were worth five

shillings. The royal dukes fought hard for the slave trade. The Habeas

Corpus Act was suspended, and honest men were left to languish in prison.

Such were the evil days in which Thomas Hill brought up his children,

and such were the evil deeds which were ever rousing his fiercest anger.

The savageness of the penal code he hotly denounced. He had heard of

the execution of a man whom he had known for a crime which no one now

would dream of punishing with death. “I feel only compassion,” he wrote,

“for the poor sufferer. Institutions more atrocious than his crimes have

exacted from him a ten-fold forfeit, and he now is the injured party. It

is a consolation for me to have abhorred the Draconian statutes even from

my boyhood.” Slavery and the slave-trade, and religious oppression of

every kind, whether carried out by law or by custom, he utterly loathed

and detested. “We were all,” said one of his sons, “born to a burning

hatred of tyranny.” He was too poor to take in a newspaper by himself,

but he joined with three or four of his neighbours in subscribing to a

London weekly journal. It was always read aloud in the family circle.

The sons caught almost from their infancy their father’s ardent love of

liberty. “He tuned their hearts, by far the noblest aim.” One of them

could remember how, when he was a child, an account of a trial was read

aloud by his eldest brother. “I underwent,” he writes, “considerable

excitement in its recital, caused principally, as I recollect, by the

spirited manner in which the defendant, who employed no counsel, resisted

all attempts to put him down. My father’s enthusiasm, I remember, was so

strong as to draw from him the wild exclamation, ‘Why the man’s a god!’”

This enthusiasm he retained through life. “Beg of Arthur,” he wrote to

one of his sons, on tidings coming of the Battle of Navarino, “not to get

over-intoxicated with the Greek news. I bustled home to make him quite

happy, and, on inquiring for him out of breath, found he had started.”

I remember well how I used to read aloud to the old man, now in his

eighty-seventh year, the accounts of the Hungarian Insurrection, and how

deep were his groans over the defeat of the patriots, and how burning was

his indignation at the cruelties of the Austrians and the Russians.

It was not merely a spirit of freedom that he implanted in his children.

In the midst of his enthusiasm he never failed to consider the best cure

for the evils which he attacked. He was a diligent reader of Adam Smith.

“What he read he was fond of giving forth and discussing, willingly

listening to objections, and never leaving them unanswered.... Our whole

family might be regarded as a little political economy club, sitting not

indeed at stated times, but yet at short intervals, and debating, if not

with much method, yet with great earnestness. He was,” added his son, “in

political matters always right. As long as his children could remember

he was a thorough free-trader. He condemned all laws against usury. He

laughed at all social objections to the employment of machinery.[13] He

strongly condemned the judge-made law which involved in partnership

all persons who were paid for the use of capital by a share in profits,

and foresaw the benefits to be derived from a general system of

limited liability. He was earnestly in favour of the representation

of minorities, and about sixty years ago drew up a plan for effecting

this, which was in substance the same as that lately promulgated, and,

indeed, independently devised, by Mr. Hare.[14] He maintained the justice

of allowing counsel to address the jury for the defence in trials for

felony, and even of receiving the evidence of parties.”[15] He filled the

minds of his children with a passion for sweeping away injustice, and

baseness, and folly from the face of the earth. To apply to him his own

words, “he invigorated their souls for the conception and accomplishment

of many things permanently great and good.” He was cheered by the great

changes for the better which he lived to see. “Surely,” he once wrote,

“the days of routine and mummery are swiftly passing away.” A few months

before the Reform Bill was carried he wrote to one of his sons:—“Even I

hope to see mighty changes wrought. You, my dear boy, may hope to enjoy

the beneficial effects of them. For myself it will be amply sufficient if

I can die assured that my dear children will reap even the first-fruits

of that harvest for which we have all been thus long labouring.”

Dear as his memory is to me, yet I cannot but own that his character

had its imperfect side. It was not only that he allowed himself to be

mastered by his theories. There was, moreover, a want of thoroughness in

much that he did. He never could satisfy himself that he had done all

which could be done, and so he rarely brought anything to completion. He

was readier to conceive than firm to execute. He worked slowly, and was

too much inclined to put off to another day any piece of business which

he much disliked. He lived, indeed, with great simplicity; but, owing in

part to his own bad management of business matters, he was never able to

shake himself free from a burden of debt till his sons came to his help.

It is, perhaps, not wonderful that he took the world somewhat easily,

as he had from nature such a happy constitution, that the more he was

troubled, the longer and the more soundly he could sleep.

His, indeed, was a temperament that wins a man happiness, but refuses

him fame. He had little ambition and few wants. His utmost wishes scarce

travelled beyond a simple house, a sufficiency of homely fare and

clothing, a good library, and a set of philosophical and astronomical

instruments. “Never be cast down,” he wrote to one of his sons; “moderate

success is nearly a certainty, and more is not worth a wish.” It was

not that he lived the sour life of an anchorite. Few men had a heartier

relish of all honest pleasures. He was even famed for his love of

apple-pie. “My dear,” I have heard him say after the simplest of meals,

when asked by his daughter whether he had enjoyed his food, “My dear, I

only hope the Queen has had half as good a dinner.” Such hospitality as

he could afford he at all times delighted in showing. Who that partook of

his Sunday morning breakfasts could ever forget the charming courtesy and

the warmth of affection that make the aged man’s simple parlour live in

the memory like a landscape of Claude’s?

The love that he had ever borne his fellow-men came to the relief of the

sufferings of his last hours. As he was dying, the gloom that had covered

the world during so much of his manhood seemed to him at last to have

been cleared away. The Great Exhibition of 1851 had just been opened.

“Thank God! thank God!” he said, “for living to see this day!... This

real peace meeting. I cannot join them with my voice, but I can in my

heart. ‘All people that on earth do dwell, Sing to the Lord with cheerful

voice.’ I leave the world bright with hope. Never, surely, has God’s

government of the world been so clear as at the present period.” The day

before his death he insisted that one of his sons and his doctor should

breakfast in his room, as, though he was himself unable to eat, he took

pleasure in seeing others eat and refresh themselves.

“And still to love, though pressed with ill,

In wintry age to feel no chill,

With me is to be lovely still.”

On the last evening, when his long life of fourscore years and eight was

almost at its lowest ebb, the love for his fellow-men that had thrown

a radiance on his whole life was not dim, nor was the natural force of

his mind abated. “I shall sadly miss,” his son recorded in his journal,

“his warm and intelligent sympathy. Nothing was so acceptable to him,

even up to the time of my visiting him last night, as an account of any

improvements in progress in the Post-office.” A few days earlier he had

exclaimed that he could not have believed that a death-bed could be so

pleasant. He knew nothing of that melancholy state when life becomes a

burthen and death remains a dread. Much of his happiness arose, he said,

from his full confidence in the benevolence of the Creator. He composed

the following lines:—

ASPIRATIONS ON A DEATH-BED, ON THE PATIENT’S WINDOW BEING OPENED.

_Aura veni._

“Come, gentle breeze, come, air divine,

Comfort this drooping heart of mine!

Ah! solace flows with heaven’s own breath,

Which cheers my soul that sank in death.

The works of God all speak His praise;

To Him eternal anthems raise;

This air of heavenly love’s a token,

Let pensive musing now be broken,

Prayer for far greater boons be spoken.

God, couldst Thou find my soul a place

Within the realms of boundless grace—

The humblest post among the ranks

Of those that give Thee endless thanks—

Then would my leaping powers rejoice

To sing Thy name with heart and voice;

Then toil my character to rear,

By following Thy commands on purer, loftier sphere.

And may I rest my humble frame

On Love supreme, which crowns Thy name.”

“His last parting with this world was to take one by one the hand of each

of his children, and, after placing it near his heart, to kiss it, and

point upwards with a radiant expression of intense love and happiness.”

Much as Rowland Hill owed to his father, he owed scarcely less to his

mother. She, though the inferior of her husband in quick intelligence and

originality, was his superior in shrewd common sense and in firmness of

purpose. She was as practical as he was theoretical, and as cautious as

he was rash. To his father Rowland owed his largeness of view and his

boldness of conception. But it was his mother from whom he derived his

caution, his patience, and his unwearying prudence. Had he not had such a

father, he would not have devised his plan of Penny Postage. Had he not

had such a mother, he would not have succeeded in making what seemed the

scheme of an enthusiast a complete and acknowledged success. He was never

weary in his old age of sounding her praises, and acknowledging how much

he owed to her. He could scarcely speak of her without the tears starting

into his eyes, while his utterances, broken through strong emotion, could

hardly discharge the fulness of his heart. The last record that I have

of my conversations with him ends with her praises. “My mother was,” he

said, “a most admirable woman in every respect. She had great natural

intellect. She had a willingness to exert herself for the good of her

family, and she did exert herself beyond her powers.” My record thus

ends:—“Here he became so affected that I thought a longer talk might be

hurtful to him, and so I came away.”

[Illustration: SARAH HILL.

(MOTHER OF SIR ROWLAND HILL.)]

Her husband was no less mindful of her high merits. “Her children arise

up, and call her blessed;—her husband also, and he praiseth her.” After

her death he more than once told his daughter that the only merit he

claimed in bringing up his family was that of letting their mother do

exactly as she liked. “It was to her influence—an influence of the most

beneficial kind—that he attributed the merit of their becoming good and

useful members of society.” “As a theme for eloquence,” he one day wrote

to one of his sons, “you may sound the trumpet of past success and long

experience in your _transcendent_ mother.” “She was,” said her daughter,

“a large-hearted woman, taking upon herself all duties that lay within

her reach, whether properly belonging to her or not.” To her great

courage her son thus bears testimony:—

“Many instances fell under my own observation, but the one I

mention was of earlier date. Happening to be present when, in

the midst of a violent thunderstorm, an imperious mistress

ordered her terrified maidservant to go and take down the

clothes that were hanging out to dry, my mother at once

volunteered for the service, and performed it in full, though

not without imminent risk of her life; for before she could

regain the house a tree, from which she had detached one of the

lines, was struck by lightning.”[16]

She had been as a mere child the most dutiful of daughters. She was the

most devoted and unselfish of wives and mothers. Yet by strangers all her

merits were not quickly seen. Her warm heart was hidden beneath cold and

reserved manners. Outsiders were astonished at the extraordinary degree

of affection that her children felt for her. Some of this coldness of

manner, and all the hidden warmth of heart were inherited from her by her

famous son. She had had but a small chance of getting much book-learning,

yet she took a strong interest in her husband’s studies and pursuits. Her

son said that she possessed remarkable sagacity and no small readiness in

contrivance. It was not, however, by inventiveness or by originality that

she was distinguished. In those qualities her husband was strong. She was

strong where he was weak. If he had every sense but common sense, she

had common sense in a high degree. She had with it an unusual strength

of character—a strength that made itself none the less felt because it

was quiet. “We must not forget,” wrote one of her sons to his brother,

when the death of her youngest child was looked for, and they were all

dreading the terrible blank that would arise, “we must not forget that

mother is not an ordinary woman—her powers of self-control and conformity

to existing circumstances are unusually great.” She was not wanting in

honest ambition. She did not, indeed, look for any high position for her

sons. She smiled incredulously when one of her boys told her that the day

would come when she should ride in his carriage. But she was resolved

that her children should not sink through poverty out of that middle

class into which they were born. She was most anxious that they should

have the advantages of that education which had never fallen to her

lot. It was her doing that her husband left trade, for which he was but

ill-fitted, and started a school. In the step that he thus took she saw

the best means of getting their own children taught. She was unwearying

in her efforts to add to her husband’s scanty income, and most rigid in

her economy. She longed to provide for him and for her children that

freedom of action which is only enjoyed by those who have freedom from

debt. Her eldest son has thus recorded his recollections of her during

the terrible year 1800, when he was but a child of eight years:—

“Well do I remember that time of dearth, and even famine. As

I was the eldest, my mother, in the absence of her husband,

opened her heart now and then to me; and I knew how she lay

in wakefulness, passing much of the night in little plans for

ensuring food and clothing to her children by the exercise

of the strictest parsimony. How she accomplished her task I

know not; I cannot imagine; but certain it was that we never

wanted either wholesome food or decent raiment, and were always

looked upon by the poor of the neighbourhood as gentlefolk. Her

achievement she regarded in after and more prosperous years

with honest pride and gratulation. Nor was she less anxious for

our instruction than for our physical comforts. She had but

little reading, but possessed a quick and lively apprehension

and natural good taste. She was clever at figures, working

by mental arithmetic; not pursuing rules, but acting on her

natural sagacity. She was honourable and high-minded, and had a

great contempt for the unreal in religion, morals, or manners;

shabby gentility and dirt, especially when concealed, excited

her disapprobation. In her youth she was comely, not to say

handsome. I remember her, fair-haired and fair-complexioned.

She was the tenderest of parents.”

Her merits as the mistress of a household were thus summed up by Rowland

Hill. “I scarcely think there ever was a woman out of France who could

make so much out of so little.”

The husband and wife each supplied in character that in which the other

was wanting. In Rowland was seen a remarkable combination of the strong

qualities of each parent. His father, however, had a two-fold influence

on his character. Almost as much as he nourished his intellect and one

side of his moral nature by sympathy, so he increased another side by the

strong feeling of antipathy that he unconsciously raised. The son was

shocked with his father’s want both of method and steady persistence,

with the easy way in which he often set on one side matters that troubled

him, and with the complacency with which he still regarded his theories,

however much they were buffeted and bruised by practice. Here Rowland set

before him his mother’s best qualities. He had, indeed, received them

in large measure from nature, but he cultivated them from his earliest

youth with a steadiness that never fell off or wearied. He went, perhaps,

into the opposite extreme of that which he shunned, and gained a certain

rigidity of character which at times appeared to be excessive.

I have seen a letter from his mother’s brother, Bailie Lea, written

years ago to one of his nieces, in which he recalls, he says, “times,

some seventy years ago, long before any of you were born.” He describes

with some humour how he had helped young Tom Hill in his courtship. He

adds, “The happy hour began to draw nigh, the gown was bought, made, and

fitted on; the knot tied, the work was done, and it speaks for itself in

every quarter of the globe.” With honest and just pride in his sister,

the old man adds, “But Tom Hill could not have accomplished the half of

what appears with any other woman for a wife than Sally Lea.” Certainly

Rowland Hill always believed that he himself could not have accomplished

the half of what he did had he not had such a mother. I know not whether

my grandfather had any rivals. A charming story that is told of his old

age leads me to think that he must have had at least one. His wife, when

they had been married close on fifty years, one day called him, with a

Birmingham plainness of speech, “An old fool!” A child who was staying

in the house overheard him, as he left the room and slowly went up the

stairs, muttering to himself, “Humph! she called me an old fool—an old

fool!” Then he stopped, and was silent for a few moments, till suddenly

rubbing his hands together, he exclaimed, “A lucky dog I was to get her,

though!” His memory had carried him back full fifty years, before the

ring was bought and the gown made, when young Tom Hill had still to win

the heart and hand of Sarah Lea. A few years after her death he was one

day missing. Some hours passed by, and nothing could be heard of the aged

man who numbered now his fourscore years and four. At length he was seen

trudging slowly homewards. He had gone on foot full five miles to his

wife’s grave, and on foot he was making his way back.

His marriage had been delayed for a short time by the riots in which the

chapels of the dissenters, and many of their houses, were burnt to the

ground by a brutal Church-and-King mob. With several of his companions he

had hurried off to defend the house of their revered pastor, but their

services were unhappily declined. Priestley declared that it was the duty

of a Christian minister to submit to persecution. The rest of the story

of this eventful scene I shall tell in the words of his eldest son:—

“His companions went away, perhaps to escort their good pastor

and his family, whose lives would not have been secure against

the ruffians coming to demolish their home and property. My

father barred the doors, closed the shutters, made fast the

house as securely as he could against the expected rioters,

and then awaited their arrival. He has often described to me

how he walked to and fro in the darkened rooms, chafing under

the restriction which had been put on him and his friends. He

was present when the mob broke in, and witnessed the plunder

and destruction, and the incendiary fire by which the outrage

was consummated. Lingering near the house, he saw a working

man fill his apron with shoes, with which he made off. My

father followed him, and, as soon as the thief was alone,

collared him, and dragged him to the gaol, where he had the

mortification to witness the man quietly relieved of his booty,

and then suffered to depart, the keeper informing my father

that he had had orders to take in no prisoners that night! The

mob, which had begun by attacking dissenters as public enemies,

burning down their chapels and their houses, and making

spoil of their goods, soon expanded their views, and gave

unmistakable signs that the distinction between dissenter and

churchman had had its hour, and was to be superseded in favour

of the doctrine now so well known, ‘La propriété, c’est un

vol.’ When matters came to this pass the magistrates swore-in

special constables. My father was one of this body; and,

like his comrades, compendiously armed with half a mop-stick

by way of truncheon, he marched with them to the defence of

Baskerville House, in Birmingham, which was under attack by the

mob. The special constables at first drove all before them, in

spite of the immense disparity of numbers; but after a time,

becoming separated in the _mêlée_, they sustained a total

defeat. Some were very severely bruised, and one died of the

injuries which he received in the fight. My father, although

not conscious at the time of having received a blow, could

not the next morning raise his arm. He was always of opinion

that if they had had a flag, or some signal of that kind, round

which they could have rallied, the fortune of the day would

have been reversed.”

The blow that he had received was at all events so severe that his

marriage had to be put off for a fortnight. For three or four years the

young couple lived at Birmingham.[17] They then removed to Kidderminster,

where Rowland was born in the freehold house that had belonged to three

generations of his family.[18] It was not, however, to remain long in

his father’s hands. The French war ruined the manufacture in which

he had engaged, and in the great straits to which he was before long

reduced, he was able to retain nothing of his small inheritance. He left

Kidderminster, and removed to Wolverhampton, where he found employment.

His salary however was so small that it was only by means of the severest

thrift that he managed to keep his head above water. It was in the stern

school of poverty that Rowland was brought up from his earliest years.

Like Garrick, he was “bred in a family whose study was to make four pence

do as much as others made four pence half-penny do.”

[Illustration: THE BIRTH-PLACE OF SIR ROWLAND HILL, KIDDERMINSTER.]

His father had taken an old farm-house, called Horsehills, that stood

about a mile from Wolverhampton. It had long been empty, and the rent

was so low that at first it excited his suspicions. It was not till he

had signed the lease that he was informed that the house was haunted.

He cared much about a low rent, and nothing about ghosts. On such terms

he would have been only too glad to find a haunted house each time he

changed his place of abode. He lived here till Rowland was seven years

old. When the child had become a man of eighty he put on record many

of the memories that he still retained of this home of his early days.

Here it was that they were living during the terrible dearth of 1800,

of which for many a year, men, he says, could hardly talk without a

shudder. He could remember how one day during this famine when they were

dining on bread and butter and lettuce, a beggar came to the door. His

mother took from the dish one of the slices and sent it to the man. He

refused it because there was not butter enough for him. The half-starved

people took to plundering the fields of the potatoes, and the owners,

in order to secure them, set about to dig them up and store them. Late

rains, moreover, had followed the hot weather, and the roots had begun

to sprout. Rowland writes, “I remember that when our crop of late

potatoes was dug up, we children were set to spread them over the floor

of the only room that could be spared. It was one of the parlours.”

Likely enough they were thus brought into the house as a safer place

against the rioters than any outhouse. Bread riots broke out. Most of

the judges declaimed on the winter circuits against the forestallers.

“A violent clamour was excited against corn-dealers and farmers, which

being joined in by the mob, artificial scarcity became the cry. Farmers

were threatened, and their barns and ricks in many places were set on

fire.”[19] One band of rioters came to Horsehills, thinking no doubt

that, as it was a farm-house, the occupier was a farmer. “The house

was entered, and a demand made for bread; but the poor fellows, hungry

as they doubtless were, listened to explanations; and upon one of them

saying, ‘Oh, come away; look at the missis how bad her (she) looks,’

they all quietly withdrew.” I have heard my father say that so terrible

had been the dearth, and so painful were the memories it raised, that

they had all come to look upon bread as something holy. Once, when a

mere child, he had seen a play-fellow wantonly waste a piece of bread by

throwing it about. He was seized with alarm lest some terrible judgment

from Heaven should come, not only upon the one guilty person, but upon

all who were in his company. He feared lest the roof might fall down

upon them. It may have been during this time of famine that Rowland, for

the first time in his life, and perhaps for the last time, wished to go

into debt. He was one day telling me how slowly and painfully he had,

in his boyhood, saved up his money in order to buy useful articles of

which he stood in need. I asked him whether he had never been tempted

by the pastrycook. “No,” he answered; but yet, he added with a smile,

according to a story that was told of him, he once had been. He had gone,

when a very little child, to a woman who kept a stall in Wolverhampton

market-place, and had asked her to let him have a half-penny-worth of

sweets on trust. When she refused, he then begged her to lend him a

half-penny, with which he would buy the sweets.

One adventure in these days of his childhood impressed itself most deeply

on his memory. His father, who had gone one day on business to a town

some miles off, was very late in returning. His mother became uneasy,

and set off quite alone to meet her husband. Soon after she had started,

he returned, but though he had come by the way along which she had gone,

he had not met her. He in his turn was full of alarm. He sent off his

eldest boy, a lad of nine, in one direction. The two next boys, Edwin

and Rowland, who were at most eight and six years old, he bade go by

one road to Wolverhampton, and come back by another. He himself took a

third way. The boys set out, not indeed without fear, but nevertheless

“with a conviction that the work must be done.” The two younger lads had

first to go along a dark lane. They then came to a spot where, underneath

the cross-ways, there lay buried, as they knew, the body of a lad who

had ended his life with his own hand. The place was known as Dead Boy’s

Grave. Next they had to pass near the brink of a gravel pit, “to them

an awful chasm, which they shuddered by as they could.” At length they

made their round, and not far off midnight, as Rowland believed, reached

home. There to their great joy they found the rest gathered together.

The eldest boy, who had been alone, though a lad of great courage, had

suffered not a little from fear. Neither he, nor his father, had met

the mother, who reached home before them. As she had been going along

the lane, she had been alarmed, she said, by a man who started up on

the other side of the hedge. In her fright she had cleared the opposite

fence at a bound, and had made her way home over the fields. The next day

her husband went with her to the spot, but though he was an active and

muscular man, he failed to make in his strength the leap which she had

made in the terror which comes from weakness.

Rowland Hill was fond of talking in his old age of his childhood, of

which he retained a very clear memory. He remembered how one day in the

autumn of 1801, his brothers came back from school with the news that

the mail coach had driven into Wolverhampton decked with blue ribbons.

Tidings had just arrived of peace with France.[20] The whole country was

in a blaze with bonfires and illuminations. Rowland and his brothers,

when it grew dark, set fire to the stump of an old tree, and so bore

their part in the general rejoicings. When war broke out again with

France he was living in Birmingham. “Old Boney,” became the terror of all

English children, as “Malbrook,” a hundred years before, had been the

terror of all French children. Within half-a-mile of his father’s house,

“the forging of gun-barrels was almost incessant, beginning each day

long before dawn, and continuing long after nightfall; the noise of the

hammers being drowned ever and anon by the rattle from the proof-house.”

Their own house each time felt the shock, and his mother’s brewings of

beer were injured by the constant jars. On the open ground in front of

the house, one division of the Birmingham Volunteers was drilled each

Sunday morning. Sunday drilling, in this season of alarms, went on

throughout the length and breadth of the land. The press-gang now and

then came so far as this inland town. He could remember the alarm they

caused him and his brothers. They were fearful not so much for themselves

as for their father.

One day a captured French gun-boat was dragged into Birmingham, and

shown at a small charge. Hitherto he had seen no vessel bigger than a

coal barge. For the first time he saw a real anchor and ship guns. As he

returned home with his brothers, they talked over the loss of the Royal

George, and other “moving accidents by flood.” He could “well remember

the mingled joy and grief at the great, but dearly-bought, victory of

Trafalgar.” The following verses of a rude ballad that was sung in the

streets remained fixed in his memory:—

“On the nineteenth[21] of October,

Eighteen hundred and five,

We took from the French and Spaniards

A most glorious prize.

“We fought for full four hours,

With thundering cannon balls;

But the death of gallant Nelson

Was by a musket ball.

“Britannia and her heroes

Will long bemoan their loss;

For he was as brave an Admiral,

As e’er the ocean crossed.”

Other memories of his carried back those who heard him talk in his latter

years to a state of life that was very unlike the present. The baker who

supplied them with bread kept his reckoning by tallies. Their milk-woman

had just such another score as that which was presented to Hogarth’s

Distressed Poet. A travelling tailor used to come his rounds, and, in

accordance with the common custom, live in their house while he was

making clothes for the family. In every show of feats of horsemanship,

the performance always ended with the burlesque of the Tailor riding

to Brentford to vote for John Wilkes. Whenever any disaster came upon

the country, there were still found old people who solemnly shook their

heads, and gravely pointed it out as another instance of the divine wrath

for the great sin that the nation had committed when it made the change

of style.

The changes that he saw in the currency were very great. In his early

childhood, gold pieces—guineas, half guineas, and seven shilling

bits,—were not uncommon, but they began to disappear, and before long

were scarcely ever seen. When one did come to hand, it was called a

stranger. About the year 1813, one of his brothers sold a guinea for a

one pound note and eight shillings in silver. As the gold began to be

hoarded, these one pound notes took their place. Bank of England notes

were in Birmingham looked upon with suspicion, for they were more often

forged than provincial notes. The silver coins of the realm were so well

worn, that hardly any of them bore even a trace of an effigy or legend.

“Any that were still unworn were called pretty shillings and the like,”

and were suspected by the lower class of dealers as something irregular.

Together with the state currency, tokens circulated to a great extent.

There were Bank of England tokens, of the value of five shillings, three

shillings, and one shilling and sixpence. The parish of Birmingham

had its notes for one pound, and five shillings, and its workhouse

shilling, as the coin was called. It had been issued by the guardians as

a convenient means of distributing out-of-door relief. All these coins

and tokens were more or less forged. The coins of the realm stood lowest

in point of security, then the Bank of England tokens; while the parish

tokens were hardly ever imitated, and were everywhere received with

confidence. Forgery was constantly carried on. One daring and notorious

forger and coiner, named Booth, long defied the police. His house stood

in the midst of an open plain, some miles from Birmingham, and was very

strongly barricaded. The officers had more than once forced an entry;

but so careful had been his watch, that, by the time they had been able

to break in, all proofs of his crime had been destroyed. Rowland Hill

had seen him riding into town, on his way to the rolling-mills, with the

metal in his saddle-bags. The boy took more than a common interest in the

man, as in this very rolling-mill one of his own brothers was employed.

One day the messenger whom Booth had sent with the metal had forgotten

to bring a pattern. “Taking out a three-shilling piece, the man inserted

it in one slit after another of the gauge, until he found the one which

exactly corresponded with its thickness, and this he gave as the guide.”

His long freedom from punishment rendered the coiner careless, and he was

at last surprised. The whole Birmingham police force was mustered, and a

troop of dragoons was got from the barracks. A ladder had been brought,

and an entrance was made through the tiling of the roof. It seemed as if

they were once more too late, for at first nothing could be found. One of

the “runners,” however, in mounting the ladder, had through the bars of

an upper window seen Booth hurriedly thrusting papers, that no doubt were

forged notes, into the fire. A hole was broken into the chimney, and in

it were found one whole note, and one partly burnt. The prisoners were

taken to Birmingham, and thence were sent by the magistrates to Stafford,

under the guard of a small body of horse. Booth was hanged.

It is scarcely wonderful that criminals openly defied the laws, for

the police-force of Birmingham was very small. The town contained in

the early years of this century about seventy thousand inhabitants.

Yet the whole police-force for day duty consisted of less than twenty

men. By night, guard was kept by the usual body of “ancient and most

quiet watchmen.” The town, moreover, like all other towns, was but

dimly lighted with its oil-lamps. Rowland was about seventeen years old

when, “with almost unbounded delight, I first saw,” he writes, “streets

illuminated by gas.” Yet the peace was, on the whole, not ill kept.

From 1803 to 1833 there were but three riots, and of these only one was

at all serious. The town had not even in those days a Recorder, and

the criminals were sent to the Assizes at Warwick. The stage-coaches,

as Rowland well remembered, were all furnished with strong staples, to

which the fetters of prisoners were fast locked. He had himself, when

he was still a little lad, sat on the coach beside a man thus fettered.

The fellow made light of his position. “He had,” he said, “only robbed a

hen-roost, and they couldn’t touch his neck for that.” Some idle gossip,

seeing Rowland thus sitting by the thief, at once spread the report that

the boy on the coach was going to Warwick on the charge of robbing his

master.

I have been carried away in my narrative not a little distance from the

quiet home in the neighbourhood of Wolverhampton. The old farm-house was

endeared to Rowland Hill by one memory, for here it was that he first met

with his future wife. Her father, Mr. Joseph Pearson, was a manufacturer

of Wolverhampton. “I regarded him throughout life,” said his son-in-law,

“with esteem and affection. He was in the town, near to which he resided,

the recognised leader of the Liberal party, and, at a later period, when

the town became enfranchised, was the standing Chairman of the Committee

for returning the Liberal candidate. He had always been a staunch

Liberal, to use the modern term, and I doubt not was regarded by his

Tory neighbours as a Jacobin; for so all were held who either preferred

Fox to Pitt, or ventured to question the justice or necessity of the war

of 1793. I have been told that during the course of that war he once took

part in a meeting held in the market-place of the town to petition for

peace, when cannon, brought out in apprehension, or feigned apprehension,

of a tumult, stood pointed at the assembly.” He had once, when a young

man, during his year of office as constable of the borough, faced a mob

of colliers bent on bull-baiting. He pulled up the stake, and put a stop

for that day to the sport. About the same time Basil Montagu had to flee

for his life from a country town, where he, too, had spoilt sport by

saving an innocent man from the gallows. Mr. Pearson took great pleasure

in Thomas Hill’s society. In social position he was, indeed, above him,

for he was a man of considerable property, and a magistrate for the

county. In Mrs. Hill’s rice-puddings, in the making of which she was “a

notable woman,” and in her husband’s talk, he found, however, enough to

satisfy him.

Rowland was but a year older than Mr. Pearson’s eldest daughter. The

beginning of his courtship he has himself told in the following words:—

“Mr. Pearson’s visit led to intimacy between the families,

especially as regards the children; and as his eldest daughter

had attained the age of five, while I was no more advanced than

six, the two were naturally thrown much together, and, in fact,

took the first step towards that intimacy and affection which

some twenty-five years later were cemented by marriage. One

whimsical little passage in these earliest days I must record.

Under the high road, in the part nearest to my father’s house,

ran what is in the midland counties called a culver (that is a

long low arch), placed there for the passage of the rivulet,

which turned my little water-wheel. Into this culver my brother

and I occasionally crept by way of adventure, and at times to

hear the noise of a wagon as it rumbled slowly overhead. Into

this ‘cool grot and mossy cell’ I once led my new companion,

both of us necessarily bending almost double; and I cannot but

look back upon the proceeding as probably our earliest instance

of close association and mutual confidence. Many years later we

revisited the spot together, but found the passage completely

silted up, so as to be inaccessible to future wooers, however

diminutive.”

At the age of three or four, Rowland was nearly carried off by the

scarlet fever. So ill he was that for a short while his father and mother

thought that he had ceased to breathe. The attack left him weak for some

years. “I have never overcome,” he wrote in his eighteenth year, “and

most probably never shall quite overcome, the effects of that illness.

Ever since I can remember I have suffered much from sickness.” He had

to pass many hours of every day lying on his back. He used to beguile

the time by counting. He assisted himself, as he said, by a kind of

topical memory. “My practice was to count a certain number, generally

a hundred, with my eye fixed on one definite place, as a panel of the

door, or a pane in the window, and afterwards, by counting-up the points,

to ascertain the total.” He here first showed that love of calculation

which so highly distinguished him in after life. His health remained so

feeble that he had passed his seventh birthday before he was taught his

letters. Backward though he was in book-learning, he was really a forward

child. At the age of five he had made himself a small water-wheel, rude

enough no doubt. Yet it worked with briskness in a little stream near his

father’s house. A water-wheel had always a great charm for him. He had

been taken to see one before he was three years old, and he used to cry

to be taken to see it again. When he was an old man he would go miles out

of his way to see one at work. The year after he made his wheel, when he

was now six, he and his brother Edwin, a boy of eight, built themselves a

small model-forge of brick and mortar. The wheel was about two feet and

a-half across, and was pretty fairly shaped. It was turned by a stream

from the spout of the pump. The axle, which they made out of the stem of

a cherry-tree, cost them a good deal of trouble:—

“We attempted to connect our machinery by means of a crank

with the handle of the pump, expecting that if we once gave it

a start the water would turn the wheel, while this would not

only work the forge, but also maintain, by its operation on the

pump, the stream necessary to its own movement. In short, we

looked for a perpetual motion, and were greatly disappointed to

find motion at an end as soon as our own hands were withdrawn

from the pump. When we mentioned our perplexity to my father,

after informing us that our attempt was hopeless, and giving us

such explanation as we could understand, he consoled us under

our discomfiture by telling us that many persons, much older

and wiser than ourselves, had expended time, labour, and money,

in the same fruitless quest.”[22]

A few years after this his father himself came across one of these

dreamers. He was taken by a friend to see a machine for producing

perpetual motion. The inventor boasted of his success. “_There_,” he

said, “the machine is.” “Does it go?” the visitor asked. “No, it does not

go, but I will defy all the world to show _why_ it does not go.”

The lads happily had a fair supply of tools. Their father, in his

boyhood, had been fond of using them, and had kept some of them so

carefully that they were quite serviceable for his sons. In three old

looms that had belonged to their grandfather they found an abundant

supply of materials.

Their life at Horsehills, if somewhat hard, was far from being unhappy.

A few years after they had left the neighbourhood, Rowland and his elder

brothers passed through Wolverhampton on the top of a stagecoach. At

a certain point of the road the three boys stood up in order to get a

glimpse of their old home. A gentleman seated by them, on learning what

they were gazing at, said, “to our no small gratification,” as Rowland

remembered, “that we must have been good lads when we lived there, since

we were so fond of the place.”

CHAPTER II.

When Rowland Hill was seven years old a great change took place in the

family life. His mother had always thought very highly of her husband’s

powers and learning. She knew that he was fit for some higher kind of

work than any he had hitherto done. She longed, moreover, to procure for

her children a better education than any that then seemed likely to be

within their reach. One of their friends, Mr. Thomas Clark, kept a school

in Birmingham, of which he was willing to dispose. He also had been a

member of Dr. Priestley’s congregation, and in the midst of the riots

had shown great courage. “Church and King” had been the cry of the mob,

and “Church and King” chalked on the house-door was no small safeguard

against its fury. Some friendly hand had written these words on the door

of the schoolmaster’s house. As soon as he saw them he at once rubbed

them out. With this brave and upright man Thomas Hill became in later

years closely connected by marriage. His elder daughter married one of

Mr. Clark’s sons. Mrs. Hill persuaded her husband to give up his business

in Wolverhampton, and to buy the school. They removed it to a convenient

house called Hill Top, on the outskirts of Birmingham. Here Rowland

passed the next sixteen years of his life. Here—

“His parents, with their numerous offspring, dwelt,

A virtuous household, though exceeding poor!

Pure livers were they all, austere and grave.”

The purchase-money must have been paid off by instalments. I have

before me, as I write, a card of the terms. The charges were moderate.

Day-scholars paid four guineas or five pounds a year, and boarders twenty

guineas or twenty-five guineas, according to age. The address that the

new schoolmaster published is somewhat curious. It is as follows:—

ADDRESS.

“T. Hill, sensible of the severe responsibility attached to the

office of a public preceptor, resolves, if entrusted with that

charge, to devote himself to the duties of it with assiduity,

perseverance, and concentrated attention, as indispensable

to reputation and success. To ensure the co-operation of his

pupils, he will make it his study to excite their reasoning

powers, and to induce in them habits of voluntary application;

for this purpose, varying the ordinary course of instruction,

and, as occasion shall offer, drawing their attention to

subjects more particularly fitted to interest their feelings;

he will always endeavour, by kindness and patience, firmness

and impartiality to secure for himself their affection and

esteem. And as he aspires to exhibit models of education,

possessing higher excellencies than mechanical dexterity

or mere intellectual acuteness; his anxious aim will be to

make instruction in art and science, the culture of the

understanding, and of the physical powers, subservient to the

nobler intention of fostering and maturing the virtues of the

heart.”

Rowland was at once placed in the school, and thus at the age of seven

his formal education began. His health still continued weak, and his

studies were too often broken in upon by illness. He was fortunate

enough, however, to find at his new home, in an outbuilding, a workshop,

fitted with benches, a vice, and a blacksmith’s forge. “Here,” he said,

“we spent much of our spare time, and most of our spare cash, which

latter, however, was but very scanty.” The want of pence, indeed, often

troubled him full sore. “Ever since I can remember,” as he wrote in a

Journal which he began to keep in his eighteenth year, “I have had a

taste for mechanics.... In works of the fingers I chiefly excel.” But

the best mechanician wants materials, and materials cost money. One Good

Friday morning he and his brother Matthew turned dealers. They had been

sent with a basket to buy hot cross buns for the household. As they went

along, the street-vendors were calling out, after the Birmingham fashion—

“Hot cross buns! Hot cross buns!

One a penny, two a penny, hot cross buns!

Sugar ’em, and butter ’em, and clap ’em in your muns.”

The two lads, as they came home, began in jest to repeat the cry. Matthew

was an admirable mimic, and had caught it exactly. To their surprise

they found themselves beset with purchasers. “Not having face enough to

reject demands which we had provoked, perhaps not unwilling to carry on

the jest, we soon emptied our basket, and had to return for more, deeming

ourselves, however, well recompensed for the additional trouble by the

profits arising from the difference between the wholesale price, at which

we had been allowed to purchase, and the retail price at which we had

sold.” The elder of these two lads the town, as years went on, received

as its Recorder; to the younger it raised a statue in his life-time.

This was not the first time that Rowland had turned dealer. Not long

after his family had moved to Hill Top his mother gave him a little

plot of land for his garden. It was covered with a crop of hoarhound.

This he was going to clear away to make room for his flowers, but he

was told that it had a money value. “I cut it properly, tied it up in

bundles, and, borrowing a basket of my mother, set off one morning on a

market-day—Thursday, as I remember—with my younger brother Arthur as my

sole companion, for the market-place of the town; and, taking my stand

like any other caterer, soon disposed of my wares, receiving eightpence

in return. Fortunately I was saved the tediousness of retail dealing, the

contents of my basket being purchased in the gross by a woman who had

taken her stand near, and who, I hope, cleared a hundred per cent. by the

transaction, though she disparaged her bargain by warning me to tell my

mother, ‘She must tie up bigger bunches next time.’”

By the age of nine he had saved half-a-guinea, which he laid out on a

box of colours. His first great purchase, however, was, as he told me,

the volumes of Miss Edgeworth’s “Parent’s Assistant.” These cost him

fifteen shillings. “Hers was a name which he could never mention but with

gratitude and respect.” I once asked him what were the books that had

chiefly formed his character. He answered that he thought he owed most

to Miss Edgeworth’s stories. He read them first when he was about eight

or nine years old, and he read them a great many times. He said, and the

tears came into his eyes as he spoke, that he had resolved in these early

days to be like the characters in her stories, and to do something for

the world. “I had always had,” he said to me at another time, “a very

strong desire to do something to make myself remembered.”

“While yet a child, and long before his time,

Had he perceived the presence and the power

Of greatness.”

Most of his spare money was laid out, however, in the purchase of tools

and materials. With such old wood as they could lay hands on, and such

new wood as they could afford to buy, he and his brothers set about

building a flat-bottomed boat in which they meant to sail through the

Birmingham and Worcester Canal into the Severn, and up the Severn to

their uncle at Shrewsbury. They had no more misgivings about their scheme

than Robinson Crusoe had about his escape from his island in his canoe.

Yet there was certainly one great bar to their plan, of which, however,

they knew nothing. The canal, at this time, had not been carried half-way

to the Severn. They finished their boat, and, though it was found to be

too frail for the canal, nevertheless it carried the bold voyagers across

a horse-pond.

In the occupations of the workshop, and even in his regular education,

Rowland suffered interruption, not only from frequent attacks of illness,

but also from the need that his father was under of employing his

children part of each day in household work. He could not afford to keep

many servants. While Rowland all his life regretted that he had been

taken away from school at an early age, yet the hours that he had passed

in the discharge of domestic duties he never looked upon as time misspent.

“I was called upon at a very early age to perform many offices

which, in richer families, are discharged exclusively by

servants—to go on errands, to help in cleaning, arranging, and

even repairing, and, in short, to do any sort of work that

lay within my power. By this means I gradually acquired, as

will hereafter better appear, a feeling of responsibility, and

habits of business, dispatch, punctuality, and independence,

which have proved invaluable to me through life.”[23]

He might well have taken to himself the words of Ferdinand, and said:—

“Some kinds of baseness

Are nobly undergone, and most poor matters

Point to rich ends.”

No man, indeed, ever felt more deeply than he did the vast importance of

that great part of education, which no examinations can test, and which

many examiners and framers of schemes of public competition seem to treat

with utter contempt.

The feeling of responsibility which he speaks of did not seem to those

who knew him as a child to have been, as he himself says, gradually

acquired. It grew, no doubt, with exercise, but it was a part of his

inbred worth. “From a very early age,” says one of his brothers, “he

felt responsibility in a way none of the others of us did. If anything

went wrong it was he who felt it.” He had inherited little of his

father’s “buoyant optimism,” and none of his contentedness when things

were going wrong. From a very early age his mother began to share with

him the troubles that well-nigh weighed her down. They had only grown

by her husband’s change of occupation. Matters grew worse and worse as

the French War went on. “Never surely yet,” wrote her husband, “was a

time when debts were collected with more difficulty, or left uncollected

with more danger.” She tried more than one plan to add to the earnings

of the family, and every plan she used to talk over with Rowland when

he was still a mere child. At times she was terribly straightened. Her

brother-in-law, Williams, “a tradesman and a scholar,” as her husband

described him, once sent them in their distress a present of five

pounds. “The sight of it,” wrote my grandfather, in a letter which I

have before me, “produced in both of us mingled emotions of pleasure

and pain. Pleasure as a strong, too strong, testimonial of your regard

and affection, and pain as it could not but remind us of the toils and

privations which you are undergoing to enable you to be generous as well

as just. So powerful was the latter impression that our first impulse

would have urged us to beg leave to return this too serious mark of

affection, adopting the ‘burning words’ of David, ‘Shall we drink the

blood of these men?’ but cooler consideration led to the fear that such a

measure would give more pain to you than relief to ourselves.”

Others of their friends were ready to help them. One of them, in the

hearing of one of her children, said to her, “Now, Mrs. Hill, remember

you are never to be in want of money to go to market with.” A strong

feeling of independence led her, however, to rely on herself, on her

husband, and her children. She had a hatred of debt, and in this hatred

every one of her children came to share. “I early saw,” said Rowland,

“the terrible inconvenience of being poor. My mother used to talk to me

more than to all the others together of our difficulties, and they were

very grievous. She used to burst into tears as she talked about them.

One day she told me that she had not a shilling in the house, and she

was afraid lest the postman might bring a letter while she had no money

to pay the postage. She had always been careful to save the rags, which

she kept in two bags—one for the white, and the other for the coloured.

The white were worth three or four times more than the coloured. It

occurred to her that she might sell them, though the bags were not full.

I was always sent by her on such errands, and I got this time about three

shillings for the rags.”

She persuaded her husband to buy a ruling-machine, which she and Rowland

chiefly worked. “That business is not at present well performed by

anybody in Birmingham, and so it would be a likely thing for some of the

lads to work at,” the father wrote to his brother-in-law. She turned

the handle, while her little son, a child of nine, fed the machine. “It

interfered largely with my education,” he said. In time he learnt to

make the brass pens that were used in ruling, and so earned a little

money for himself. They next took to making the copy-books, at first

with the help of a bookbinder. But the help of this man the boy before

long showed was not needed. “I soon acquired, in its simpler forms, the

art of bookbinding—an art which I find I have not yet quite lost, having

lately, in my seventy-first year, made up a scrap-book in what is called

half-binding for the use of my grandchildren.” Johnson also had learnt in

his youth how to bind a book, neither did he in advanced life forget the

art. “It were better,” wrote Mrs. Thrale to him, “to bind books again,

as you did one year in our thatched summer-house, than weigh out doses

of mercury and opium which are not wanted.” There were other plans which

Mrs. Hill formed, and carried out with unwearying industry, and in all of

these her little son was always ready to take his share.

At the age of eleven his education was still more broken in upon, for he

was called upon to assist his father and his elder brothers in teaching.

“Young and inexperienced as I was,” he wrote, “I had inferiors both in

age and knowledge; some of the pupils not being more than six or seven

years old.”[24] At the age of twelve his school education came almost

entirely to an end. He was, it is true, somewhat longer enrolled among

the boys, and he still received some instruction. But henceforth he was

much more a teacher than a pupil. One day in every week, for a few years

of his boyhood, his employment lay altogether outside school-work. His

second brother, Edwin, had been engaged every Wednesday in the Assay

Office. But he got a better appointment. “Rowland,” wrote his father,

“succeeds Edwin at the Assay Office. So that you see preferment goes on

among us, and I will answer we think ourselves as happy on such occasions

as our virtuous Governors fancy themselves, even in their sinecures,

which our posts certainly cannot be called.”

The best part of his education he got from his father, not in

class-hours, but in the daily intercourse of their home life. This

went on for many a year after he left off receiving from him regular

instruction. “His children were,” Rowland wrote, “though in an irregular

and desultory manner, his private pupils, and as a private teacher he was

very successful.”[25]

In the year 1807 his father gave a series of lectures on electricity,

mechanics, astronomy, pneumatics, and the gases.

“These lectures, to which I paid a fixed attention, gave me

a new impulse. I resolved to make an electrical machine for

myself, and speedily went to work. The cylinder (plate-glass

machines were yet unknown) I got blown at a glass-house in the

town, paying for it the sum of sixteen shillings. Of course,

to a child, there was much difficulty at almost every step,

but my hardest task was to make a pattern for the caps. My

first attempt was sufficiently primitive, viz., to cut one

out from a large turnip. Not succeeding in this, I resorted

to casting. Lead was the metal I naturally chose, as most

easily melted; and having, after many attempts, at length

succeeded in bringing my sand into due shape, I emptied my

ladle into the mould and brought out my pattern cap, which,

when duly smoothened in the lathe of a friendly workman in the

neighbourhood, I bore, with no small pride and satisfaction,

to the founder’s, that it might be cast in brass. One serious

difficulty in construction I avoided by carrying the axle,

which was a strong iron rod, right through the cylinder,

instead of attempting to break it off, as usual, just within

the caps. The prime conductor, too, I did not attempt to make

hollow, but satisfied myself with bringing a piece of wood into

the proper cylindrical shape, and then covering it over, first

with paper, and afterwards with tinfoil.

“While the work was in progress I was attacked with illness,

and for a time was confined to the house. It was during this

period that the new caps, in all their first brightness,

arrived from the brass-founder’s; and as soon as I was a little

better I was of course eager to attach them to the cylinder;

but the workshop being too cold for an invalid, my patience

would have been sorely tried had not my indulgent mother made

provision for me in the parlour, by substituting for the

hearthrug an old carpet folded in several doubles, so as to

prevent the droppings from my ladle from injuring the somewhat

better carpet on the floor; and here, the cement being melted

over a good fire, the cylinder was duly prepared for mounting.

“My simple apparatus was completed in about a year and a-half.

I set it to work with no small trepidation, having heard much

about the uncertainty of electrical action, and fearing lest my

limited means and powers might have left some fatal defect. So

great was my uncertainty, that even after giving the machine

three or four turns, I still hesitated to apply the decisive

test, and great indeed were my pride and joy when my knuckle

drew from the conductor its first spark.[26] Downstairs I

rushed in quest of sympathy, nor could I be satisfied until

my father and many others had witnessed the performance

with admiring eyes. A few years afterwards I added some

improvements, substituting for the deal frame one of mahogany,

procuring a hollow conductor from the tinman’s, made of course

according to my own directions, and giving also greater

neatness and efficiency to the subordinate parts of the machine

and its various adjuncts; and I may add the apparatus, though

in a somewhat imperfect state, is still extant. Meanwhile,

however, a friend of my father’s, the late Mr. Michael

Beasley, a schoolmaster of Stourbridge, who through life showed

great affection for me, and to whom I owe much in various ways,

having seen the machine in its first simple state, engaged me

to make a duplicate for himself, though on a smaller scale.

This I accomplished in about six months; and while my outlay

amounted to two pounds, I received in payment, for materials

and workmanship, the sum of three guineas, which I considered a

handsome remuneration, though I have now no doubt that my kind

friend would have given me yet more had his means been less

restricted.”[27]

It was from his father, that his son got his strong love for astronomy,

and acquired, as he said, even while a boy, no inconsiderable knowledge

of the subject. A few years before his death, he drew up an interesting

paper on his astronomical studies.[28]

In it he says:—

“My father (like myself in youth and early manhood) was a great

walker, and we frequently journeyed together. When I was only

nine years of age I walked with him, for the most part after

dark, from Birmingham to Stourbridge, a distance of twelve

miles—with occasional lifts no doubt—according to usage—on his

back. I recollect that it was a brilliant starlight night, and

the names of the constellations, and of the brighter single

stars, their apparent motions, and the distinction between

the so-called fixed stars and planets, formed then, as on

many similar occasions, never-failing subjects of interesting

conversation, and to me of instruction. On the way we passed by

the side of a small pool, and the air being still, the surface

of the water gave a perfect reflection of the stars. I have a

vivid recollection, after an interval of nearly seventy years,

of the fear with which I looked into what appeared to me a vast

abyss, and of my clinging to my father, to protect me from

falling into it.”

His father had a reflecting telescope that showed Jupiter’s moons and

Saturn’s rings, a Hadley’s quadrant, an artificial horizon, and a

tolerably good clock. He took in, moreover, the “Nautical Almanac.” “By

means of this simple apparatus,” wrote his son, “he not only regulated

the clock, but determined the latitude, and even the longitude of our

house, or rather of the playground. In these occupations I was always

his assistant.” No sooner had Rowland learnt anything than he set about

teaching it. In fact, as he himself stated, learning and teaching with

him generally went on hand in hand. He gave lectures on astronomy to

the boys of the school, and later on to a Literary and Scientific

Association, of which he was one of the founders. “With a view to these

lectures, I read all the contributions of Sir William Herschel to the

transactions of the Royal Society. My reverence for the man led me to

contrive, on the occasion of my second visit to London, to go round by

Slough, in order that I might obtain a glimpse—as the coach passed—of

his great telescope, which I knew could be seen over the tops of the

neighbouring buildings.” Astronomy was, indeed, as he always said, his

favourite science. At an early date he became a member of the Royal

Astronomical Society. He kept up his interest in its proceedings till the

close of his life. When he had passed the age of threescore years and

ten, he discovered some important errors in the Address of one of the

Presidents.[29]

All through life, whatever he read he read with an acuteness, a patience,

and an earnest desire to arrive at the truth, that would have done honour

to a judge.

“When a boy, I was fond of reading books of elementary science.

I occasionally met with statements which puzzled me—which

appeared to me to be wrong; but assuming, as children do, the

infallibility of the author—or perhaps I should say of a

printed book—I naturally came to the conclusion that my own

understanding was in fault, and became greatly disheartened.

After awhile—I forget on what occasion—I applied for a solution

of the puzzle to my father, who, possessing a large amount

of general information, was well qualified to advise. To my

great delight, he assured me that I was right and the author

wrong. My unqualified faith in printed statements was now of

course at an end; and a habit was gradually formed of mentally

criticising almost everything I read—a habit which, however

useful in early life, is, as I have found in old age, a cause

of much waste of thinking power when the amount is so reduced

as to render economy of essential importance. Still, through

the greater part of my life, this habit of reading critically,

combined as it was with the power of rapid calculation, has

been of great use to me, especially in my contests with the

Post Office, and, after I had joined the Department, in the

revision of the thousands of Reports, Returns, and Minutes

prepared by other officers.”

How deep were some of the problems which in his youth he tried to fathom

is shown by the following extract from his paper on Astronomy:—

“Some sixty years ago, my attention having been accidentally

drawn to a tide-mill for grinding corn, I began to consider

what was the source of the power employed, and came to the

conclusion that it was the momentum of the Earth’s revolution

on its axis. The next question I asked myself was—could such

power be diverted—in however slight a degree—without drawing,

as it were, on the stock? Further consideration showed me

that the draught required for grinding the corn was trifling

in comparison with that employed in grinding the pebbles on

every seashore upon the Earth’s surface; and consequently that

the drain on the Earth’s momentum might suffice in the course

of ages to effect an appreciable retardation in the Earth’s

diurnal revolution.

“I now, as usual in case of difficulty, applied to my father.

He could detect no fault in my reasoning, but informed me that

Laplace had demonstrated in his great work (”_La Mécanique

Céleste_“) that the time occupied in the Earth’s diurnal

revolution is absolutely invariable. Of course both my father

and I accepted the authority as unquestionable; but I never

could fully satisfy my mind on the subject, and for the greater

part of my life it was a standing puzzle.”

Many were the lines of thought that Thomas Hill opened out before his

children. “At an early age,” said his son, “we were all fond of reading,

had a strong desire for knowledge, and became studious, assisting one

another, and obtaining, when required, effectual help from my father.”

Though he was ready enough to help his children, yet he did not himself

set them to study. “I had an excellent understanding for mathematics,”

his son said, “and my father had a great liking for them, with a fair

knowledge of them, yet he did not teach me them.” That is to say, he did

not teach them formally and by book. When he was out walking he would

work out problems in geometry for his sons, now and then stopping to

describe figures with his walking-stick on the dust of the road. It was

not till Rowland Hill was twenty-five years old, that he went through

Euclid. He had, indeed, some slight acquaintance with the three first

books, but even these he knew very imperfectly. One Christmas holidays

he gave up all his spare time to Euclid, and made himself master of the

whole of it before school opened. Yet five years earlier than this I find

the following record in his Journal:—

“It is frequently the case that when walking by myself I make

calculations, or invent demonstrations of rules in Mensuration

or Trigonometry to beguile away the time, and I find nothing

else so effectual. I lately made a calculation in my mind,

to determine the distance of a fixed star, supposing its

annual parallax to be one second; and, for the sake of round

numbers, I took the diameter of the Earth’s orbit at two

hundred millions of miles. I forget what was the result of the

calculation, but I know that it was many billions of miles.

Some time ago, as I was walking to Smethwick, I was making

some calculations respecting the capacity of the boiler of a

steam-engine, which it was my intention to make, and for some

reason or other I wished to find the diagonal of a cube of

certain dimensions. Never having seen any rule to accomplish

this, I set about to find one; which I soon did.”

Earlier even than this, when he was but seventeen, his friend Mr.

Beasley, the Stourbridge schoolmaster, asked him to give lessons in

Navigation to a young midshipman, who had come to live with him as his

pupil.

“Though I had never yet opened a book on Navigation in my life,

I unhesitatingly undertook the task. Probably, in preparing my

lessons I had some assistance from my father; but one way or

other, I discharged the duty to the satisfaction, I believe,

of all concerned, teaching my pupil not merely what might be

learnt from books, but also the practical art of Navigation,

so far as this could be done on land, so that he became able,

by actual observation, to find latitude, longitude, and local

time, the second being a matter of some difficulty. This,

however, was a serious addition to my work, Mr. Beasley’s

school being twelve miles distant, and my weekly journey

thither and back being always performed on foot, with a

Hadley’s quadrant to carry each time to and fro, though even

when so encumbered I was in those days a very brisk walker. I

must add that, at the time when this extra labour came upon

me, my ordinary hours in school were nine and a-half per diem,

in addition to which I, in common with my father and eldest

brother, Matthew, had many lessons to give elsewhere.”[30]

A year later, his Journal shows that he began a new study. He had become

by this time an accomplished draughtsman, and he thought perhaps to turn

his powers to good account. “I this day,” he writes, “began to study

Architecture. I can hardly say as yet how I shall like it. I am rather

afraid that there is too much to be remembered for me, as I have but a

poor memory.” He learnt enough of the Art to enable him, a few years

later on, to be the sole architect of his new school-house.

His mind would at this time have puzzled an examiner—his knowledge and

his ignorance were so strangely mixed. “One cause,” he said, “of our

backwardness in school learning no doubt was that my father, who was

proud of us, never informed us of our great deficiencies. Perhaps he

was not aware of them, for though very backward we were, I think, in

advance of our schoolfellows, who in those early days were drawn almost

exclusively from the lower grade of the middle class.” In a passage that

I have already quoted, Rowland Hill stated that he owed much in many

ways to Mr. Beasley. He it was who first let him know how much there

is to learn. He was, indeed, both in parts and in knowledge, far below

his brother schoolmaster, Thomas Hill; yet in many ways he was a better

teacher. He formed a high opinion of the lad, and as he grew older, used

to be fond of talking of “my young friend Rowland Hill,” and of the great

things he was to do. He would often take him to the small inn at Hagley,

and give him tea. There he would at times hold forth in praise of his

powers to the admiration of the small company. When the first Arctic

expedition was on the point of starting, he one day said to them, in

all gravity, “If the Government really wants to succeed, they will send

my young friend Rowland Hill.” At this time his young friend certainly

was no longer a boy. As the old man told this story of his early days,

he laughed very heartily. Indeed, he had been just as much amused, he

said, when he first heard himself thus praised. Nevertheless, extravagant

though his good friend’s estimate of him had always been, yet it had

done him good, as it had roused his ambition, and had not satisfied and

soothed his vanity.

This worthy man, after a life of no small benevolence and usefulness,

unhappily went out of his mind. A very harmless vanity that grew upon

him was the first sign he gave that his reason was failing. In one

of his letters to Rowland Hill, which chance has preserved, he says,

“No book need be written in these times, unless it be of an original

kind, and very perfect in its construction. But now my vanity urges

me to say that my books _are_ of the _original_ character. Who ever

published a Dictation Book before me?” The next sign that he gave of his

eccentricity—and a very strong sign it was in those days—was leaving off

shaving. The following story I tell as his “young friend” told it me.

“One morning Mr. Beasley’s son came in late for breakfast. The father,

who was very formal in his talk, said to him, ‘Well, Mr. Thomas, what

piece of utility have you done this morning? _I_ have wheeled three

barrows of muck from the pig-yard into the field.’ His son replied, ‘I,

Sir, have shaved my chin this morning, and that’s the utility I have

performed.’ His father slowly rose, and stumping out of the room (he was

a fat man) exclaimed, ‘What! violate the laws of God and man, and call

that utility!” However, as has been shown, he had rendered his young

friend one great service, which by him was never forgotten.

Still more did Rowland Hill learn how little he had already learnt,

when his eldest brother and he began to give lessons in a neighbouring

school. “We went,” he said, “to teach mensuration and the lower branches

of mathematics. I went as my brother Matthew’s assistant. The boys were

immoral, and, so far as conduct went, were very far behind our boys.

But Matthew soon became aware that in instruction, especially in Latin,

they were far in advance of ours. This led him to investigate the causes

of this superiority. He at once began to take into his own hands the

teaching of Latin in our own school.” The two lads had to go a distance

of five miles to give these lessons, and Matthew at this time was not

strong enough to stand the double walk.

“For the first time in our household history, a horse had to be

bought. We had hitherto never dreamt of travelling by any other

means than the feet. My father and I undertook the purchase.

We had been informed that a certain butcher had a horse on

sale. We went to his house, looked as wise as we could, and

being informed that the price was twelve pounds, ventured, with

some trepidation, to bid eleven. This was refused: the butcher

declaring that he did not at all want to part with his horse,

and that ‘his missis’ had been scolding him for thinking of

such a thing. My father was no more fitted for bargain-making

than was the Vicar of Wakefield, and we agreed to pay the full

sum. The butcher clinched the matter, as soon as the terms were

settled, by taking down a leg of mutton and offering to give it

us if we would release him from his bargain. With this offer

we were of course too cunning to close. I need not add that

the beast was a sorry jade. When it made its first appearance

at Mr. ——’s school, the pupils tauntingly inquired which cost

most, the horse or the saddle, which was new. I used to ride

behind my brother till we were near the house, when I got down

and walked. In the end we resold the horse in the horse-fair

for five pounds.”

Most of all was Rowland Hill indebted for that first of all knowledge,

the knowledge of self, to an eminent physician, Dr. Johnstone, who had

engaged him to give lessons to his sons. It was at his table, he said,

that it was first brought home to him with full force how little he as

yet knew. “I heard matters talked of which I could not in the least

understand. This discovery of my ignorance was at first very painful

to me, and set me to work very hard—too hard, in fact, for my health.”

He thus touchingly describes in his Journal his state of mind. He was

twenty-four years old when he made this entry:—

“There is one regret that will force itself upon my mind

whenever I am led to contemplate the effects of the

improvements which have from time to time been made in the

proceedings of the school. I cannot help examining my own

education, and contrasting what it unfortunately is with what

it might have been had I been placed under the influence of

such a system. Except my own, I am unacquainted with any

language, whereas my youngest brother Howard, who has been

educated, I may almost say, by myself—for it has been almost

entirely according to my own plans—is familiar with Latin and

French, and has made considerable progress in Greek, and this

without neglecting anything else. When I left school—that

is, when I became a teacher—I had for about two years held

undisputed the first place in the school. It is fair, then, to

suppose that I should occupy the same place under any system of

procedure—that if I were a boy in the school at this moment,

I should be at the head of the school. Compare, then, the

acquirements of the boy who now stands in the first place in

the school, with mine at his age, and oh, what a difference

will be found! When I left school I was a proficient in no

single thing. I could not write fit to be seen; I understood

but very little of arithmetic; and was not master even of the

paltry art of spelling. Of the classics and of the higher

branches of the mathematics I was altogether ignorant. I

believe drawing was the only thing I understood even tolerably.

Every attainment I am now master of—and, God knows, they are

but few!—I have acquired since I became a teacher, and for the

most part by myself. Fortunately I have, in a tolerably high

degree, the faculty of invention (and here I ought to consider

that this may be in a great measure the effect of education,

and if I have acquired this only, much has been done for me).

Many a time have I given lessons, both at home and abroad, on

subjects which I began to study with my pupils. Frequently

have I solved a problem of which I never had heard till asked

by my pupil to explain it to him. I remember well that the

first time I ever saw the inside of a work on mensuration was

when asked by a young gentleman at a school where I assisted

Matthew in giving lessons, to explain to him one of the most

difficult problems in the book: it is to find the area of a

zone—a problem which involves many minor ones. Many of these I

had before invented for myself, ignorant of the existence of

any work on the subject. I was able to give the young man the

assistance he required, and with so little hesitation that I

believe he did not suspect my ignorance.

“Circumstances similar to this have forced me into an

acquaintance with many subjects, and I may truly say that

almost all I know has been acquired in teaching others. For

from the circumstance of my having, till within the last few

years, found among those with whom I associated, few who were

my equals, and scarcely any who were my superiors, I thought

that, except my father and one or two other individuals,

there were none whose acquirements would entitle them to a

rank higher than my own. I was, therefore, satisfied with the

progress I had made. But what was my disappointment when the

increasing character of the school and other circumstances

opened my way into a class of society among whom I found it was

taken for granted that a man should be acquainted with Latin,

and Greek, and French—languages of which I was profoundly

ignorant, and the knowledge of which I foolishly thought

was confined to a few. No one knows the pain which I have

frequently felt when, in a company where I was but slightly

known, the conversation has turned upon literary subjects,

lest it should be discovered that I was unacquainted with that

which no one seemed to take credit to himself for knowing, and

to be ignorant of which appeared, therefore, to be so much the

more disgraceful. With what shame have I sometimes declared my

ignorance, rather than appear to understand that which I did

not! What would I not give to become young again, and enter

the school in its present state! I do not blame my father; he

has been an excellent parent to us all. The difficulties he

had to contend with in early life were such as to leave him

but little time to attend to the education of his children.

His whole efforts, together with my mother’s, were necessary

to enable him to maintain us; and notwithstanding his talents

are so great, he certainly is not acquainted with the modes

of influencing others. System is what he likes as little as

he understands. We cannot blame him for this; we may with as

much justice blame a man because he is not six feet high.

And I have often thought that the education which he gave us

was more favourable to originality than if we had made great

acquirements. Perhaps if I had been a good classical scholar I

never should have invented the system of operating upon others

which I have arranged. It is impossible to say how it would

have been. I have often asked myself the question, Is it now

too late to educate myself? I am afraid it is too late to do

much. Ever since I was a child I have worked very hard; my time

has always been very closely occupied in gaining a livelihood;

and I now begin to feel the effects of so laborious a life.

My memory is less tenacious than it was; and I find great

difficulty in beginning a study to which I am not accustomed.

Besides, my time is so fully occupied in attending to the

school, and to the great mass of private teaching on which I

am engaged (altogether seldom amounting to less than thirteen

hours per day, even subtracting meal-times), that I feel I

cannot work any harder. My mind almost always feels wearied.

If I rise earlier than usual in the morning, I am no gainer,

for I fall to sleep in the middle of the day; so that the only

alternative left me is, either to be satisfied with the little

time I can now devote to my own improvement, or give up some

of my engagements, and thus lessen our income, which is not at

all superfluous. What to do I know not; and the dissatisfied,

uncertain state of mind in which I now am makes me sometimes

very miserable, and I am afraid materially injures my health.

Here I ought to say that my kind parents have frequently

expressed their wish that I should not labour so hard as I do,

but I am constantly in hopes that by so doing I may secure

future ease.”

The ease that he desired to secure was only that “independence, that

first earthly blessing,” to use Gibbon’s words, which a man may enjoy to

the full, and yet scorn delights and live laborious days, while he freely

indulges the last infirmity of noble mind, and pursues with unrestrained

course some lofty object of ambition. “So inviting are the distant

prospects of ambition,” Rowland Hill wrote in his Journal only a year

later, “and such is my anxiety to correct the defects of my education,

that I feel it difficult to resist the temptation of sacrificing physical

to mental health—future strength to future fame.... I am convinced of the

necessity of making very vigorous improvements in my own mind. I hope I

have already done much, and I am determined to accomplish more.” In some

of his letters that have been preserved, I see that more than once he

turned his mind towards Cambridge. Even at the age of seven-and-twenty he

had not given up all hope of getting for himself a University education.

He asked his eldest brother to ascertain the cost. On hearing from him in

answer, he wrote, “I do not know how to decide respecting Cambridge. I am

disappointed at finding the thing so terribly expensive.”

In more than one Literary and Scientific Society that he helped to found,

he had long laboured hard to train his mind and increase his knowledge.

He and his brothers, as he told me when he gave me an account of the

foundation of the first of these small societies, were becoming aware of

their great deficiencies in education. To cure these, some of them formed

a Mutual Improvement Society. It never numbered more than five members.

Their father gave them the use of a comfortable summer-house that was in

the garden at Hill Top. Here they met early every Sunday morning, and

set each other tasks for the coming week. They then read through, and

talked over the tasks of the last week. He said, with a smile, that he

could well remember strongly supporting in the summer-house the abolition

of the National Debt, by the simple means of not paying it. They bought

the quarto edition of Johnson’s Dictionary, and took in the “Edinburgh

Review.” They paid for their own coal, and for their breakfast, which

they always cooked with their own hands. “We never thought of coming

upon our father for anything. We enjoyed the meal the most in the week.”

From his Journal I find that it was in the year 1816 that this society

was founded, and that its object was “the improvement of our literary

knowledge.”

In the following year the members, while still keeping up their Sunday

morning meetings, formed a second society for literary and scientific

discussion. They met each Thursday evening in the summer-house. In course

of time these two societies came to an end. But in 1819 a third society

was formed. I extract the following entries from his Journal:—

“_December 17th, 1819._—This evening I read a lecture on the

history of Astronomy before a society of young men which

has lately been formed, and of which I am a member. We have

adopted the name of a society I have before mentioned, and

which is not now in existence. We call it ‘The Society for

Literary Improvement;’ our place of assembly is a large room

in Great Charles Street. There are at present about twenty

members, who lecture in rotation. After the lecture, which is

but short, a discussion on the subject follows.

* * * * *

“_December, 1820._—During the last half-year I have continued

the subject of Astronomy, by giving two lectures on the Solar

System. I also opened the discussion at one of our monthly

meetings by an address ‘On the nature and utility of systematic

arrangements.’” Each of these lectures was delivered from short

notes. At the first lecture on Astronomy, I was so completely

taken-up with my subject that I was not aware how fast time

was flying, till, looking at my watch, I found that I had been

speaking an hour and three-quarters.

* * * * *

“_November, 1821._—Since February, which is the date of the

last entry in this book, I have delivered two lectures before

the Society for Literary and Scientific Improvement; one on

Comets and the Asteroids, the other on the Fixed Stars.

“We have adopted a plan of electing a committee which secures

a very exact representation of the whole body. Every member

is returned by unanimous votes, and he may be recalled at any

moment by a resolution of the majority of his constituents, who

may then return another representative, but this must be done

by a unanimous vote. Very much to my surprise, I was the first

member elected.”

The plan of election had been devised by his father, who, as I have

already said, was strongly in favour of the representation of minorities.

I have before me a copy of the laws of this society. The tenth, in which

the mode of election is described, I give below:—[31]

On a loose sheet of paper that I have found, I find the following

statement:—

“The objects proposed in arranging the plan of choosing the

Committee are:—

“1st. A fair representation (as near as can be) of all the

classes of which the general body is composed.

“2nd. Responsibility on the part of the members of the

Committee.

“To obtain the first of these objects, it has been provided

that each member of the Committee shall be chosen by a _section

only_ of the society; and, as will appear upon examination,

opportunity is afforded, in forming the sections, for every

voter to class himself with those whose views most resemble his

own.

“To obtain the second object, frequent elections are

appointed, and to every section of the society is secured an

undoubted right to the services of one individual member of

the Committee. Added to this are the provisions that the

proceedings of the Committee may be attended by any member of

the society as an auditor, and that a public register is to be

kept of the attendance, or non-attendance, of each member of

the Committee.”

Some months after the Society had been founded Rowland Hill made the

following entry in his Journal:—

“The Society for Scientific and Literary Improvement has

gradually increased in numbers and importance ever since its

establishment. We have had some excellent lectures, and I

always look forward to the night of meeting with pleasure. I

am still a member of the Committee. Our time has been very

much occupied in revising the Laws, which we have now printed.

At the request of the Committee I wrote the Preface which is

annexed to the Laws.[32] If the Society should ever become

numerous, which now appears probable, I am confident, from the

form of its constitution, that it will become a formidable

body.”

In the following passage in the Preface, its author was stating, no

doubt, the difficulties which he had himself undergone:—

“The experience of almost every one who has passed the time

usually devoted to education, but who still feels desirous

of improvement, must have convinced him of the difficulty of

regularly devoting his leisure hours to the object he has in

view, from the want of constantly acting motives, and the

absence of regulations which can enforce the observance of

stated times. However strong the resolutions he has made, and

whatever may be his conviction of the necessity of adhering to

them, trivial engagements, which might easily be avoided, will

furnish him, from time to time, with excuses to himself for his

neglect of study. Thus may he spend year after year, constantly

wishing for improvement, but as constantly neglecting the means

of it, and old age may come upon him before he has accomplished

the object of his desires; then will he look back with regret

on the many opportunities he has lost, and acknowledge in

despair that the time is gone by.”

With much vigour does he defend the mode of election:—

“Experience,” he says, “proves that, owing to imperfect methods

of choosing those who are to direct the affairs of a society,

the whole sway sometimes gets into the hands of a small party,

and is exercised, perhaps unconsciously, in a way that renders

many persons indifferent and alienates others, until all

becomes listlessness, decay, and dissolution.”

While this Society was in full vigour, yet another was started by Rowland

Hill and some of his brothers:—

“About Michaelmas, eight of us agreed to form another society,

to meet on the Sunday mornings at each others’ houses,

according to the plan of the old society, which has before

been mentioned. Since that time we have met with the greatest

regularity. When I joined each of these societies, I did it

with a view of improving myself in extemporaneous speaking:

this, at least, was one object. I then made a determination

to speak upon every subject which should come before either

society, a resolution which I have hitherto kept invariably.

Besides this practice, I give an extemporaneous lecture once

a week to the boys. At first it was a great labour to make an

address at all, but now I speak with comparative ease. It is

very seldom that I make the slightest preparation for speaking.”

The Minutes of this Society I have before me. Each member in turn “had

to provide a subject for the consideration of the Society, and might

propose either an extract for criticism, an outline for composition,

or a question for discussion.” The subjects were, on the whole, very

well chosen. They certainly would contrast favourably with those which

used to be debated in the Union Society of Oxford in my undergraduate

days. The following is the list of the subjects provided by Rowland

Hill:—_Are Importation Duties beneficial to Society or otherwise?_

_Paper Currency_; _Instinct_; _The Fine Arts_; _The Political Effects

of Machinery_; _Inductive Philosophy, as applied to the Common Affairs

of Life_; _The Effects of the Extension of Education_; _Duelling_; _The

Constitution of Minor Societies_; _The Qualities Necessary to Produce

Success in Life_; _Rank_; _Public Opinion_; _The Economy of Time_. Among

the subjects introduced by other members, I find:—_A Critical Review

of Miss Edgeworth’s “Ormond”_; _The Possibility of the Introduction

of a Philosophical Language_; _The Means we Possess of Judging of

Others_; _The Study of Languages_; _Critical Remarks upon a portion

of Kenilworth_; _Is it better to Admit or Exclude the Representation

of Death on the Stage?_ _Is the Acquirement of Literary Attainments

Prejudicial to Commercial Pursuits?_

In other ways, moreover, he was steadily training his mind and increasing

his knowledge. Thus I find recorded in his Journal:—

“_April 20th, 1818._—This morning I began to learn French, in

company with William Matthews.[33] We are to meet at our house

every other morning at five o’clock, and study till seven. We

do not at present intend to have a teacher; perhaps when we

have gained a little knowledge of the language we may apply to

one. As my time is so valuable to me, I intend to spend one

of our vacations in France, when I have made a considerable

progress in the language, as that will be the most rapid way of

learning.

* * * * *

“_May 25th._—We have discontinued the French for the present,

as William Matthews is obliged to give his attention to some

other pursuit.”

Some two or three years later is the following entry:—

“At Christmas I had an attack of my old complaint—the

ear-ache—which confined me to the house for a fortnight.

However, I turned the time to advantage by reading French with

such industry that, although I knew but little of the language

when I began, yet at the end of the fortnight I could read it

with sufficient ease as to be amused by it. I recollect that in

one day I read a hundred pages of ‘Gil Blas,’ closely printed

in small type.”

His efforts at self-improvement were—as he recorded in his old age—to

some extent at least, misdirected. When he was a boy of thirteen he won

the first of three prizes for original landscape-drawings, which had been

offered by the proprietor of “The School Magazine”[34] to all candidates

under sixteen. In the number of the Magazine for September, 1807,

appeared the following announcement:—

“We have received several beautiful drawings in different

styles, which do great credit to the talents of the young

persons by whom they are sent, and to the exertions of the

gentlemen under whom they have studied the pleasing art.

“The principal prize is awarded to Master Rowland Hill, who has

given us a view of St. Philip’s Church, Birmingham, and the

surrounding objects, as taken from the playground of Hill Top

School.

“Master Hill is thirteen years and eight months only, and his

performance is attested by his father, Mr. Thomas Wright Hill,

and his drawing-master, Mr. Samuel Lines. To him is awarded—

“‘A Drawing-Box, value Three Guineas.’”

“What,” he wrote in his Journal a few years later, “was my surprise and

delight to find that I had obtained the first prize! The whole family

participated in my joy, and I believe this was the happiest day of my

life.” But his success, as he himself has pointed out, had its drawback:—

“This, and the _éclat_ I obtained a year or two later by

painting the scenes for our little theatre, caused my

parents and myself to assume that nature intended me for an

artist. I accordingly employed the greater part of my spare

time in practising drawing from patterns, from nature, from

plaster-casts of the human frame, and, eventually, from life.

Sketching from nature I found a most agreeable occupation,

especially as it fell in with my love of visiting ancient

ruins and fine scenery. I continued to pursue drawing with

great earnestness for several years, and some of my drawings

obtained the honour (undeserved, I fear) of appearing in the

Birmingham Exhibitions. At length, however, I discovered that I

possessed no natural aptitude for the artistic profession, and,

consequently, directed my efforts to other matters.”

CHAPTER III.

In the account that I have given of Rowland Hill’s mental training, I

have, in more than one place, been carried somewhat out of the regular

course of my narrative. I must now return to the time when he was still a

mere boy, and was as yet but little aware how boundless is the ocean of

knowledge, on whose shores he had picked up but the tiniest of shells.

He would not by any means have been accounted a forward child. In any

school famous for learning he would have taken a low place. Nevertheless,

his comrades had not failed to discover his peculiar power. One of his

brothers thus writes about him:—

“My brother Rowland’s character is, to a considerable extent,

portrayed in the History of Penny Postage; and, amongst the

rest, his power of commanding success. But it may be well for

me to testify, relative to this quality, that he showed it

from a very early age. For myself, I can say that whenever I

knew that he had set an object before him, I felt sure that it

would be attained; and yet this was not from any high estimate

of his talents; for, being less than three years his junior,

and perhaps of a more sprightly and imaginative disposition, I

fear I was wont to assume in comparing his mental powers with

mine, and certainly did not soon recognise their high order.

Probably, if I analyzed my feeling at all, I based it chiefly

on belief in his perseverance. Again and again I had seen

work prosper in his hands, and had had few or no failures to

point to; whereas I knew that I was ever devising mighty plans

which came to nothing. His early performances were chiefly of

a mechanical nature, and diligent practice rendered him very

fertile in resources—a fact of which I was well aware years

before I could have designated the power by its proper term.”

It was in the management of the school theatre that this fertility in

resources first became conspicuous. His younger brother, Arthur, had a

strong dramatic turn, and was eager, like many another lad of thirteen,

to strut and fret his hour upon the stage. Others he found ready to join

him, and then for aid and advice he turned to Rowland, who was by two

years his senior.

“The more I told them about the cost and other difficulties, the more

anxious they grew as to the success of their enterprise, until at length,

by their joint entreaty, I was prevailed on to assume the management;

undertaking myself to paint the scenes, construct the machinery, and

direct the whole course of action. I declined to become a performer,

having no turn that way.”[35] The young company put their money into a

common stock. The Manager recorded in his Journal:—“A code of laws was

drawn up for the management of the theatre, and we were very exact in the

observance of them. I was constituted manager, with power to appoint the

different actors, and, under certain restrictions, to appropriate the

funds in what way I pleased.”

It was in the summer of 1811 that they formed their plans; but it was

not till the Easter of the following year that they were ready to give

their first performance. Their difficulties were great. The school-room

was to be their theatre; and in the school-room they could only work

before the boys had risen, and after they had gone to bed. In the code of

laws which governed the company, it was laid down that they should rise

an hour before the usual time. Whatever scenery they set up had always

to be taken down before lessons began. The room was long, but narrow,

and not lofty enough to allow the scenes, at the time of shifting, to

be drawn up. Not one of the company had ever been behind the curtain of

a real theatre. Rowland, however, undertook to be architect, carpenter,

scene-painter, and manager. He had, by this time, become most expert in

the use of his tools. He was never so happy as when he was working in his

carpenter’s shop. His knowledge of drawing and painting was also turned

to good account. He began by carefully planning his work, and taking the

most exact measurements. So accurately had everything been contrived

beforehand, that when the scenes and their supports came to be put up

they all fell at once into their proper places. The young company was

greatly hampered by want of funds, and had from time to time to turn from

the theatre to more than one plan of raising money. Among other “ways

and means,” they set up a manufactory of fire-balloons, and gained some

money by the tickets of admission that they sold to those who witnessed

the ascent. At first they could only afford the simplest of materials for

their scenes. These were painted on brown paper, the sheets being glued

together. The side-scenes were painted on both sides, and revolved, in

changing, on a pivot in the middle. Each season saw, however, an increase

of magnificence, and some of the young artist’s scenery was so strongly

made and so carefully painted that it has been in use even in the last

few years.

Meanwhile, his younger brother was engaged in writing a tragedy, and in

drilling his company. “Finding all dramas to which he had access far too

long and difficult for his purpose, he boldly turned author; and parts

were learned and scenes practised, though with considerable increase to

inevitable difficulties, from the circumstance that the drama grew as

the work proceeded, new thoughts striking the young dramatist, and new

scenes being added for their development.” Thus _The Hostile Chieftains_,

a tragedy founded on one of Mrs. Radcliffe’s tales, was written six

times over. _The Tragedy of Nero_, as well befitted so great a subject,

was the composition of three of the brothers working together. Even the

manager, architect, carpenter, and scene-painter had found time to lend

a hand. The first season opened with the performance of _The Rivals_,

a tragedy, and not by Sheridan. It was witnessed with great applause

by crowded audiences during its run of two nights. It was in the third

season that _The Hostile Chieftains_ was performed. Meanwhile, no doubt

as a necessary preparation for Mrs. Radcliffe, a trap-door had been made

in the ceiling. A band of musicians also was formed. This was the last

season of the little company, but it ended gloriously; for the play had a

run of five nights.

In many other ways did the young lad show his ingenuity. He was the

family carpenter, locksmith, and clock-cleaner. He even took to pieces

and set to rights a watch which had been returned to the maker for

repairs, but was sent back as faulty as ever. When he was sixteen Mr.

Beasley projected a new piece of “utility”—a school-atlas—and called upon

“his young friend, Rowland Hill,” to undertake the task of constructing

the maps. “This was,” Rowland wrote in his Journal, a few years later, “a

much greater undertaking than I at first imagined, owing to the great

difference that exists in the works which it was necessary to consult. In

a chart of the Mediterranean belonging to my father, Algiers is as much

as three inches from its proper place.... I have given it up entirely. I

could not be satisfied with copying from another map, and from the great

number of books and maps which it was necessary to consult, I found that,

with the little time I could devote to it, it must be the work of not

less than ten or fifteen years.” He finished, however, the map of Spain

and Portugal, which was published.

Three years later, when he was now nineteen, he gave still further proofs

of his ingenuity:—

“In January, 1815, my father gave a lecture on electricity

to the Birmingham Philosophical Society, of which he was a

Fellow, I performing the experiments. At that period the means

of securing electrical action were either imperfect, or, at

best, not very generally known. A previous attempt (by another

Fellow of the Society) to give an illustrated lecture on the

subject had utterly failed; and it was confidently believed

by various members that, in the theatre of the institution

at least—whether because of the crowded audiences usually

attending the lectures, whether from insufficient ventilation,

or from some unknown cause—all further attempt was useless.

This stimulated my father to the effort, the more so as his

successful lectures, previously mentioned, had been given under

circumstances far more unfavourable. His credit was thus staked

upon the issue, and he resolved, and I with him, that no effort

should be spared to secure success. We carefully examined the

whole of the Society’s apparatus, and brought it into complete

order. Remembering an exhibition of constellations at one of

my father’s former lectures, I went to work to prepare more,

which I desired to make on a much larger scale; but glass,

the material on which the tinfoil was laid, being not only

inconveniently fragile, but at that time, on account of the

high duty, an expensive article, I tried the substitution of

cardboard, which fortunately I found to be, when quite dry,

a satisfactory non-conductor. Using this, I produced several

constellations of such size as to be well seen by a large body

of spectators; and, which delighted me even more, I so arranged

one, viz, that of the Great Bear, that while receiving the

spark it was kept in constant revolution. At length we got

everything to do well; but our elation at this preliminary

success was considerably checked by hearing that our

predecessor had thus far done as well as ourselves. This made

us very anxious, and our care was redoubled. Observing that

the lecture-table was covered with lead, surmounted with green

baize, and fearing that this combination would in some measure

rob our conductor (the nap acting as so many points), we

covered the whole with glazed brown paper; and again, anxious

lest any accumulation of electric influence, either in the

subjacent lead or elsewhere, might be troublesome, we crossed

the table with a number of wires, which, being first brought

into connection below, were passed through the floor, and

lastly, being thrust into the spout of a pump in the basement,

were brought into contact with the column of water within, so

as to make our conduction, or rather abduction, complete. We

also took advantage of a furnace, which had been set up behind

the lecture-table for chemical purposes, to diffuse as much

warmth as possible over our whole apparatus, that all dampness

might be kept away.

“At length the important night arrived, and, notwithstanding

all our precautions, we went to the lecture-room in great

trepidation. The clock struck seven, and the electrical

machine, which had been kept near a large fire in the

apparatus-room till the last moment, was carried in and

attached to the table. The lecture began, and the machine was

set in motion, while we stood in breathless anxiety to watch

the result. To our inexpressible relief we soon saw that it was

in full power; and experiment succeeded experiment without the

slightest failure. All had proceeded well till about the middle

of the lecture, when suddenly the rod of the winch, which,

with superfluous caution, had been made of glass, snapped in

two, and the machine was brought to a stand. Though enough had

been done to establish the success of our attempt, my father,

naturally anxious to complete his lecture, and remembering

that he was in the midst of a manufacturing town, inquired

earnestly whether any one present could furnish a substitute of

any description, however rude. One or two gentlemen immediately

disappeared, and, meantime, my own machine, which had been

brought as a provision against mishap, was used for some minor

experiments, for which its power well sufficed. While this was

going on my brother Edwin had carried the broken winch into

a small workshop on the premises, and, sawing off the leg of

a stool, had shaped this at the ends, fitted it to the winch

handle, and, returning to the room, attached it to the socket

on the axle of the machine, which again began to revolve, so

that when our kind friends returned with their substitutes

the necessity for them had passed away, and the lecture went

on swimmingly to the end; my Great Bear, which was, so far

as I know, a novelty, attracting particular attention, and

eliciting, contrary to the rule and usage of the society, a

round of applause.

“One of the loudest foreboders of evil consoled himself for

his error by remarking on the number of assistants ‘Hill’ had

had, adding that he had better have brought his wife and all

his family to help him. So trifling a circumstance would not

have been noticed here had it not touched the key-note of our

success. In our course through life, from the beginning to the

present hour, each one of us has been always ready to help

the others to the best of his power; and no one has failed to

call for such assistance again and again. Each one, I am sure,

recognises in this fact a main cause of such success as he has

attained; and I cannot too emphatically declare that to mine it

has been essential.

“In the following January my father gave a second and last

lecture on the same subject. Emboldened by our past success,

we proceeded to experiments involving greater risk of failure;

among others a thunder-cloud, which, to effect its discharge

(whereby a model building was to be blown up with gunpowder),

had to be moved by electric influence through a distance of

not less, I think, than eight or ten feet. But the crowning

illustration, with which the lecture concluded, was a revolving

planisphere of my construction, four feet in diameter, and

representing all stars, of not less than the fourth magnitude,

within forty degrees of the South Pole. Wishing that the

various magnitudes should appear in the illustration, I devised

an arrangement for that purpose. For producing the sparks to

represent stars of the first magnitude, I cut the approaching

edges of the tinfoil into a round shape, and placed them

about one-twelfth of an inch asunder; for those of the second

magnitude I gave the edges a pointed shape, also reducing the

space between them to a minimum; for stars of the third and

fourth magnitudes, while retaining the same arrangement, I

produced further obscuration by covering the one with a single

thickness, and the other with two thicknesses, of thin paper.

To represent the Magellanic clouds was a more difficult matter;

but here also I hit upon an expedient. Piercing the disc, in

the proper places, with holes proportionate to the size and

in the form of the respective nebulae, I placed behind each

hole in a plane parallel to that of the disc, and distant

about half an inch from it, a piece of paper somewhat more

than sufficiently large to correspond with the perforation;

and I so arranged that this paper was illuminated by sparks

at the back of the disc. When I add that the planisphere thus

illuminated was at the same time kept in constant and equable

revolution, I shall perhaps be regarded as justified in the

belief entertained at the time that the whole result was a

more exact representation of the starry heavens than had ever

before been produced. The applause previously given to my

Great Bear was more than redoubled on sight of my Southern

Sky, and the lecture terminated amidst the congratulations of

friends, my father being, of course, greatly pleased, myself

sufficiently elated, and the whole family triumphant. I may add

that a full description of my planisphere will be found in the

‘Philosophical Magazine’ for October, 1818.”[36]

In 1816 he devised and constructed an alarum water-clock:—

“As a complete description of this might weary the reader,

I will give only a general conception of its structure. As

already implied, the lapse of time was to be marked by the

flow of water, and the most obvious difficulty being to render

this equable, I employed for the purpose a floating syphon.

The tube, which was so fine as to pass only about three drops

per minute, was stuck through a flat piece of cork, which

floated on the surface of water in a tin can; and as the water

issued from the syphon it dropped into another can, though of

much smaller size, hung at one end of a balance; so that, as

this latter can filled, it became heavy enough to bear its own

end of the beam down, while the opposite end, being of course

tilted up, struck the trigger, which, as in ordinary alarums,

released the weight, thus setting the clapper in motion. Now

the length of time required to give the counterbalancing weight

of water depended, of course, on the amount of weight put on

the trigger-beam; and this was varied according to requirement,

principally by means of a sliding weight, hanging from the beam

as from a common steelyard. This sufficed so far as quarter

hours were concerned, additional means of some complexity being

used for securing the observance of smaller portions of time.

The end was that I could count on being called within three

or four minutes of the time fixed upon. In its early days,

however, I was sometimes annoyed by irregularity, and, upon

careful inspection, I perceived that this was caused by dust,

which, falling into the water, found its way into the syphon,

and impeded the flow. To remove this inconvenience, I enclosed

my alarum in a box, taking care also to change the water with

sufficient frequency. I remember that on the evening when I

first got the machine to work, not willing to leave my new

light under a bushel, I fetched up half-a-dozen boys into the

room where it stood, that they might see and admire. When I had

explained the mechanism, and arranged for a _réveille_ at the

end of a quarter of an hour, the boys sat down in expectation;

and probably being over-worked, according to our practice at

the time, one of them fell fast asleep. Great was my delight,

and great the amusement of his companions, when, at the end

of the time, this, the first person ever awakened by alarum

of mine, started up with a sudden exclamation of surprise and

alarm, showing that my little machine had effectually performed

its duty.

“I may here remark that for one machine that I executed there

were many that I devised. Thus I find the following entry in my

Journal about a year later:—

“‘_December 21st, 1817._—I also wish to make a model of

a boat to be driven by pumping [in] water at the prow

and forcing it out at the stern. This is an idea of my

father’s; and I think it will obviate the objection against

driving canal boats by machinery, which is that the paddles

agitate the water to such a degree as to injure the sides

of the canal’

“A few years later I set down another first conception,

this time of my own, which, however, I never carried

further. The record is as follows:—

“‘Steam vessels might be propelled by means of an endless

screw, something like a corkscrew with the wire flattened

in a direction perpendicular to the axis. There might

be several fixed at the sides, at the stern, &c. This

apparatus would work equally well whether altogether or

partly immersed in water. If one could be placed so as to

move like a rudder, it would be exceedingly efficient in

changing the direction of the boat.’”[37]

I find also in his Journal for the year 1817, the following record: “If I

can find time, I intend to construct a model of an engine which I have

long thought of. It is something similar to a steam-engine, only that it

is to work by exploding a mixture of hydrogen and oxygen gases. Such an

engine I think might be employed to advantage in driving carriages, as

the gases might be condensed.” A few months later he writes: “During the

Christmas vacation I tried a few experiments to ascertain the force of

exploded oxygen and hydrogen when in combination, and found it to be so

small that it cannot be applied to the purpose I intended; at least, that

such an engine would be far more expensive than one to work by steam.”

Soon after he had finished his clock he undertook a very different piece

of work. He had already taught himself the art of land-surveying. “I

learned the art,” he wrote, “as best I could; I might almost say I found

it out, for I had then no book on the subject, and my father had no

special knowledge of the matter.” As was usual with him, he at once began

to teach what he himself had learnt. With a class he measured and mapped

the playground and some little of the neighbourhood. About this time a

murder—famous in legal history—was committed within four miles of Hill

Top, and at once roused a strong public interest.

“The name of the victim was Mary Ashford. Thornton, the man

charged with the crime, and whom the whole neighbourhood

believed to be guilty, got off at the trial by setting up an

_alibi_. So strong was the feeling excited by this escape,

that it was resolved to resort to the long-disused right of

appeal; and a subscription being speedily raised to defray

the expenses, the necessary proceedings were commenced. This

startling course brought the matter into the London papers,

and interest became general. Illustrated journals there were

none, but my drawing-master published a portrait of the poor

girl—taken, I suppose, after death—with a view of the pond in

which the body was found; and one of the Birmingham newspapers

(the _Midland Chronicle_) gave a rude plan of the ground on

which the chief incidents occurred. This, however, being

apparently done without measurement, and not engraved either on

wood or copper, but made up as best could be done with ordinary

types, was of course but a very imperfect representation. I

resolved to improve upon this, and, in conjunction with a

former schoolfellow, to whom, though he was much older than

myself, I was then giving private lessons in surveying, I led

my class to the spot, took the measurements, and constructed

a complete map, not merely of the spot where the murder was

committed, but of the neighbourhood, so far as to include the

place of the alleged _alibi_. This was published not only in

Birmingham but also in London, and we cleared about fifteen

pounds by the enterprise. It may be convenient to the reader to

add, though this has nothing to do with my story, that when the

case of appeal came before the Court of King’s Bench, Thornton,

throwing down his glove in due form, demanded wager of battle;

and as this barred all other measures, while of course the age

of ordeals was passed, the proceedings came to an end, and the

prisoner was released. However, he never again ventured to

show himself near the scene of his alleged crime. In the next

Session of Parliament an Act was passed abolishing wager of

battle, and with it the right of appeal. I remember that our

family verdict on the subject condemned the latter half of this

measure.”[38]

Rowland Hill’s map was copied by a dishonest tradesman:—

“Incensed at such rascally treatment,” he records in his

Journal, “I told my publisher I was determined to maintain

an action for damages against the man. On examining the Act

respecting the copyright of engravings, my brother Matthew was

fearful that we might not succeed in the event of a trial,

because we had not specified on the plate the exact day on

which it was published. It said ‘published,’ etc., ‘Nov.,

1817,’ I immediately had the plate altered before any more

impressions were taken; but as several had been sold of the

first kind, my brother thought that there would be some danger

in risking a trial.”

The inventions and schemes that I have described were rather the

occupations of Rowland Hill’s few hours of leisure than the real work

of his life. It was in school-work that he was closely engaged for long

hours every day during many a year. His position was not a little trying.

Had it not been for one side of his father’s character, it might have

become unbearable. He and his brother Matthew, as they grew older and saw

more of the outside world, had become more and more dissatisfied with the

state of the school. They were both ambitious youths; and up to a certain

age their chief ambition—at all events, their nearest ambition—was to

make Hill Top a thoroughly good school. Before many years had passed,

the elder brother was bent on making his way at the bar, while Rowland

was thinking how he should reform the education of England—I might

almost say, of the world. As his views widened with increasing years, he

recorded in his Journal:—

“The beneficial effects which I every day see arise from the

improvements which have been introduced into the school, and

the acknowledged superiority of our system of education,

lead me to think that the combination of talent, energy, and

industry which exists in our family, directed as it is, with

few exceptions, to the science of education, may some time or

other produce effects which will render our name illustrious

in after ages. The more I mix with the world, the more insight

I have into the proceedings and opinions of other men, the

conviction is forced upon me that our family possesses talents,

and energy, and devotedness to one object, seldom to be met

with.... Our plans are calculated for large numbers, and to

obtain them is the present object of all our attention. Some of

us think that the best mode will be to attempt to induce the

public to establish a large school or college for the education

of the children of the upper and middle classes. Other members

of the family are afraid that in so doing we may risk our

present establishment; but I think that the attempt may be so

managed as not in the slightest degree to injure our present

school, but rather to forward its success. To establish this

college is the height of my ambition. I feel confident that,

with great numbers and great capital, the science and practice

of education might be improved to such a degree as to show that

it is now in its infancy.”

It was at the age of twenty-five, when he had for some years been the

real head of the school, that he made this record. When, however, his

brother and he first began their reforms, their efforts were turned to

much smaller matters. Matthew set about improving the teaching, while

Rowland chiefly took in hand the organization of the school and the

management of the accounts. As regards most of their changes, their

father at first showed, if not great unwillingness, at all events

considerable indifference. Often they had to set themselves against some

of his most cherished theories; often they had to stir him up to action

when he would have liked much rather to remain in complete repose. “It

is an old sore,” writes one of the brothers, later on, “to witness my

father’s apathy in the midst of all our exertions.” It was at first no

easy matter to win his consent to their plans of reform, but he soon

recognised his sons’ ability, and gave their powers full play. Many a man

who is too easy-going to carry out to the full the work that lies before

him, is yet “rough, unswayable, and rude,” when his own children come

forward and do his work with their own hands. This was not Thomas Hill’s

character. “My father,” his son said, “showed no signs of vexation, nor

was he ever jealous of any of us. He used only to express a fear that I

had got too much on my hands. So far from being jealous, he was proud

of my doing the work, and used to boast of it to others.” How highly,

indeed, he had always thought of his son is shown by the following

anecdote, which I find recorded in Rowland’s Journal for 1817:—

“My father, a little time since, was speaking of me to my

friend William Matthews, when he said, ‘Once in my life I

struck him, but I afterwards found that it was unjustly; and

I’d give this right hand to recall that blow. I hope Rowland

has forgotten it; I wish that I could.’ It is unnecessary

to say that, when my friend told me this, I felt both great

pleasure and pain. It is now about eleven years since the

affair happened to which he referred. Many a tear has that blow

cost me, though my father acknowledged himself sorry for having

struck me very soon after.”

So much did the young man take upon his own shoulders, that before he was

of age he was, in almost everything but name, the real Head-master.

“My first reform,” he one day told me, “was about the school-bell. I

was then not more than twelve. It rang very irregularly. I looked into

the matter and discovered the cause. It was owing to the following rule

of my father’s. There was a monitor whose duty it was to ring the bell,

and a penalty was fixed for any delay. But any one who happened to be

in the school-room at the time was bound to ring the bell, and was

fined for omission. This was one of my first attempts at legislation.

I with difficulty persuaded my father to reverse his rule—to fine

any one who did ring the bell, except the monitor. That change was

eminently successful.” In the hours of meals there had also been great

irregularity. The bell was never rung till everything was ready. He

proposed that henceforth the bell should be rung at fixed times, it

being taken for granted that everything was ready. “My mother said it

was impossible to have the dinner at the exact time, as a large leg of

mutton required more time to roast than a smaller one. I said no doubt it

must have more time, but the cook must begin earlier. She gave in on my

earnestly desiring it.”

In his Journal for the year 1817 he records: “If the monitor neglect

to ring the bell at the proper time, he incurs heavy penalties, which

I take care to collect rigorously, convinced that in the end it is the

most merciful mode of proceeding.” As he grew older he was more inclined

in every case to fix lighter penalties; but whether he was dealing with

his pupils, with the servants of the London and Brighton Railway, or

the servants of the Post Office, he always rigorously enforced whatever

penalty had been justly incurred.

Many duties he undertook, he said, as it was less trouble for him to do

them himself than to be called in to help another. His father did not

keep his accounts on any good system—he had not even an index to his

ledger—nor did he make them out at any fixed time. To him they were a

necessary evil, and were treated accordingly. The bills were never sent

out till the very end of the holidays. “I had a great liking for working

in the carpenter’s shop. All through my holidays I was in constant dread

lest my father should come up to ask me to help him in making out the

accounts, and so call me off from some piece of construction. At last I

said that I would rather make up the accounts myself, as I got so tired

of these constant interruptions. One of my cousins helped me. He and I

used to rise very early one morning just before the holidays, and at last

we always completed the posting from the ledger, which before had been

spread over the whole holidays, by breakfast-time, while the accounts

were sent off with the boys.” Rowland was about fourteen when he thus

began to make up the school-bills. At the age of sixteen or seventeen

he took into his own hands the entire management of his father’s money

affairs, and “a heavy responsibility it was.” There were not a few debts

owing, but in no long time, by dint of great efforts, he paid off all

that was due. “I went round and discharged all the debts, and was very

much complimented by my father’s creditors.”

About the same time the two brothers were planning to have a kind of

“Speech Day”—an Exhibition, as they called it. “We are busily employed,”

wrote Rowland in his Journal, in the year 1813, “in preparing for an

Exhibition at Christmas of oratory, penmanship, arithmetic, parsing,

&c.” In the dramatic part of the entertainment the boys were chiefly

drilled by Matthew. The rest of the work mainly fell on Rowland. Three

years later his brother was away in London, “eating his terms,” and

his father had fallen sick. “I had to drill,” he said, “the boys in

recitation. I disliked the work very much, and was very unfit for it; but

I had to do it. We always printed the pieces the boys were to repeat.

In the scene from ‘Hamlet,’ where Horatio says, ‘My lord, I think I

saw him yesternight!’ and Hamlet answers, ‘Saw?—who?’ I thought ‘who’

ought to be ‘whom.’ I consulted my father, who agreed with me; and so we

printed it. Matthew—[the old man, as he came to this part of the story,

laughed heartily]—Matthew was very angry with me for thus correcting

Shakespeare.” He has made in his Journal the following record of the

Exhibition of this year:—

“At the last Christmas exhibition, the first act of Plautus’s

‘Captives’ was performed in Latin. For this I painted a street

scene, which took me several days. I believe I never worked

harder than when preparing for this exhibition. The boys were

brought to such a pitch of excellence in mental arithmetic,

and their other exercises, that we were obliged to give them a

great deal of practice that they might not recede. Besides this

I gave a great many lessons from home, attended to a class who

were drawing maps and plans; and at the same time painted the

scenes.

“During more than three weeks, including even Sundays, I was

hard at work on an average at least eighteen hours to each

day; sometimes much more. This I could have borne without

injury, but I had almost all the care and responsibility of the

school on my hands at the same time; for my brother Matthew

was in London several weeks just before the holidays, and my

father was unwell. I am not yet recovered from the ill effects

upon my health of the exertions I then made; but, however,

that exhibition raised our school very high in the public

estimation. The mental arithmetic astonished very much, and as

we invited questions from the audience, they could not suppose

that the boys had been practised in the questions which I asked

them.”

To what a pitch of excellence he raised his classes is shown by the

following record:—

“About the same time there arrived in England an American lad

named Zerah Colbourn, whose power in mental arithmetic was made

the subject of public exhibition. As this was a department in

which I had diligently exercised both myself and my pupils, I

accompanied my father to the performance with great interest.

We found that the boy’s power consisted chiefly in finding

with great rapidity the factors of numbers, and square and

cube roots. I naturally tried my ability against his, and I

found that so long as low numbers were dealt with, I equalled

and even surpassed him in rapidity, but that he could deal

effectually with numbers so high as to be far beyond my

management. Thus he would rapidly extract the cube root of

a number expressed in nine figures, provided always it were

an exact cube, for with other numbers he declined to deal.

His mode of proceeding was a secret, which, with some other

devices, his father declared himself willing to reveal so

soon as a subscription of, I think, one thousand pounds or

guineas should have been raised. As this did not seem to me a

very hopeful project, I came to the conclusion that my only

way of becoming acquainted with the secret was to find it out

for myself. I accordingly went to work, and soon discovered a

mode of performing myself that which I had witnessed with so

much wonder; and not content with this, proceeded to consider

whether means might not be found for mentally extracting roots

without limitation to exact cubes. This was an incomparably

harder problem, nor did I arrive at its solution till a year

or two later. Each process, as soon as discovered, I taught

to my pupils, who in the easier task—all that Colbourn ever

attempted—became more rapid and far more correct than Colbourn

himself; for with him, in extracting a cube root expressed in

three figures, it was a common incident to fail in the second,

an error which my pupils learned for the most part to avoid.

I may add that some of them became so quick and accurate in

both processes, that when on a public occasion, viz., at

Midsummer, 1822, printed tables of cubes and their roots had

been placed in the hands of examiners, and questions asked

therefrom ranging up to two thousand millions, and of course

without any limitation to exact cubes, the answers—fractions,

however being disregarded—were given so quickly as to lead

some sceptics, little aware of the monstrous absurdity of the

hypothesis, to declare that the whole must have been previously

learned by rote. I reduced my discovery to writing, intending

to publish it in a contemplated manual of mental arithmetic;

but unfortunately this, with other papers, was lost in a manner

never fully known, and to repeat the discovery I fear I should

now find quite impracticable.[39]

“While on the subject of mental arithmetic, I may mention

that I brought the pupils in my class to perform mentally

other difficult calculations with a facility that excited no

small surprise. Thus they would readily find the moon’s age

(approximately, by epacts) for any day of any year; also, the

day of the week corresponding with any day of the month; and,

by a combination of the two processes, ascertain the day of the

month corresponding with Easter Sunday in any year.”

It was with some reason that Mr. Sargant, in describing his old school,

writes: “Our arithmetic was amazing, even excelling, by our laborious

acquisition of mental arithmetic, the success of the present Privy

Council Schools.”[40] In surveying, also, the young teacher’s pupils made

almost as much progress as in mental arithmetic. He had undertaken to

make a complete survey of Birmingham:—

“I now made my first trigonometrical survey; taking my first

stations on our own playground (which fortunately commanded a

view of many of the principal objects in the town), and, as

before, engaging my surveying class in the work, both for their

instruction and my own assistance.

“This occupation led me to inquire into the great

trigonometrical survey then carried on by Colonel Mudge,

especially that part of it which related to the neighbourhood

of Birmingham, my chief object being to ascertain what records

would avail for our map, and what further steps it would be

needful for me to take to complete the work. With this view I

procured his report, and studied it with care, finding it more

interesting than any novel. I read with particular interest

the part describing the measurement of the great base line on

Hounslow Heath by his predecessor, General Roy; and I gathered

from it that my own base lines, taken one on our playground

and the other on the opposite side of Birmingham, were far too

short, the longer extending to only one hundred-and-thirty

feet. I therefore resolved to recommence my work, and not

only to take a much longer base line, but also to measure it

as accurately as I could. I now give a passage taken from my

Journal.

“‘I accordingly procured some long deal rods and three stools

for the purpose of measuring a line with great accuracy.

The stools are made to rise and fall, and somewhat resemble

music-stools; this construction was necessary, in order to

place the rods always upon the same level.[41]

“‘I chose Bromsgrove Street as the situation of the base, on

account of its remarkable levelness, and the number of objects

which are visible from different parts of it. The base extends

from the corner of the Bell Inn, on the right-hand side of the

Bristol Road, and opposite to the end of Bromsgrove Street, to

the wall at the north-eastern end of Smithfield; being nearly

half a mile in length, and so admirably situated with respect

to the objects, that there is not a single obtuse angle upon it.

“‘Besides measuring with the rods, I surveyed the line twice

with a land chain, properly adjusted, and after making

every allowance for the elongation of the chain during

the admeasurement, I found the difference in the total

length of the base, which is nearly half a mile, to be only

three-quarters of an inch. When the survey is completed, I

intend to write an account of it, which will be found among my

manuscripts.[42]

“‘I have thought of publishing parts of it in some of the

magazines, particularly a relation of a new mode of using the

theodolite, which I have invented. This mode increases its

power exceedingly.’

“In performing this work it was of course necessary to avoid

the daily traffic, which would have disturbed our operations;

and, as my Journal shows, my class and I, during the three days

occupied in the process, viz., May the 25th, 27th, and 30th,

rose the first day at three, the second at five minutes before

three, and the third at five minutes past two.

“The improved mode of using the theodolite referred to above

consisted in making it do the work of a repeating circle; and

thus I was enabled, with respect to each of the principal

angles, to obtain the mean of perhaps twenty measurements. I

may here mention that the fact of this contrivance happened,

on a subsequent occasion, to do me good service. Some years

afterwards, being in London, I wished to visit the Royal

Observatory, and procuring a letter of introduction to Captain

Kater, then a member of the Board of Longitude, I applied to

him for an order. With all the politeness that can attend a

negative, he told me that the Astronomer Royal (Mr. Pond) had

been so much interrupted of late as to deprecate any further

issue of orders save in cases of absolute necessity. As some

consolation, however, he offered to show me his own apparatus;

which, I need not say, I examined with great interest. In

the course of conversation I mentioned my new device, when,

turning to me with a look of great pleasure, he told me that

he had hit upon the same improvement himself. Before I left he

sat down and wrote the order; of which I did not fail to make

use. I may add that at a later period he visited the school,

subsequently placed a son under our care, and continued till

death to honour me with his friendship.

“To return to the survey, I give a second extract from my

Journal:—

“‘_June 23rd, 1819._—This day I completed the calculations

for the trigonometrical survey of Birmingham, and some

parts of the adjoining country.

“‘After completing the survey of the town, I thought it

desirable to extend it for the purpose of verifying the

admeasurement of the base, by computing the length of two

lines which were measured by Colonel Mudge. These are

the distance [the respective distances] of Wolverhampton

and Wednesbury spires from a station at Bar beacon.

Colonel Mudge has left no mark to show the situation of

his station; he describes it indeed, but not with very

great precision. He says in his report, ‘The station is

thirty yards north of the plantation.’ I have supposed

his description to be exactly correct, that is, that the

station was placed directly north of the centre of the

plantation, and thirty yards from the nearest part of the

clump of trees. If this be correct the station would stand

fifty-six yards directly north of the flagstaff, and this I

have supposed to be its situation.

“‘The distance of Wolverhampton spire from the station

at Bar beacon, Colonel Mudge gives at 48,345 feet. This,

reduced to the distance from the flagstaff, gives 48,355

feet.

“‘By my operations I make the distance to be 48,362 feet,

differing by only seven feet in upwards of nine miles. The

distance of Wednesbury spire from the station at Bar beacon

is, according to Colonel Mudge, 25,140 feet. This, reduced

to the distance from the flagstaff, is 25,098 feet. I have

found the same line to measure 25,102 feet, differing by

only four feet in nearly five miles.[43]

* * * * *

“‘Besides measuring these distances, I reduced the latitude

and longitude of St. Philip’s church, and of the station on

this house [my father’s], from the latitude and longitude

of Bar beacon as given by Colonel Mudge.’[44]

“One other line measured in the course of my operations (I

think it was the one from the station on Bar beacon to that

on Clent Hill near Hagley) was of yet greater length than

those mentioned above, being no less than fourteen miles.

Indeed, the triangles became so large that I had to make

allowance for spherical excess, the rotundity of the earth

becoming otherwise a source of error.

“Whenever it was practicable I measured all three angles

of each triangle; and, after allowance for the spherical

excess, there was no instance, I believe, in which the sum

of the three angles differed from 180° by so much as half a

minute.

“Those possessed of such instruments as are used at the

present day will perhaps smile at the self-satisfaction

with which I regarded this approximate accuracy; but they

must remember that I had only a common theodolite, such as

was in use fifty years ago.

“It may be mentioned here that, on account of the length of

the lines, communication between our stations was a matter

of some difficulty and much interest. When two divisions of

the surveying class had to set out in different directions

for places many miles apart, for the purpose of acting

in concert with each other, of course a certain amount

of forethought and injunction before starting, and sharp

watchfulness on the spot, were indispensable: spare flags

were carried for telegraphic purposes, and telescopes

for observation of the signals previously agreed upon. I

need not say that each signal at one station was eagerly

welcomed at the other, and that its repetition, given by

way of acknowledgment at the latter, was no less warmly

hailed at the former.

“There was a little incident on this occasion which, though

somewhat foreign to my subject, I mention as ludicrously

characteristic of schoolboy _esprit de corps_ according to

its manifestation fifty years ago. I understand the feeling

is now much mitigated, without, however, being injuriously

impaired. In the midst of our proceedings at Bar beacon

the pupils of another school came upon the ground, being

apparently out for a holiday. A feeling of hostility soon

manifested itself in our party, and that without any other

provocation from the other side than arose from mere

presence; and though the rival party mustered at least

three-fold our number, it was soon suggested, no doubt

half in joke, that we should challenge them to fight; if

I would only deal with the master a good account should

soon be given of all the rest. This absurd petition being

of course rejected, a more peaceful means was hit upon

for the vindication of our honour. The hill on which we

stood was, and perhaps still is, surmounted by a flagstaff

sixty or seventy feet high, by means of which it was

announced to the world round about whether the family at

the neighbouring hall were at home or otherwise. About

half-way up this standard was a small platform, accessible

by a perpendicular ladder; and to this one of our number, I

believe the youngest, proceeded to mount, descending after

a short stay. Though not a word was said, the hint was

immediately taken by the other party, one of whom repeated

the feat. A second of our number was likewise followed by

a second of theirs; but a third finding no imitator, the

victory remained with us. Further, however, to enhance the

triumph, the little fellow who had made the first ascent,

having remounted to the platform, ‘swarmed’ up thence to

the top of the pole, returning to the ground with no small

self-satisfaction. As no similar attempt was made by the

rival party, enough was thought to have been done for the

honour of the school; and when we left the ground, it was

with the dignified air of demonstrated superiority.

“Before leaving the subject of surveys, I may mention

that I afterwards led my class to measure and plot, with

sections longitudinal and transverse, so much of the

Ickenield Street as then remained on Sutton Coldfield, the

length being about three miles; and lastly, that at the

request of Dr. Blair, now well known to every reader of the

life of Professor Wilson, we made a survey underground,

viz., of a coal-pit, his property, near Dudley. This,

though a dark and dirty piece of work, was much enjoyed by

the lads, the more so as at the close of their task they

were plentifully regaled at Dr. Blair’s hospitable table.

“These operations extended over a portion of 1818 and 1819.

“A little incident which occurred during the survey on

Sutton Coldfield may be worth mentioning. A farmer coming

up towards the close of our operations asked what we were

doing, and upon being told that we were surveying the Roman

road, inquired, ‘What’s that?’ At this time, the sun, being

low in the sky, threw the depressed parts of the road

into sufficient shadow to bring out alike the convexity

of the carriage-way and the comparative elevation of the

causeways on either side, so that the road, not easily

discernible in the full light of day, had now its outlines

distinctly marked. The answer, therefore, was easy, and

pointing to the long line of road stretched before us, I

replied, ‘There it is.’ The rustic looked in the direction

indicated, and after gazing for awhile in bewildered

surprise exclaimed, ‘Good God, I have crossed this way

every day for twenty years, and never saw that before!’”[45]

CHAPTER IV.

Able and successful though Rowland Hill was as a teacher, nevertheless he

often regretted that he was withdrawn from duties which he alone could

perform, to undertake that which another might have done with at least a

fair amount of success. “I ought,” he records in his Journal, “to have

nothing to do but to superintend others; my time is unfortunately too

much occupied as a teacher.” Certainly the singular system of education

which he had devised required for its proper working the almost undivided

attention of its author. Before I describe it, I would ask the reader

to bring before his mind the state of our schools in the days of our

fathers. Let him read “Tom Brown.” Let him see what Rugby was even after

Dr. Arnold had for some years been its master. Let him see the shocking

brutality to which an inoffensive child could be exposed. I can never

think on some of the scenes of that story without feeling that Arnold’s

great name is stained by the cruel deeds that were done under his own

roof. Had he thought a little more of suffering and a little less of

sin, he would have been a better master and a greater man. At the time

that Rowland Hill began his reforms Arnold was still at Oxford. He was

not appointed to Rugby till six years after Matthew and Rowland Hill had

brought out their work on Public Education. There had been little sign as

yet of any improvement in our schools. There was still many a place where

a gentle and timid child was exposed to savage and ignorant cruelty.

These ancient foundations boast, and with justice, of the famous men whom

they have reared. They are proud of their traditions; and yet I can never

visit one of these old schools without seeing rise before my mind a long

line of unhappy children who were too gentle, too delicately wrought for

the rough and brutal world into which they were suddenly thrown, and

whose little hearts were well-nigh broken by the cruelty of an unfeeling

herd of masters and boys.

“Continuo auditæ voces, vagitus et ingens,

Infantumque animæ flentes in limine primo.”

In the year 1821, Southey thus wrote of one of the playmates of his own

childhood:—

“The eldest son was taken from the Charter House because he

was, literally, almost killed there by the devilish cruelty

of the boys. They used to lay him before the fire till he was

scorched, and shut him up in a trunk with sawdust till he had

nearly expired with suffocation. The Charter House, at that

time, was a sort of hell upon earth for the under boys. He was

of weak understanding and feeble frame.”[46]

I own the value and the force of the traditions of a school. I know that

they cling to places, and are not easy to transplant; but, were I a

Charter House boy, after reading such a passage as this, I should feel

that I drew a freer, as well as a purer, air on the open downs above

Godalming, than in the old buildings near Smithfield.

In the instruction that was given there had been but little general

improvement. The old classical education was, no doubt, in many ways

admirably well suited for boys who were quick at languages. But it made

the dull ten times as dull as they came from nature, and marked down many

a lad as a hopeless blockhead whose good parts were merely overwhelmed by

the gross ignorance of his teachers. Pedantry, scarcely less than penury,

can freeze the genial current of the soul. If the fools and blockheads

could only once gather their poor wits together, and only once give their

thoughts utterance, what a tale of wrong would they pour forth against

the brutal and ignorant pedants who had, in their childhood, puffed out

the far too feeble light which had been given to light them through the

world.

Bad, indeed, was the general state of education when Rowland Hill set

up for its reformer—so bad that it almost excuses the audacity of the

young enthusiast. His audacity, certainly, was almost boundless. “We must

honestly confess,” his eldest brother and he say, in the volume which

they published on education, “that we retain hardly a single opinion

relating to any part of our profession which we held in early life. One

by one we have surrendered them all to the force of experience.” He was

but twenty-five at most when he wrote this, and all the wisdom of our

forefathers he had already scattered to the winds. With some reason

did one of his pupils say, “There was a great want of reverence for

authority in his school. There was no respect for the opinion of the

great and good men of all ages—that _consensus_ of opinion.” In his old

age, Rowland Hill described his career as a schoolmaster as a series of

experiments. In the years when he was making his greatest changes, and

striking out into the newest of paths, he had, as he himself said, no

misgivings as to his fitness for his post; and yet it was not till after

this time that he so painfully found out how little he knew, and how much

he had still to learn. He had, however, this ground for his confidence,

that all his plans did work. In the midst of his boldness he was still

cautious. He had a horror of failure, and a strong but wholesome dread of

that ridicule which awaits the mere dreamer. Many might well have thought

that such a school as he described could scarcely have existed even in

Utopia, and yet it flourished in Birmingham.

It was in the year 1822 that the two brothers brought out their work on

Public Education.[47] Part of it had been written, at all events, as

early as 1818. The plans, so far as the government of boys is concerned,

are almost all Rowland’s; the composition of the work is mostly

Matthew’s. Fanciful though it often is, dogmatic, and even arrogant in

places, yet it can still be read with pleasure and with advantage by

those who take an interest in education. The young schemer was, indeed,

fortunate in finding in his eldest brother a writer who could throw over

his plans the charm of a lively and a singularly clear style. In this

work is set forth a complete scheme for the government of a large school.

From the best method of cultivating the heart and the head, down to

the pettiest details of every-day life, all is considered, and for all

provision is made. Here it is shown how out of almost any boy, however

unpromising he may at first sight seem, can be made a good man and a

good citizen. Here, too, is laid down a plan for drying school-boys’ wet

shoes. The brothers, one and all alike, had the fullest trust in their

system. “Even if they had never made a penny by it,” said one who knew

them well, “they would still have tried to carry it out. They were like

ministers of religion who were, indeed, paid for their ministry, but who,

nevertheless, taught their dogmas as a matter of conscience.” The founder

was for many years confident that his system could be worked by others,

if only they took it up with understanding and zeal. He looked forward

to the time when he should see great colleges on the same system spring

up in all parts of the country, to the almost boundless advantage of his

fellow-men. He has since been heard to confess that having, after long

years, looked into his code of laws, he thought it far too complex. He

added, with a smile, that he greatly doubted whether he should send his

own son to a school conducted on such a complicated system.[48] In truth,

even before he had given up school-keeping, he had found out the need of

greater simplicity, and had cleared away much of the machinery which he

had so laboriously constructed.

In the preface to the first edition, the brothers state:—

“Having satisfied our minds that our general theory was

correct, by a long course of experiments, and by the

acquiescence of those who are so much interested in a careful,

and even rigorous, examination of our plans, we have latterly

proceeded without the trepidation which at first attended us at

every step, and rendered the task of reducing the convictions

of our minds to practice, a tedious and painful operation.

We now feel our system to be sufficiently matured for public

inspection—not that it is incapable of infinite improvement.

We are far from pretending to a state of perfection; that

we should belie daily by the changes which we still find it

expedient to introduce. But there is a wide difference between

alterations which proceed from the adoption of new principles,

and those which are in furtherance of old ones. The latter

will become gradually more and more minute, until they cease

altogether to effect any of the important features.”

We may once more be tempted to smile, as we read of the long course of

experiments carried out by a young man who was but five-and-twenty. It

is not, however, by years but by labour that life is rightly measured.

Rowland Hill at a very early age had come into the only inheritance which

he was ever to receive—man’s inheritance of labour and sorrow. He had

seen, it is true, but five-and-twenty summers. Yet far distant must have

seemed to him the time of childhood’s careless years. He had begun to

labour early, and into every hour, into every day, into every year, he

had got the work of two. How much he had already done is shown by one

of his father’s letters to his brother Matthew, dated April 24th, 1823.

Well-nigh broken down by work, the young man had gone up to London to

seek rest by a change of scene:—

“I hope change of place and your good company will be of

service to our beloved Rowland. You are aware that his

indisposition originates in his intense application to the

business of the school, and I think it particularly excited

by anything which draws hard upon his inventions; I therefore

suggest that the discussion of new plans is not a desirable

subject of conversation.... I most ardently wish that the dear

lad could reflect more on the much that is effected than on the

little that may remain in the state of a desideratum. If we

can maintain our present position—and surely it is far easier

to preserve than to gain—if we can do this, we have enough to

make us very proud and very happy. I do hope that improvements

will for awhile be entrusted to that quiet operation of time

and experience which will slightly tax the mental powers of one

who has done a life’s work in less than half the years he may

fairly hope to pass in usefulness, and who must not be suffered

to be worn out prematurely.”

This letter was found a few years ago, and was shown to the aged man who,

after his long life of usefulness, had at last entered upon that period

of rest from which he was never to be roused again. It so chanced that I

called on him soon after he had seen it. I have this note of my visit:—

“He spoke with great emotion of the hard work and anxieties

of his youth, and said that he had broken down several times

before he gave up the school. He and his brother Matthew used

constantly to talk over school matters—too much so by a great

deal. He had been lately shown a letter written by his father,

saying that he was going to London for a holiday, and that

not a word must be said to him about business, for he greatly

needed rest, and had already done the work of a life-time.

‘And so I had,’ my uncle said to me, with a voice broken with

emotion.”[49]

If any still smile at the young man’s “long course of experiments,”

surely it will be with a smile of kindly pity and not of contempt. The

trepidation which we are told attended the youthful reformer at every

step is, I fancy, a rhetorical flourish of Matthew’s. There was but

little trepidation in Rowland Hill at any period of his life. In his

early years his daring would have seemed in almost any other man the most

overweening rashness. But, as I have already said, he knew what he could

do, and always kept well within his powers.

The first mention of his new system in his Journal is as follows:—

“Soon after Midsummer (1816), I established a Court of Justice

in the school. The judge is chosen monthly by the boys. The

sheriff and the keeper of the records are chosen in the same

manner. The attorney and solicitor-general are appointed by

me. The judge appoints the inferior officers, as the clerk and

crier of the Court, the constables, etc. The jury consists of

six boys, chosen by ballot, from amongst those who have not for

the last month disgraced themselves by appearing on certain

bad lists, or by being convicted of any disgraceful offence.

All evidence is taken, even that of the parties themselves. No

oaths are administered, as we wish to impress the boys with the

conviction that it is criminal to tell falsehoods at any time

and in any place. The assizes are appointed to be held once per

week; but it sometimes happens that there are no offenders.

The sheriff keeps a book in which he enters all the sentences,

which are generally the forfeiture of premial marks, a certain

number of which entitle a boy to a holiday. If a boy cannot pay

the marks, he is imprisoned in a large wooden cage, at the rate

of one hour for five marks. The greatest number of offences

are leaving school without permission and before the tasks are

completed.... If a boy pleads guilty (as most of them do), his

punishment is always lessened one-sixth; but the prisoners

are never asked whether they are guilty or not, that they may

not be induced to tell lies. The sheriff always presents his

book to me for my signature to each sentence, and I have the

power of mitigating and pardoning. I never yet have had cause

to find fault with a single verdict of a jury or sentence of a

judge; and I have found that these trials, besides saving my

father and myself a deal of trouble in deciding disputes and

investigating offences (for the Court tries civil as well as

criminal causes), have very considerably lessened the number of

offences. I believe (and I have good opportunities of becoming

acquainted with other schools) that our boys are by far the

most moral set I ever was acquainted with. This circumstance

may, I think, in a great measure be attributed to these and

some later regulations.”

Whether the cage was at any time in public view I do not know. Before

long, however, he and his brothers came to see how much harm is done by

exposing a boy to public shame, as is shown by the following passage in

the second edition of Public Education:—

“Confinement, and disability to fill certain offices, are our

severest punishments;—public disgrace, which is painful in

exact proportion to the good feeling of the offender, is not

employed, and every measure is avoided which would destroy

self-respect. Expulsion has been resorted to, rather than a boy

should be submitted to treatment which might lead himself and

his schoolfellows to forget that he was a gentleman.”

A few months later on he gave his pupils—what many a ruler has since

given his people—a Constitution:—

“I have long thought that the system of representation might

be introduced with advantage into the government of a school;

and soon after Christmas (1816), with my father’s approbation,

I drew up a set of resolutions, which were unanimously passed

at a general meeting of the school, appointing a mode of

electing a committee for the management of the school. They

have the direction of everything except the school hours

and the quantity of work to be done. We were afraid then of

entrusting them with the regulation of these things, but the

committees have acted so very properly, and have showed so

decidedly that they are fit to be entrusted with power, that

I think no inconvenience would arise from their having the

power to appoint the school hours and the work to be done in

the school; however, they show no wish to be entrusted with

such power. The committee is chosen monthly in the following

manner:—We have a list of all the boys, which is arranged once

per month according to general superiority.... The boy who

stands at the top of this list names a committee-man; the two

next boys name another; the three next a third, and so on. If

there is not the exact number of boys at the end of the list

to form a division, they are reckoned with that above. The

election is by ballot. By a resolution passed at the first

general meeting, all the teachers, with the exception of my

father, are to be members of the committee _ex officio_; but

I am the only teacher who ever attends the meetings of the

committee, as we do not wish to mix too much aristocracy in the

government of our little community. After a bill has passed the

committee, it is presented to Mr. Hill for his approbation,

without which it is not considered as a law. It is then read

aloud in the school-room by the president of the committee,

between certain hours of the day, and posted up against the

wall for at least three days. My father has never yet found

it necessary to refuse his approbation to a single law. The

committee is obliged by the laws to meet at least once per

week; sometimes it assembles oftener than that. They appoint

the officers of the Court of Justice, who were before appointed

by the whole school. We derive many advantages from this form

of government in the school. One advantage, and that not an

inconsiderable one, is that it teaches the boys the manner

in which public meetings ought to be conducted; a species of

knowledge in which, if we may judge from some late specimens,

the present generation is particularly ignorant. But the effect

of most importance attending this mode of governing is that

it has the best effect upon the morals of the scholars. Of

course the committee will consist of boys whose age or superior

acquirements give them a lead in all the affairs of the school;

and it is of the utmost importance that these boys should lead

the others the right road, and not astray, as is too frequently

the case. Now they feel themselves under some obligation not

to break those laws which they themselves have assisted in

enacting, and the scholars cannot complain that the laws are

too severe, because, either in their own proper persons or in

those of their representatives, they must have assisted in

passing them. The consequence has been that, since things have

been so constructed, we have gone on much more pleasantly to

all parties than before.”

About the same time that the Constitution was granted, a Benevolent

Society was formed amongst the boys:—

“In February last (1817) my father advised the boys to raise

a subscription among themselves to be applied to benevolent

purposes; and, that they might not become too soon tired,

he recommended that they should subscribe small sums. They

immediately entered into his views with great spirit; the names

of subscribers were set down, and a general meeting was called

for the next day. At this meeting resolutions were entered into

for the regulation of the Society, and a committee, consisting

of seven boys, was elected to dispose of the funds. The

committee meets once per week. A general meeting is held once

in every month to receive the report of the committee, to elect

a new one, pass the accounts, &c. I was elected treasurer,

and still keep the office. The weekly subscriptions amount

to rather more than five shillings; donations and forfeits

generally make it up to about six shillings. The boys have been

able to relieve many poor families with bacon and potatoes,

or bread. I consider everything of this kind as doubly

advantageous, because at the same time that the distressed

are relieved, the attention of the boys is directed in a good

channel. It finds them something to do and to think about.

Boys will be acting, and if they cannot do good, they will do

mischief.”[50]

In the autumn of the following year further reforms were carried out:—

“_October 10th, 1818._—A few weeks ago the following law was

passed by the committee:—

“‘Resolved—That on the same day as that on which the judge

is appointed, a magistrate shall be elected in the same

manner (that is by ballot). This officer shall have the

appointment of the constables, who shall be under his

direction. These officers shall constitute the police, and

their duty shall be the detection, and, in some cases,

the punishment of crime. The magistrate shall levy all

penalties not exceeding ten premial marks, and decide

disputes respecting extra work, games, &c., the parties

having the right of appeal to a teacher, or to the Court

of Justice; but, if the appellant should be unsuccessful,

the punishment shall be doubled. In cases which, from

their importance, do not come under the cognizance of the

magistrate, he shall order the attorney-general to bring

the offending party to trial at the next assizes.

“‘The magistrate may hold his court in any part of the

school premises, and if any one shall refuse to attend,

either as culprit or witness, after having received a

verbal or written order, from the magistrate in person, or

from either of the constables, he shall subject himself to

the fine of twenty premial marks. Any one thinking himself

unjustly detained by the magistrate or his officers, shall

have his action for damages, to be assessed by the jury. It

shall be considered the duty of the magistrate to examine

into every offence, and punish the aggressor as early as

possible after the offence is committed. If the magistrate

shall neglect his duty (that is to say if any offence

shall come to the knowledge of a teacher which has not

been punished within a proper time by the magistrate), it

shall be considered the duty of the committee to remove him

from his office. But if the magistrate shall go through

his duty to the satisfaction of the committee, the master

shall be requested to reward him with permission to give

to any number of his schoolfellows, not exceeding six, an

afternoon’s holiday, which he may enjoy with them. The

magistrate may also reward his constables, by giving to

each of them an afternoon’s holiday, and the privilege of

choosing either one or two schoolfellows to enjoy it with

them. When the magistrate shall be absent from school,

he shall appoint a deputy, for whose acts he shall be

responsible.

“‘This appointment of a magistrate has saved me a deal of

trouble in punishing slight offences and deciding disputes.

It appears quite to have put a stop to a practice which

before we never found it possible to check—namely, that of

throwing stones. Indeed, it is a very great improvement

in the management of the school, as from the nature of

the magistrate’s reward, every one is interested in his

performing his duty as much as possible to the satisfaction

of the master. Another improvement in the discipline of the

school is a regulation made a few months ago, which is that

when a boy above the age of twelve leaves the school, a

subcommittee is appointed to draw up his character, subject

to the revisal of the general committee, after which it

is entered in a book kept for the purpose, and read aloud

before the whole school. This law has had an excellent

effect upon all; but particularly upon the elder boys. It

is generally the case at schools that, a short time before

a boy is about to leave, he finds his character at school

to be less and less important as the time for his leaving

approaches, the consequence of which is that he becomes

careless about it, and gives a deal of trouble to his

teachers. But with us the case is exactly reversed: as the

time for leaving approaches, the boy is aware that his

conduct will have a greater and greater effect upon the

character he is to leave behind him, and his behaviour is

accordingly better each day till the time of his removal

arrives.’”

The next entry on the subject of reforms in the school is dated July

11th, 1820:—

“It is now more than six months since I made any entry in this

Journal; during that time I have been engaged in business

almost incessantly. I have introduced many improvements

into our system lately, the most prominent of which is the

adaptation of music to our evolutions. The boys form in

classes, march to their places, to their meals, to bed, down in

the morning, &c., to music; the consequence of which is that

every movement is made in one-half of the time it formerly

occupied, and with one-tenth part of the noise. Another

advantage is the great practice it gives to the band, which now

plays nineteen times a day, without the least injurious effect

to the health of the performers, as they are engaged but for a

minute or two each time.

“I believe I have before mentioned that we have been enabled to

abolish corporal punishment in the school; but as I then looked

upon it as an experiment, I could not speak so confidently of

the result as I now can. It is nearly two years and a-half

since the experiment was first tried, so that I now think

it decisive. The result has far surpassed my most sanguine

expectations. Since its adoption the plan has at various times

received many improvements. A detailed account of it may be

seen in a work we are now preparing for the press, which

contains a complete description of our system of government

in the school. All that is here necessary for me to say is,

that every punishment consists in the forfeiture of counters,

which are the currency of the school, and which are obtained by

excelling in the different classes, by filling various offices,

but principally by work which is done out of the school

hours. The system is so arranged that the boys are induced to

perform these tasks before the fines are incurred, so that

while they are thus engaged they have not the disagreeable

feeling that they are working for punishment,—therefore the

work is performed with pleasure. Our object in instituting

this plan was to remove the disagreeable necessity of corporal

punishment: this we have completely accomplished; but, in

effecting that, we have derived advantages which were not

anticipated, and which are still more important.

“These counters can be obtained by work of almost every

description, done at any time; and there is no one scarcely

who is either so deficient in talent or so indolent, but that

some occupation can be found in which he will engage with

pleasure. [His father, ten years before this, had written,

‘Those who do anything may, in almost all cases, perhaps in all

without exception, be brought to do useful things.’] Indeed,

there have been repeated instances of boys who have entered

the school with the worst of characters for idleness or for

stupidity, who, having been induced by example to engage in

some pursuit which they could follow with pleasure and with

credit, have thus acquired a taste for excellence which has

extended to other things, and have ultimately risen to a very

respectable rank in the school. In short, this has become the

most important part of our system. The school is now, as it

were, a little world. The counters are our currency; trades

and professions of various kinds, from the improvisiatore and

banker to the musician, punch-keeper,[51] and serving-man

are carried on among us. Here may be seen the boy of talent

exercising his ingenuity to obtain opulence by the most speedy

and effectual means, engaged, perhaps, in the construction

of some curious and difficult model, or in rendering into

English verse the poetry of his favourite author of antiquity;

there the industrious boy may be seen who, already rich, from

the love of wealth or the love of riches, is plodding on to

increase his stores; and, alas! not unfrequently may be seen

the little bankrupt, asking the charity of his friends, or

parting with his last marble to save himself from the terrors

of a gaol.

“Indeed, the whole machine of the school (for such is the

regularity of our proceedings that the appellation is not

misapplied) is now become so very perfect that we are able to

appropriate every minute of the day to its respective use; and

the bells ring, the classes assemble, break up, take their

meals, &c., with such clock-like regularity that it has the

appearance almost of magic.

“I believe I may say that by far the greater part of the system

is my own, and I am not a little proud of its effects....

The school is certainly at this time in a very high state of

improvement. Our annual exhibition, which took place about

the middle of June, gave very great satisfaction to the

audience, and considerably raised the character of the school.

The performances consisted principally of the whole of the

‘Rudens’ of Plautus and Miss Edgeworth’s ‘Eton Montem.’ For

this exhibition I painted a new back-scene; it is a view on the

sea-coast.”

In November, 1821, he records:—

“About two months ago I persuaded the teachers to agree

to devote one evening in the week to the consideration of

improvements to be introduced into the proceedings of the

school. We meet every Saturday, from seven till ten in the

evening, and great benefit has already been derived from the

regulation. My principal object in effecting this was to have

an opportunity of operating on the minds of the teachers

themselves; and I find that this has been done to the advantage

of us all.”

“No chance visitor,” I have been informed by one who knew the school

well, “had on that evening the slightest chance of seeing any of the

family. The boys,” he added, “dreaded the conference of teachers, from

the effect it had on them. It kept everything in such excessive rigidity.”

“_March 10th, 1823._—I find the conference a most powerful

engine. It is true that I have given up to it much power which

I previously possessed, but this, perhaps, is more a nominal

than a real sacrifice, and I believe myself to be so true a

friend to liberty, as to like to see others exercise power as

well as myself; and this, I think, few liberty men can say.”

The Journal affords, however, but an imperfect record of this active

little commonwealth. It is in “Public Education” that the constitution

and its working are described at length. Their chief aims are thus

briefly summed-up in the following passage:—

“The great features of the object we have in view will have

been already appreciated, we hope, by the intelligent reader.

We shall be disappointed if he have not already discovered

that by the establishment of a system of legislation and

jurisprudence, wherein the power of the master is bounded

by general rules, and the duties of the scholar accurately

defined, and where the boys themselves are called upon to

examine and decide upon the conduct of their fellows, we have

provided a course of instruction in the great code of morality

which is likely to produce far more powerful and lasting

effects than any quantity of mere precept.”

Undoubtedly the part of the system that would at first sight most

strike an outsider was the power that was placed in the hands of the

boys. Arnold and his government through the sixth form were, as I have

said, still unknown. His sixth-form boys, moreover, were not elected by

their schoolfellows, as they would have been on Rowland Hill’s plan.

He was, indeed, to no small extent, bound down by the traditions—the

_lex non scripta_—of Rugby. But it was by an unwritten law—a law that

was nowhere strictly defined—that his power was limited. The boys of

Hill Top and Hazelwood had a constitution that had not grown, but had

been deliberately made. A few years after it had been promulgated, a

Code of Laws was published, which filled more than a hundred pages of a

closely-printed volume. It opens thus:—

“ORIGIN OF THE CONSTITUTION.

“Convinced that numerous and important advantages would be

derived from engaging their pupils in the consideration and

in the practice of rules for their own government, from

placing restrictions to the powers of the teachers, and from

giving to the regulations of the school a permanent form, the

proprietors, early in the year 1817, proposed to the school a

certain division of powers, together with regulations for their

exercise, which, having received the joint assent of teachers

and pupils, became the constitutional laws of the school;

and, in the confident expectation that the powers placed in

the hands of the pupils would never be employed but for the

welfare of the school, the proprietors pledged themselves not

to alter these laws without the consent of a majority of the

proprietors and regular teachers, meeting in conference, on one

hand, and of a majority of the pupils on the other. With such

joint consent, occasional alterations have been made in the

constitutional laws, tending chiefly, if not entirely, to throw

more and more power into the hands of the pupils.”

Fanciful as this may seem, yet for many years the school was carried on

strictly in accordance with the provisions of this Code, and carried on

with great vigour and spirit. The boys, for the most part, entered with

eagerness into the system, and went through their part in it with zeal.

In an old letter I read that one day the Committee met before breakfast

for the despatch of some important business. A motion was made, and

carried almost unanimously, that they should proceed with the business

without regard to school-time, play-hours, or meals. It was not till

eleven that the work was finished and the Committee adjourned. A jury,

trying a charge of theft, deliberated over its verdict from before noon

till after eight at night. The “School Magazine” records: “The jury

during this time suffered considerably, both from cold and hunger, having

had nothing to eat from breakfast, at nine, till after the verdict was

given.” In nine years nearly six hundred cases came before the Court; out

of these there were but nine appeals to the Committee, which formed the

Higher Court.

The part of the system which in my judgment is most worthy of study is

that to which its founder gave the name of “Voluntary Labour.” So highly

did he himself think of it that he always reckoned it among the three

inventions on which he might chiefly pride himself. The other two were

his Printing Press and his Penny Postage. In an extract that I have

given from his Journal,[52] this device is partly explained. In “Public

Education” it is described at length: there we read:—

“The favourite subjects seem to be working the printing-press;

penmanship of various kinds; drawing, etching, and painting;

constructing maps, making surveys, and delineating mathematical

diagrams; reading books on which they prepare themselves for

answering questions; studying music; modelling animals and

constructing machines; filling offices bearing salaries;

learning orations, extracts from the poets, parts in plays, and

dialogues; taking reports of lectures, trials, and debates;

and composition, in prose and verse, in various languages.

This department, which is now become so important a feature in

our system, took its rise from the necessity of furnishing to

boys who had no chance of obtaining marks by excelling their

schoolfellows, opportunities of gaining them by working harder

than those to whom nature had been more propitious. It appeared

to us that, as in the common course of events this must be

their lot in after-life, it would be well to accustom them to

it in their early years; nor were we without hopes that their

superior industry would enable them to press on the heels of

their competitors, and to show them that talent alone would not

be sufficient, at all times, to secure superiority. It seemed

also of consequence to make imprisonment as rare as possible,

both because it is attended with unavoidable disgrace—to which

no mind can with safety be frequently exposed—and because,

unlike labour, it is pain without any utility, except that of

example, which appertains to all judicious penalty of whatever

kind....

... “One of the most valuable habits of life is that of

completing every undertaking. The mental dissipation in which

persons of talent often indulge, and to which they are,

perhaps, more prone than others, is destructive beyond what

can readily be imagined.... The habit of finishing ought to

be formed in early youth. We take care to reward no boy for

fragments, whatever may be their excellence. We know nothing

of his exertions until they come before us in a state of

completion.”

A few years ago Sir Rowland Hill made the following record as regards

this scheme of Voluntary Work:—

“One sequel of this plan (it might be too much to call it a

consequence), I mention with the permission of the gentleman

concerned. Amongst those who adopted drawing as his chief

occupation was a little boy who, up to that time, had shown no

particular aptitude for any kind of study. Here, however, he

succeeded so well as soon to attract no small attention. His

power was fostered then and afterwards, and painting eventually

became his profession. Of his eminence in the art I need not

speak, the works of Thomas Creswick needing no eulogy.”

The plan that he devised for putting a check on fights among the boys was

as ingenious as it was successful. Fighting had hitherto been against the

rule, but it had gone on much as in most other schools. He brought it

almost to an end by withdrawing the prohibition. Boys might fight as much

as they liked if the combat took place in strict accordance with the new

regulations. If, however, they fought in defiance of them, not only the

“mighty opposites” themselves, but also all the spectators of the fray,

were severely punished. “It was the duty of the eldest boy present, under

a heavy penalty, to convey immediate information to the Magistrate, that

the parties might be separated.” Those, however, who wished to fight in

the manner that the law directed, gave notice of their intention to the

Magistrate. It was his duty to inquire into the cause of the quarrel, and

to do his best to reconcile the parties. If, however, after six hours

had passed by he had not been able to settle “the swelling difference

of their settled hate,” then he and his two assistants took them to a

retired spot in the playground, where they could fight it out. Meanwhile,

all the rest of the boys were confined to the school-room. In later years

one of the masters was made the Marshal of the Lists, and not a single

boy was allowed to be present. In the first three months after the new

rules had been laid down, four formal fights took place. In the next four

years there were but two. Informal combats still went on to some extent,

but “in every instance early information was conveyed to the Magistrate,

who immediately separated the belligerents.” The result was that fighting

soon became almost unknown.

Another institution is thus described in “Public Education:”—

“The Committee has the management of the School Fund. It

amounts now to upwards of £100 per annum, and is partly

furnished by the proprietors of the school, and partly by the

parents of the boys. It is expended, for the most part, in the

purchase of philosophical instruments, musical instruments,

apparatus for printing, maps, school-coin, and books for the

school library, the pupils being invited to recommend the

purchase of books or other articles by entries in a register

kept for the purpose. To those who have not witnessed the

prudence and uprightness with which very young persons can be

taught to use power, it may appear a dangerous arrangement to

intrust boys with the disposal of such a fund; but we have

never had the slightest reason to regret the experiment. At the

end of each session—the interval from vacation to vacation—the

Committee prepares a statement of the expenditure, which is

printed at the school press, and each pupil takes home a copy

for the perusal of his friends. Thus a powerful check is

furnished, if any were required, to improper expenditure. The

advantages derived to the boys from the management of this

fund are very considerable. To discuss the various merits and

defects of books and instruments, to ascertain where and how

they can be best procured, to transact the business attendant

on their purchase, and to keep the necessary accounts, must

all be useful exercises. Neither can it be doubted that these

preliminaries to the possession of a desired object, very

much tend to heighten its value, and increase the wish for

its preservation. Thus habits of care are induced which are

of the highest importance. Our school-rooms are all hung

with valuable prints and maps. The musical instruments are

constantly accessible to all the boys. The library contains

many costly books, and property of a great variety of kinds is

constantly exposed to the use of our pupils with almost perfect

safety.”[53]

The punctuality that was established in the school was very striking.

To use the words of “Public Education,” it was “an almost superstitious

punctuality.”

“Punctuality of attendance entitles a boy to a reward, which

goes on increasing from week to week during all the half-year,

until the progression is interrupted by a failure, after which

it commences anew.”

It went on not only from week to week, but from half-year to half-year.

If a boy were a single second late at a single roll-call, his name was

struck off the list, and he had to begin again. “Neither illness nor

engagement of any kind was a valid plea for absence.” It was his duty not

to get ill, and it was the duty of his friends not to call him away from

school on any grounds whatever. If there was any marrying, christening,

or dying to be gone through in his family, it should be gone through in

holiday time. In this “almost superstitious punctuality” I was myself

brought up till I went to the University. There, as I well remember, I

received a kind of shock when I found my superstition treated with scorn.

The first time that I went to the lecture-room, I entered it on the first

stroke of the hour. My tutor received me with a look of mild wonder; but,

happily, he spared me his reproof. Ten minutes later in came the rest of

my companions. It was some days before I could break through the frost of

custom, and summon up resolution to be unpunctual. When, however, I found

out how worthless the lectures commonly were, I recognised that even the

custom of punctuality may be more honoured in the breach than in the

observance.

The rank of the boys was fixed each week, and fixed on a different

arrangement:—

“For one week the rank of each boy depends upon his progress in

Greek, as far down the school as that language is taught. Those

who do not learn Greek follow according to their proficiency

in some other study. Latin determines the order for another

week, geometry for a third, and so forth. Most of the studies

determine the arrangement for a single week each; but a few,

which are very important, decide it for two distinct weeks in

each half-year.”

This peculiar arrangement is thus defended:—

“It is of great importance that the pupil should, very early

in life, have an opportunity of tasting the pleasure of

success; and, in order to ensure so desirable an end, we have

been careful to attach rank to excellence in each department,

sometimes ranging our pupils in the order of classical

attainments; then as mathematicians; then according to manual

excellence; and, lastly, according to their general conduct

and behaviour. Thus each boy in his turn attains rank and

consideration in that branch of study wherein nature has fitted

him to excel, and where comparatively moderate efforts will

ensure success.”

Twice each half-year the rank of the boys was determined by their

conduct:—

“In arranging the boys according to propriety of manners

and general good conduct, which is done twice in the course

of each half-year, the teachers determine the rank of every

boy to the best of their discretion. In doing this, however,

they are materially assisted by the various records which are

preserved of the good and bad conduct of the scholars. On the

day previous to an arrangement of this description, all such

records are posted into a ledger, where each boy has a debtor

and creditor account, which every one has an opportunity of

inspecting, that he may satisfy himself as to its correctness.”

The “Edinburgh Review” for January, 1825, contains a lively description

of the school in “the report of a very intelligent friend, who lately

inspected the whole establishment in the most careful manner.” This

friend was Captain Basil Hall.

“After observing generally that he has no hesitation in saying

that the scheme works admirably in practice, he proceeds:—

“‘The most striking circumstance, perhaps, is the universal

cheerfulness and the kindly terms which the boys are on

with the masters. I had abundant opportunity of satisfying

myself that this was sincere. There was also an air of

hearty attention to their business, which I never saw in

any other school—no languor, no yawning—but all activity,

and abstraction from everything but the lesson. They

all seemed to go about their work like persons who knew

their business, and had no doubts about success; and the

frequent changes from topic to topic kept this degree of

animation always afloat. The various musterings, ringing

of bells, music and marching, which certainly in the book

appear a little like trifling and loss of time, are, in

practice, excellently adapted to maintain good order,

and are all performed so rapidly, that although I was

quite familiar with the description, and was warned by

the master from time to time what was going to be done, I

could not, sometimes with the closest attention, follow

these movements. In a written description it will sometimes

happen that what in fact is the work of a moment, and must

be performed in some manner at every school, occupies

as much space and is as prominently put forward as the

essential instruction which these mere forms are but the

preparation for. And I think it right to state that, after

seeing the whole proceedings of a day, I am not aware

that any of those musterings and other arrangements,

having punctuality as their object, could be dispensed

with without harm. The music consists of a band of twelve

boys. Their instruments are the same as those used by

military bands, and they play extremely well. The study of

music, of drawing, of fencing, and several other similar

accomplishments, is quite voluntary. The play hours of

the boys are occupied partly in mere play, but chiefly

in objects having some useful end in view. They have a

printing-press of their own, and publish a monthly magazine

embellished with etchings on copper, and lithographic

prints, all executed by the boys. Reports of their trials

are given at length; the school discipline is canvassed;

accounts of the expenditure of their funds are drawn up in

a business-like manner; and, in short, the whole system is

a curious epitome of real life. It is extremely important

to remark that all this, being quite general, the every-day

business of their lives, produces no coxcombry amongst the

boys. They are not converted, as I had apprehended they

would be, into little men. They are still boys, but boys

with heads and hands fully employed on topics they like.

“‘They were all very neatly dressed, and remarkably clean

and tidy—all rosy and healthy-looking, and merry as

any children could be at home. The house is thoroughly

ventilated. Their library is well arranged and catalogued.

It is managed, like everything else, exclusively by

the boys. Everybody is allowed to propose any book for

purchase, and the name is submitted to a committee, who

decide.’”

The account that Mr. W. L. Sargant gives of the school is not so

favourable.[54]

“Hazelwood was so different from other schools, that there

would inevitably be great varieties of opinion as to its

merits. The men educated there have not generally done it

justice, and I confess that I formerly shared in their

depreciation of it; yet, when I once spoke slightingly of it to

a near relative who had known me from childhood, he objected

that so competent a judge as my father was well pleased to get

such an education for me. I fancy that the Hills taught us to

be unjust to themselves—that they stimulated us to aspire to a

higher degree of excellence than they enabled us to reach; that

they excited a thirst they could not quench, and thus sent us

away with a painful consciousness of deficiencies.”

In another passage he writes: “Whatever fifty years ago might be the

merits of Hill Top, it was a gain to a boy to be in daily intercourse

with men of such ability.” He goes on to say:—

“By juries and committees, by marks, and by appeals to a sense

of honour, discipline was maintained. But this was done, I

think, at too great a sacrifice. The thoughtlessness, the

spring, the elation of childhood, were taken from us; we were

premature men.... The school was, in truth, a moral hot-bed,

which forced us into a precocious imitation of maturity. I

have heard an Oxford friend say that Arnold’s men had a little

of the prig about them. I know too well that some of us had

a great deal of the prig about us. I have often wished that

I had the ‘giftie to see ourselves as others see us;’ but I

have comforted myself with observing that in later life my

schoolfellows (perhaps, therefore, I myself) outgrew this

unamiable character. The Hazelwood constitution, discipline,

instruction, were in a perpetual flux: the right to-day was

wrong to-morrow; we learnt to criticise and doubt everything

established; ‘whatever is, is wrong,’ might have been our

motto. We had a conceit that we could amend everything, from

education to driving a horse. This constituted our priggism.”

Rowland Hill as a schoolmaster was, in his way, as stern as Arnold. He

voluntarily, indeed, gave up power, but he constantly held that a master

must be first feared and then loved. He was certainly always feared by

his pupils, and always respected; but he was never loved. Tender though

his inward nature was, yet for their love he cared but little. He aimed

at their welfare. In the discharge of the duty which he owed them, he

was willing to make any sacrifice of his time, his liberty, and his

pleasures. He ever strove to treat them with the strictest justice. But

he asked for no return of their affection. Should he receive it, he was

gratified; but was it refused him, he could do without it. No small

insight into his character is given by the following passage in “Public

Education”:—

“We perfectly agree with Rousseau, that the severest evil which

children suffer is the bondage which they endure. We also agree

with him, that the restraints of necessity are more easily

borne than those which are imposed by the will of others. ‘It

is in the nature of man,’ says he, ‘to endure patiently the

absolute necessity of his circumstances.’ ‘It is all gone,’ is

an answer against which a child never objects; at least, if

he believes it to be true.’[55] Experience must establish the

truth of this position in every mind; we all know that a child

leaves off crying for the moon years before he submits without

a struggle to the commands of his parents. The cause of this

difference arises, we think, partly from the uniform regularity

with which the natural restraints operate, and partly because

the child observes that all around him are subjected to the

same laws. If the child had ever had the moon, or if it had

ever seen the moon in the possession of another person, it

would not be so patient under the privation. Sagacious parents

are aware of this, and take every means of showing their

children that their determinations are as unalterable as

those of nature; and certainly much may be done by prudently

avoiding hasty determinations with respect to children, and by

inflexibly persisting in all determinations when made.”

In governing his school, and in later years in governing all who were

placed under his authority, this was the rule that he always aimed at

carrying out. By nature, indeed, he was far too hasty in coming to a

determination. Nay, he was hot-tempered, and even passionate. No sooner

had he discovered his fault than he set about to find for it a cure. One

of the methods that he took was certainly very strange. “He gave public

notice to the boys that if any one saw him in a passion he might come

up and tell him so; receiving a small reward for so doing. This reward

was obtained more than once.” He was so rigidly just that no boy who

had played the part of Gil Blas would have found in him an Archbishop

of Granada. By his Code of Laws he still further put himself under

restraint. Every breach of school law, every offence against a master,

had its exact penalty fixed. But when once the penalty had been incurred,

it was enforced to the full. His determinations, indeed, were as

unalterable as those of nature. His strong will and his undaunted courage

could not but have won his pupils’ respect. One of them has told me how

he remembers a day at Hill Top, when a big fellow, who could easily

have knocked his master down, set him at defiance before all the boys.

“Rowland Hill ran up to him, seized him by the collar, and said, ‘If you

don’t do it this moment, I will knock you down.’ The fellow was cowed

in a moment, and, though he was by far the stronger of the two, at once

obeyed.” This happened, I should add, in the days before the Constitution

had been promulgated, and while the rod still flourished. No doubt he

would have been better liked had he not been so over-worked and so

over-weary. “There was always in him,” another of his pupils tells me, “a

nervous fidgetiness that things should be done rightly.” His impatience

arose from an over-wrought brain. But few signs of it were seen by those

who knew him only in later life in his hours of repose. Life’s evening

brought him calm.

Though the system that I have thus described was mainly Rowland’s, yet at

no time was he without the help of at least one of his brothers in the

management of the school. Matthew withdrew at an early period to go to

the Bar. His place was taken by the fourth brother, Arthur. I find the

following record in Rowland’s Journal:—

“Arthur has made himself master of Latin by very intense

application. This circumstance is a considerable relief to

my mind. When I first determined to follow, at least for the

first part of my life, the business of a schoolmaster, I had no

doubt that Matthew would remain with us, and that eventually

we should become partners in the management of the school. As

Matthew was a good classical scholar, I thought that he would

take that department of instruction, and that I had better

pursue the mathematics, a study better suited to my taste than

any other. When Matthew entered as a student at Lincoln’s Inn,

all my plans and hopes were disarranged. I have been long

undetermined how to proceed, and lately I made up my mind to

pursue the study of languages, as I considered a classical

knowledge as absolutely necessary to the master of a school;

but now Arthur has taken that department, and as I have no

doubt he will manage it well, I shall pursue my mathematical

studies with increased ardour.”

The young master soon gave proof of his vigour:—

“_June 17th, 1818._—This evening and the last some of our

boys performed the whole of Plautus’s ‘Captives.’ They were

astonishingly perfect.

* * * * *

“_July 20th, 1820._—In Arthur I find a most able ally in the

executive part of the business. His application is almost

incessant, and I am sorry to say it has materially injured his

eyesight. Under his care the boys have made wonderful progress

in the classics. We have found that frequent exercise in Latin

dialogue has been of the greatest use in the acquirement of

that language: for this purpose an act of a Latin play is

learned and performed every month. At the same time other boys

are engaged in shorter Latin dialogues, in Greek recitation,

and in the performance of scenes from the works of the French

dramatists. The very frequent rehearsals which are necessary,

the circumstance of their being engaged in a real conversation,

frequently speaking of real and tangible objects, familiarizes

them wonderfully with the language they are using, and is, I

believe, the nearest approach that can be made to the mode in

which we learn our native language. For this, as well as for

many other valuable improvements, we are indebted to my brother

Matthew.”

A week or two earlier than the date of this entry their father had thus

written about the two young men:—

“Rowland and Arthur are most laborious and successful fellows.

I hope that they are building a reputation that may make

them comfortable in their fortunes. But all that is human is

precarious. Time and chance must happen to them as to all. A

good conscience is the only treasure insured against all risks,

and this is a treasure which I trust my dear children will

never feel the want of.”

The school steadily rose in reputation and in numbers. Hill Top was

before long found to be too confined for the swelling scene, and a new

school-house was built.

“_December 21st, 1817._—During the holidays it is my intention

to finish the plans, &c., and to make a model of a new house,

which we intend to erect in the country, most probably at

Edgbaston.

“_December 20th, 1818._—A few days ago, without any

solicitation, or even a hint on my part, my father took me

into partnership: that is to say, all our business since has

been carried on under the firm of Thomas Wright Hill and Son.

I do not know whether my father intends to give me a share of

the profits of the business, and I shall say nothing about

it myself till he can better afford it, which, when we have

got over the difficulties occasioned by our building so large

a house, will I hope be very soon. Our school has slowly

increased for many years, and we have now upwards of seventy

boys.”

In the following passage he has recorded how he was his own architect and

his own clerk of the works:—

“As the duty of architect devolved entirely on me, I had fallen

to drawing plans, designing elevations, &c., and after much

labour—for I believe I drew at least twenty plans in all—my

work being in a sufficiently forward state, a builder was

applied to for an estimate; but the amount he named being too

large for our means, I had gone to work a second time, and

formed, after many attempts at economy, an entirely new set of

plans, which considerably lowered the estimate; and on the more

moderate expense we resolved to venture.

“It was in the summer of 1818 that the building began. My

father having found that, with but slight deviation from

the line of road, the house might be made to stand in exact

coincidence with the cardinal points, would, I believe,

from that moment, have been almost more willing to abandon

the scheme than to lose such an opportunity of gratifying

his taste. For this purpose astronomical observations were

necessary; and my father, my brother Frederic, and I, sat up

the whole of one night (July 3rd) to determine the meridian.

Of course the middle part of the night was unoccupied, but

excitement kept us awake; and my brother Frederic, then a lad

of fifteen, no more sleepy than the rest, passed the time in

ascertaining by measurement and mental calculation the number

of bricks already on the ground. Such calculations occupying

the restless hours of the night were too common with more than

one member of our family, and most of all, I believe, with

myself. One night, some time after this, when the building

was completed, I passed a sleepless period in reckoning up

mentally the total payment to be made for painting, colouring,

and whitewashing the house from top to bottom. Having made the

plans, I had all the dimensions in memory; but the number of

rooms being large, their dimensions exceedingly various, and

the charge per square yard differing also in respect of the

description of paint used, number of coats, &c., there was

of course a good deal of complication. The calculation was,

however, completed. On the presentation of the bill I found

that the amount somewhat exceeded my calculation, but I soon

detected certain charges made contrary to agreement; and this

error being admitted by the contractor, the excess above my

estimate became so trifling that the bill was paid without

further examination.

“To return a little, I must mention that besides being

architect, I found myself compelled to act as clerk of the

works, as without sharp daily inspection—hourly would have

been better if I could have spared the time—there were

constant departures from the contract, some of which would

have proved very injurious to the building. As I had the main

responsibility of the school during most of the time, and no

vehicle at command, the two miles and back having therefore

always to be performed on foot, the work was very heavy,

though probably the exercise involved was beneficial. In July,

1819, the house being finished, to which we gave the name of

Hazelwood, the school was removed thither; and in our larger

and more commodious premises we were enabled to make various

improvements hitherto impracticable.”[56]

The responsibility that he had incurred weighed heavily on him, as more

than one passage in his Journal shows:—

“I am very sanguine that the change of situation will be much

to our advantage. If such is not the case, I shall be very

miserable, as although the determination to build has been made

with the consent and decided approbation of every member of the

family, yet I have been the prime mover in the business, and

have become, as it were, the responsible person. I must own

that I am a little anxious about it.”

A year later (June 17th, 1819), writing to his eldest brother, he says:—

“This is an anxious time to us all. I hope the experiment will

succeed. If it does not, I shall be very miserable, as I have

been prime mover in inducing them to try it. But, however, at

present everything promises well.”

His cares were soon lessened. The venture was found to be a sound one,

and the new building thoroughly answered its purpose.

“We find that comfort we expected from the superior convenience

of the house. Every one who visits it is delighted with its

plan, and it is so seldom that a house is built purposely for

a school that it has been the object of considerable interest.

At present we have every reason to be satisfied with our

determination to remove from Hill Top.”

He had seen but twenty-four years, and though old when measured by work,

he was young enough thoroughly to enjoy his complete success. Three years

later “Public Education” was brought out, and Hazelwood School became

famous. It was while the book was ready for publication that the young

enthusiast had pleased himself with the belief that the improvements

which he and his brothers were making in the science of education would

render their name illustrious in after ages. How bright for a brief time

this vision was, and how it quickly faded away, I shall show later on.

Here I shall make a break in my narrative, while I recount some of the

incidents of his boyhood and early manhood.

CHAPTER V.

From his early boyhood Rowland Hill delighted in long walks. He would

go many a mile to see either fine scenery or an old building. Of what

had pleased him as a boy, he never grew weary as a man. He had never, he

said, to the best of his belief, come within thirty miles of Stonehenge

without going to see it. When he was a lad of eleven he paid a visit to

Shrewsbury. How deeply what he saw impressed him is shown by an account

which he drew up in his old age:—

“Those who have travelled along the same road will remember [he

writes] the fine view which bursts upon the sight from the top

of a hill a little beyond Shifnal, and may imagine the delight

felt thereat by three lads accustomed to little but the plains

of Warwickshire.”

No less charmed was he with his first sight of the Severn:—

“Those who have lived from infancy where a river flows can have

no conception of its attraction to those who at a later age see

it for the first time. The motion of the water, the breadth

of the stream, the barges on its surface, with their sails

sometimes unfurled to the wind, the lofty bridges, with their

series of arches, were such never-ending charms that we could

not understand how any one could regard them with indifference.”

It was Assize time at Shrewsbury, and he was taken to see a criminal

trial:—

“Of all that passed before our eyes or occupied our thoughts

during this ever-to-be-remembered visit, incomparably the

most striking and impressive scene was a criminal trial. The

spacious court, the crowded benches, the barristers in their

robes, the servitors with their javelins, the awful presence

of the judge when he entered amidst the sound of the trumpet

and took his seat on the lofty bench, all prepared our minds

for the solemn inquiry about to begin. The case was one of

burglary, attended with violence. The cottage of an aged

couple had been entered and robbed, the old man being severely

beaten by one of the offenders, who all—three in number—had

been subsequently apprehended. Of these, one—whose part in

the proceeding had gone no further than keeping watch at the

door (so at least he alleged)—had, while in prison on another

charge, given the information which enabled justice to lay

hands on the others, and had consequently been admitted as

King’s evidence. I need not say that we felt towards him the

dislike and contempt with which an approver is generally

regarded. His fellows in crime, particularly the chief

offender, took their places at the bar with a demeanour that

astonished us, so completely did it differ from all that we

had expected. Doubtless they were seeking to cover their real

trepidation with an appearance of unconcern; but this we

could not then understand. They taboured on the front of the

dock with their fingers, looked about in a defiant manner,

and nodded in various directions, as if in recognition of

acquaintances. They were defended by counsel; and an attempt

was made to take the offence out of the category of burglary,

first by the plea that it was not committed by night (the hour

being no later than nine on a summer’s evening), and, secondly,

by the allegation that as the door was on the latch, the house

could not be said to have been broken open—points made, of

course, in desperation, and very summarily dealt with by the

judge. The only further attempt was to discredit the evidence

of the approver, who was severely cross-examined, though the

following short passage is all that I now remember of the

process: ‘How came you to think of informing?’ ‘Because my

conscience told me I had done _wrang_.’ ‘And why didn’t your

conscience tell you you had done _wrang_ before you got into

prison for stealing the pig?’ The evidence was too strong to

be shaken, and both prisoners were convicted. Of course when

such a host of minor offences were capital, so grave a crime

as this was on the fatal list; and we heard the judge, after

putting on the black cap, pronounce the terrible sentence of

death. The defiant look put on at first was still maintained

by both prisoners; but when the judge, after warning the more

ruffianly of the two that he could not hold out to him any hope

of mercy, addressed his companion, telling him that, as he had

abstained from violence, his life would be spared, this latter

at once broke down, falling upon his knees, while he poured out

his thanks and promises of amendment. Shortly afterwards the

sentence passed on the other was executed; and somewhat beyond

the fatal hour, while going on an errand, I unfortunately and

most unintentionally caught a distant sight of the hanging

body.”

For many years his excursions were chiefly made on foot. Though his

health was at all times of his life delicate, yet his frame was active,

and capable of great endurance. He was, when a boy, one of the quickest

runners and best leapers in the school, and he became a strong swimmer.

“I walked to Stourbridge once a week, to give a lesson,” he records in

his Journal. “This I could do without the least fatigue, as it is only

twelve miles from hence, and I have often walked upwards of thirty miles

in one day.” His fondness for feats led him, he said, to hazard his

health. Thus, once in a walk of five-and-twenty miles in a hilly country,

he went the last mile on the run. In his Journal he recorded many of his

trips. In the year 1813 he was taken, for the benefit of his health, to

Margate. “We could see,” he wrote, “the coast of France. My mother was

rather uneasy at being so near to the French.” He walked over to Dover,

and began to sketch the castle and town from the Castle Hill. Some

soldiers told him that a day or two before a man had been put into prison

for drawing there:—

“I could not, however, believe them, and went on with my

drawing. However, in a little time a file of soldiers came out

of the Castle with fixed bayonets, and told me that if I did

not go away directly they would take me into custody. I now

thought it time to be gone, and so walked away to our lodgings,

with no wish to stop in a town where the inhabitants were under

a military government.”

The following year peace was made with France:—

“_June 3rd, 1814._—About three o’clock this morning the

glorious news of the signature of the preliminaries for peace

arrived in Birmingham. I was up at four o’clock for the purpose

of going to Hagley, to which place I had the pleasure of taking

the news. I never saw so many pleasant faces in my life.”

In the summer of 1815 he again went to Margate. How he found money to pay

for the trip he has thus left on record:—

“My eldest brother and I, who, on account of depressed health,

had two years before been taken by my mother to Margate (much

to my delight, as I then first saw London and the sea), were

eager to repeat the trip, and not having the means at hand,

set about to acquire them. Availing ourselves of such of

the apparatus used at my father’s late lecture, and those

delivered eight years before, as belonged to the family, we

boldly determined to give four public lectures ourselves, the

admission to be by purchased tickets. My brother was to do the

speaking part, and I, as before, to manage the experiments.

While, however, we made every preparation with great diligence,

we unluckily had yet to learn that audiences are scarcely to

be collected without full notice; and our notification to the

public was so short and imperfect, that when the day was close

at hand we found that either we must be satisfied with an

audience of thirty persons, or fill the school-room where the

lecture was to be delivered by gratuitous admission. Taking

this latter course, we performed to an audience which gave

us abundant applause, but did little to forward our ulterior

object. Nothing daunted, we resolved to try elsewhere, in a

more advised manner; and being encouraged thereto by our friend

Mr. Beasley, we proceeded, after due preparation of all sorts,

to the little town of Stourbridge; hiring a man with a cart to

convey the apparatus, and ourselves performing the journey on

foot. Here our success was considerable, the result being due,

I have no doubt, in great measure to our warm-hearted friend,

who was an enthusiastic admirer of us both, and by no means

kept his flattering estimate to himself.

“Our total profits being sufficient to warrant the journey,

we took it accordingly; intending thereby to get up such a

stock of health as would carry us briskly through the next

half-year.”[57]

He left Birmingham for London at half-past six o’clock in the evening of

June 23rd.

“At about three o’clock in the afternoon of the next day we

entered London, amidst the thunder of carriages and the buzz of

people.

* * * * *

“In the afternoon I went to see the Exhibition of Paintings

at Somerset House. Of the landscapes, Turner’s pleased me

most: there was one, a most beautiful painting, called ‘The

Rebuilding of Carthage.’ Turner is almost the only man who

attempts to paint the sun. It is done in this picture with

great success. It quite dazzled my eyes to look at it. The

reflection of the sun’s rays upon the water was remarkably

fine. The Exhibition closed this evening for the season. I

stopped as long as I could.”

The same evening he went to Drury Lane and saw Kean. The after-piece was

very bad. “I should have thought that a London audience would not have

sat to hear such stuff.” On leaving the theatre he “walked about the

streets to see the illuminations for the late victory at Waterloo.”

“_Margate, July 3rd, 1815._—We went to see the steam-boat

come in from London. It is worked by means of two wheels,

resembling water-wheels, one of which is placed on each

side of the vessel, and about a-half sunk in the water. It

comes from London and returns three times in each week. It

generally performs the voyage in about twelve hours. In the

best cabin there is a handsome library, draught-boards, &c. It

is surprising to see how most people are prejudiced against

this packet. Some say that it cannot sail against the wind if

it is high; but when it entered the harbour the wind and tide

were both against it, and the former rather rough, yet I saw

it stem both.” “There was,” he said, “a great crowd, and much

enthusiasm, though carpers predicted failure, and sneered at

‘smoke-jacks.’”

He visited Canterbury. In mentioning the destruction of Thomas a’Becket’s

tomb, he writes:—

“There are, indeed, few monuments which were erected prior to

the Reformation but what are defaced some way or other. It is

surprising that people should be so bigoted against bigotry.”

On his return to London he was introduced to the painter West:—

“We went to his house this morning, and saw some hundreds of

paintings, all by West. How proud must he feel in walking

through his gallery to see so many proofs of his own industry!

While we were looking at the paintings Mr. West came by. I was

introduced to him, and had the honour of conversing with him

for some time.... He is a fine old man, upwards of seventy

years of age.”

Soon after his return home he obtained an appointment. His father might a

second time have written “preferment goes on among us.”

“_August 30th, 1815._—At the last meeting of the Committee of

the Institution for the Education of Deaf and Dumb Children,

established in this town a few years ago, my father was elected

to the office of secretary, and I am to be sub-secretary, for

which I am to receive a salary of £20 per annum.”

About this appointment he thus wrote in later years:—

“This post I gladly accepted, as it would make a very handsome

addition to my pocket money. I soon found, however, that the

duties were by no means merely nominal; the current labour

being considerable, and the minutes, from the commencement of

the Institution, which existed only in rough, having all to

be transcribed. This appointment was very useful to me, as I

was called upon to transact semi-public business, and was,

moreover, at the meetings of the committee and elsewhere,

brought into contact with men whose superior attainments made

me feel keenly the necessity for increasing my own. This post I

retained until the increasing demands of the school compelled

me to give it up.”

In the summer holidays of the next year (1816) he made with some of his

companions a tour in Derbyshire. He thus describes two of the views that

he saw:—

“The views in this valley, varying at every step, are

extremely beautiful. Sometimes the river is pent in between

the surrounding hills, and the eye is at a loss to discover

the passage by which it enters or leaves the valley. Proceed a

little further, and the spectator is enchanted with the long

perspective of woody hills and barren rocks between which the

rapid Derwent pours its foaming waters.... As we sat with the

window open to enjoy the freshness of the air, the massive

outline of the opposite rocks, just distinguished through the

gloom of night, and the silence of evening, which was only

broken by the low murmur occasioned by a fall in the river,

created very pleasing sensations in our minds. It was a kind of

_silence hearable_, if I may be allowed to use a parody.”

They went to see a great chasm in the earth called Elden Hole. It was, as

they learnt on the way, enclosed by a wall:—

“The woman went with us who keeps the key. On the road

we entered into a discussion respecting the right of the

landholder to lock up such a place, which debate was

interspersed with many learned remarks respecting the

equality of birthright, &c., but when we came to the hole we

were unanimous in agreeing that it was for the good of the

neighbourhood that it should be very securely fenced.... We

threw several large stones down the hole. The noise which

they made was at first very loud; it then ceased, as though

the stone had lodged upon some projecting part of the rock;

directly after the noise was continued, but less loud; then it

became a long unequal moan, which imperceptibly died away.”

On his way home he and one of his companions walked in one day from

Ashbourne to Birmingham, a distance of forty-three miles. For many days

heavy rains had fallen, and the river Dove had overflowed its banks:—

“When we came to a turn in the road, about a furlong from the

bridge, we were surprised to find the road and the fields on

each side, as far as the eye could reach, covered with water.

The top of the bridge was the only dry spot we could see....

It was a distressing sight. Most of the fields had but a few

days before been mown. The tops of the haycocks could just be

seen above the water. A great number of men were employed in

carrying away as much of the hay as could be saved from the

flood. Whilst we were waiting, undetermined what steps to take,

two men came up who had ridden through the flood on horseback.

They told us that the road was inundated for a mile and a-half,

that in some places it was very deep, and that the water was

rising very fast.

“We inquired if there was any other road by which we could

reach Lichfield (the next town on our road), and were informed

that there was none but what, it was most probable, would be

in the same situation. Our only alternative, therefore, was

either to go back to Sudbury, and perhaps remain there two or

three days, or wade through the flood. As we were both able to

swim, should it be necessary, we determined to proceed. We were

able to reach the bridge by going out of the road and along a

field, but could proceed no further in that way. We now sat

down and took off the lower parts of our dresses, made bundles

of them, which, together with our folios, we fastened upon our

backs, that our arms might be at liberty if we should find it

necessary to swim, and waded through the water. We did not find

it so deep as we expected. By keeping the highest part of the

road, we never found the water more than three feet in depth.”

They reached Lichfield at five in the afternoon. Not having yet had

enough of the water, they stopped to bathe in the canal, and saw the

Birmingham coach go by:—

“After bathing, I found that my heel, in consequence of the

continual rubbing of my shoe, had become very painful, so much

so that it was with the greatest difficulty that I could walk

at all. But I managed to double the heel of my shoe under my

foot, and tie on the shoe with strings, and then I could walk

very well.

“The next coach passed us when we were within about eight miles

of Birmingham, and then we determined to walk the whole of the

way.

“Before this it began to rain, and did not cease till we

reached home, which was at about eleven o’clock. Having walked

forty-three miles, we were not ashamed to own ourselves

tolerably well tired.”

Writing in 1817, he records in his Journal:—

“A Hampden Club was formed in this place, I think about

twelve months since, for the purpose of promoting a reform in

the Commons House of Parliament. It consists chiefly of the

working-class, though some of its members have a right to rank

higher.... The conduct of this body of men throughout has been

such as reflects great honour upon them. When their number was

small, they met at some public-house; but our magistrates, by

threatening to take away the publican’s licences, managed to

displace them, and in this way they followed them from house to

house....

“These meetings throughout the country are the true reason

of the suspension of the Habeas Corpus Act, and the passing

of the gagging bills, and other tyrannical acts, tending to

abridge the liberty of the people of this country, and not

any conspiracy, as the ministers wish the old women, male and

female, to believe.

“It is very probable that a few individuals, whose distresses

and misfortunes have accumulated upon them till they have been

driven to despair, may have formed the mad scheme of conspiring

against the government; not that I think they were at all

connected with the attack upon the Prince Regent, which, in

my opinion, was the mere ebullition of popular discontent.

But what can three or four wretched fanatics do towards the

overthrow of a government, though they may be in possession

of a _stocking full_ of ammunition?[58] Since the passing

of these acts, great numbers of people have been arrested

upon _suspicion_ and sent to prison, where they will be kept

during the pleasure of a rascally administration, or till the

expiration of the acts. Great numbers of valuable members of

the community have left this country for America, unwilling to

live where they can only enjoy their liberty at the pleasure of

the ministry.”

In the Easter holidays of 1817, he set out on another trip:—

“_April 4th, 1817._—After having breakfasted, we set out on

foot at a quarter after three in the morning. We reached

Wolverhampton at a little before seven.... We dined at Shifnal,

at a baker’s shop, on bread and butter. Our dinner cost us not

quite fourpence each.”

At Shrewsbury he found that there was a strong competition among the

coach proprietors, and that the fare to Liverpool had been reduced to

four shillings:—

“As such an opportunity might never occur again, we determined

upon setting out the next morning.”

At Chester he had time to see the cathedral:—

“I do not know whether, as this was Easter Sunday, a better

choir of singers than usual had been provided, but I never

heard any singing which pleased me so much. The organ, a

fine-toned instrument, was played with great skill. I cannot

better describe the effect of this heavenly harmony than by a

quotation from the beautiful poem of ‘The Sabbath.’”[59]

From Liverpool they walked out to the village of Bootle, where they

looked about for an inn in which to pass the night:—

“The only inn in the village is ‘The Bootle Hotel.’ We were

afraid of that word ‘hotel,’ and, learning that there was

another inn to be found a little further on, we proceeded; but

this we found as much too mean as the other was too grand for

us. We went on, therefore, and soon came to a third inn; but

here we were more frightened than before, for the sign was

‘The Royal Waterloo Hotel.’”

On the way home he passed a night at Shrewsbury, at the house of his

father’s sister:—

“In the evening my aunt showed us four or five letters

addressed by John Howard to an uncle of my father’s, Mr.

Symonds, a dissenting minister of Bedford. Mr. Howard was, at

one time of his life, a member of his congregation. In one of

these letters he mentions the pleasure he received, when at

Rome, in seeing the monuments of ancient art. Foster, in his

essay on ‘_Decision of Character_,’ mentions, as an instance

of Howard’s unremitting perseverance in the attainment of

one object, that he went to Rome without visiting its public

buildings. I am not sorry that the author was mistaken. If

Howard had done so, I think it would have been mere affectation.

“At about four or five miles beyond Salop, we passed near to a

curious old wall, which stands in a field to the right of the

road. From the materials of which it is built, we judged it to

be Roman masonry. We were all ignorant as to what building it

belonged.”[60]

He and his friend were out seven days, travelled 273 miles, and spent

twenty-nine shillings each. Nevertheless he thought that these trips

stood in need of justification, for his next entry is as follows:—

“In reading these memoirs hereafter, I may perhaps think that I

was extravagant in taking so many journeys; but it is necessary

to my health. Without a journey about once a year, I never

should be able to go through the business that I do. Towards

the end of the half-year I always get thin and pale, and my

headache (which for the last two years, with the exception of

the holidays, has been almost constant,) generally is worse

at that time, which makes it necessary for me to take some

recreation, to get up a stock of health for the next half-year;

this is the most lucrative mode of proceeding. Lately an

application was made to me to undertake to give three lessons

per week, of two hours each, to a young man, an old scholar

of ours. As I had already plenty to do, I was undetermined

whether to undertake it or not; but I argued with myself thus:

If I undertake this business, I shall receive about thirty

pounds per annum for it. I shall certainly injure my health by

such close application; but I shall be able to afford to take a

journey oftener than before, which will put all straight again.

Besides, this is the most pleasant way of proceeding to me;

for if I am to be at work, the more constantly I am employed

the better, and when the holidays come, the more perfect the

holiday the better. I like either to have no business at all

to do, or to be fully employed. The headache has become so

habitual to me, that unless it is very bad, I am seldom aware

that anything is the matter with me, unless my attention is

called to it, as by some one inquiring whether I am better.”

The next entry of any interest in his Journal is about his parents:—

“_May 11th, 1817._—It is my wish to say something of my parents;

to express, if possible, the gratitude which I feel for their

care during my childhood, for the pains they have taken in

my education, and for their judicious treatment since I have

attained maturer years. But the task is too great, and I shall

not attempt it. I hope that I shall always show them, by kind

and dutiful conduct, that I am fully aware of the magnitude of

my obligations. I am thought, I believe, to have cold feelings;

but if any one can entertain stronger feelings of gratitude

towards his parents than I do, his heart must burst, for it

cannot contain them.... My father and mother have acted most

judiciously in using every means in their power to make home a

place of comfort to us. The consequence is that we have none

of that itching, which is so prevalent in most young people,

to be always from home; and I think I may say without vanity

that there is not a family in Birmingham where there is less

discord than in ours. For this we are indebted to our parents,

who, instead of interfering in all our undertakings, as is too

common with many enlightened fathers and mothers, allow us to

use our own judgment and discretion; and when we are in the

wrong, rather let us find it out ourselves than by a continual

interference beget a spirit of opposition in their children. My

mother is a woman of strong native talents, but she has had few

opportunities of cultivating them. She is kind, affectionate,

possessed of great courage and spirit, and is well adapted to

the situation she occupies as manager of a large household. My

father possesses the strongest mind of any man I know.”

Two days after he had made this entry he writes:—

“_May 13th._—It has frequently been a surprise to me that

people should choose to scald their mouths and injure their

health by eating and drinking hot food, particularly tea and

coffee, the goodness of which they appear to estimate according

to the pain it must give them in drinking it. For five or six

weeks past I have had mine made by mixing with tea and coffee

of the usual strength about one-half of cold water, brought

directly from the pump; so that it is both cool and weak—two

very good qualities in my estimation. Lately two of my brothers

have followed my example.”

“_May 24th._—For the last month or two I have been in the

habit of lying in bed rather too late. I now make a resolution

to get up earlier in future. It is my intention to rise with

the boys—that is, at six o’clock. That I may see whether this

resolution is kept, I will keep an account of the time at which

I rise every morning.”

He kept up these entries for more than two years; but in August, 1819, he

records:—

“It is now some weeks since I discontinued the practice of

entering the time at which I rise. My object in doing it at

first was to break myself of a habit of lying late in bed. This

object I have accomplished, nor do I fear a relapse; it is

therefore unnecessary that I should continue the motive.”

In June, 1817, he again went to London:—

“_June 23rd._—In the evening I went to Covent Garden Theatre,

to see John Kemble play for the last time. He took his most

celebrated character, Coriolanus. It is a part for which he

is well calculated, as it requires a noble and dignified

mien. Kemble has left the stage in good credit; yet I think

if he had remained much longer he would have fallen in the

public opinion, as he is become so old as not to be able to

disguise it even on the stage; and his recitation is terribly

monotonous.... The play of Coriolanus is well known to contain

many aristocratic sentiments not very agreeable to the friends

of liberty; and I was sorry to find that when any sentiment

of this kind was expressed it always received the approbation

of the audience. Upon mentioning this circumstance, I learned

that, for some reason or other, the audience at Covent Garden

Theatre has lately become very loyal.

“After the play, Kemble came forward to address the audience.

He appeared to suffer much from the feeling that it was for

the last time. Whether this was real or affected I cannot say;

but if acting, it was acting of a very superior kind. After he

had retired, a crown of laurel and a scarf were thrown upon

the stage. The manager was then called. He came forward, and

promised to present them to Mr. Kemble.

“When the curtain drew up for the farce, which was ‘The

Portrait of Cervantes,’ a part of the audience, intending it

as a mark of respect to Mr. Kemble, called out, ‘No farce, no

farce! off, off!’ &c. The others, who wished to see the farce,

clapped and called, ‘Go on, go on!’ It was doubtful which

party was the more numerous. At length Fawcett, the manager,

again came forward to say that, if it were the wish of the

audience that, out of respect to Mr. Kemble, the farce should

not be acted, he would desire the curtain to be dropped. Some

immediately cried out, ‘Yes; down with it!’ Others, ‘No; go

on!’ The poor man did not know what to do. He again attempted

to speak, but the noise was too great for him to be heard; so

he retired, and the curtain fell. This satisfied but one party;

the other became directly more clamorous. After a few minutes,

the curtain was again drawn up, and the farce proceeded;

but the noise was still kept up, and I was unable to hear a

sentence all the night. I heard afterwards that Talma was at

the theatre this night, and that he was much pleased with the

enthusiasm of the audience. He said that the French talked a

great deal about enthusiasm, but that they possessed much less

than the English.”

He went to the House of Commons, and “heard the Lord Mayor, Lord

Cochrane, and some others speak on the side of liberty.” The debate was

on the Suspension of the Habeas Corpus Act[61]:—

“It is a pity that every good man is not also a learned and

clever man. I was sorry to find that the Lord Mayor, whom I

expected to be a first-rate speaker, was very deficient even

in common grammar; but, nevertheless, such a man is of more

service to the great cause of liberty than a hundred of your

place-hunters, let their delivery be ever so elegant, and their

grammar ever so correct.”

On June 30th he visited Chantrey’s studio:—

“I left the Gallery with very great regret, and I am sure that

I was sincere when I told Mr. Whitwell [the friend who had

introduced him] that to him I was obliged for the greatest

gratification I ever received.”

The following evening he started for the Isle of Wight:—

“I left London at six in the evening for Southampton. The road

lay through Brentford and Staines. Near to the latter place, in

a field, I saw the place where King John signed ‘Magna Charta.’

The spot is marked by a sun-dial. I was glad to hear some of

the passengers give it as their opinion that something of the

kind was wanting now.

“As soon as it became light, we enjoyed most delightful views

of a richly-wooded country. The trees in Hampshire are the

largest I ever saw, and the country is almost covered with

what we consider large woods. There is not a finer sight in

the world than to be elevated above an extensive wood, and to

see the trees extending as far as the eye can reach, till they

become scarcely distinguishable from the sky.”

He went to sketch Netley Abbey:—

“While I was drawing, several parties came to visit the

Abbey, and I entered into conversation with most of them.

One gentleman was finding great fault with the taste of the

proprietor of the Abbey. He said, ‘Now, if this was my Abbey,

I’d get some masons and stop up all the holes, and I don’t know

if I should not whitewash it. Would not you, Sir?’ I thought

this opening speech promised fair, so that I nodded assent to

induce him to go on; and he proceeded: ‘Then I’d remove all

this rubbish (pointing to the masses of stonework which lay

on the ground) and fetch some loads of gravel from the beach,

with which I would cover the floor of the chapel, and have it

rolled nice and flat; or I don’t know whether I should not lay

turf instead, and keep the grass cut short, and as level as a

bowling-green. Then I’d build a nice thatched cottage just by

the gate there for the porter to live at; but I think I should

have it within the chapel, because it would add very much to

its appearance. The Abbey would be worth coming to see then;

but now the fellow that owns it must be a fool.’ The gentleman

then asked me what I thought of his proposed alterations, and

I told him that they would certainly make the chapel look very

_neat_ and _pretty_. ‘Ah!’ says he, ‘I see you are a young man

of taste.’ I did not think it necessary to contradict him.

He wished me good morning, and walked off, and I resumed my

drawing, rejoicing that the Abbey was in better hands than his.”

Crossing over to the Isle of Wight he passed through the village of

Freshwater:—

“Wishing to be acquainted with the etymology of the name

Freshwater, I asked the sailors if the water in the bay was not

so salt as the sea-water generally is. ‘Oh, yes,’ they replied,

‘it’s all alike.’ ‘What, then, is the reason of the names

Freshwater Town and Freshwater Bay?’ I inquired. ‘Why, they are

in Freshwater parish to be sure,’ was the reply.”

On his way home he saw Stonehenge:—

“It is certain that great numbers of the stones have been

carried off (I suppose in pieces), and afterwards used in

building, as Inigo Jones mentions in his account of Stonehenge

that such was the case between two different periods at which

he visited the Temple. What must be the feelings of those

who could, for the sake of the value of stones as building

materials, disturb and destroy so venerable, so interesting a

monument of antiquity, I cannot guess. I think it would be well

if the government of the country would purchase this and every

other valuable antiquity of the island, and preserve them as

much as possible from injury.”

In one of the papers that he drew up in his old age, he thus describes

his last visit to Stonehenge:—

“We also went to see Stonehenge, for about the tenth time in

my life, since whenever there was a chance to visit this most

interesting and much controverted antiquity I never failed

to take advantage of it. But this, my last visit, was a very

different affair indeed from my first in 1817. Forty-three

years before I had set out for Stonehenge, in company with my

father, breakfasting on the way at a small inn, a mile or two

from the place. While my father rested I went, sketch-book in

hand, to the so-called Druidic temple. Not a creature, human

or animal, was in sight, not even the ‘Shepherd of Salisbury

Plain’ himself. I was alone with the wonderful stone monument,

and nothing but the sky and the vast downs in sight. By-and-by

came a shepherd, chatty and communicative, with fifteen hundred

sheep, and thus only was my solitude broken upon. But to-day

(1860) what a change! Easy communication and love of locomotion

had vulgarized even Stonehenge. We found a crowd of people

making noisy the place, and rudely shattering my early peaceful

associations.”

In April, 1817, he had recorded his “intention of making experiments to

ascertain the comparative nourishment which is derived from different

kinds of food.” In the following January he records the result:—

“My engagements this half-year are such as will not allow me

to continue my experiments upon food, as I am obliged to be

out very much. I have, therefore, brought my experiments to a

conclusion without having completed them. But, however, I have

ascertained some remarkable facts, as the Journal will show,

and I hope that my trouble will not altogether be thrown away.

“COPY OF THE JOURNAL RESPECTING DIET.

“_April 15th, 1817._—I was thinking yesterday that little was

known of the comparative nutriment which we receive from the

different kinds of food we eat, and I then determined to try

a few experiments, from the results of which a table may be

formed showing the comparative value of the principal kinds of

food upon which we live. It is also my intention to notice the

effects which each kind of fare has upon my health.

“I shall live three days upon each of the principal kinds of

food, and take nothing else except coffee, tea, and water. I

shall always drink three cups of coffee at my breakfast, three

cups of tea at my tea, and as much water as I feel inclined

for. With my meat and potatoes I shall allow myself salt, but

nothing else.

“That, at the time I am eating one kind of food, I may feel no

effects from the kind which I eat before, it is my intention,

after having lived three days upon any particular food, to

take the usual fare for the next three days, and so on.

“Before I enter on my Journal, I will say something of the

usual state of my health. For the last year or two I have

suffered much from the headache: I have almost constantly

been troubled with bile; but a few days ago I made a tour to

Liverpool, which I found to improve the state of my health

considerably, and since my return I have been tolerably well.

“I began my experiments this morning: during this day and the

two next I shall eat nothing but dry bread untoasted. I have

taken a stale quartern loaf, which weighed 4 lbs. 4 oz. It is

made partly of old flour, and partly of that of last year,

which was very bad. The loaf is rather moist, and a little

brown. It came from the old Union Mill, and cost one shilling

and fourpence half-penny.

“It is now seven o’clock at night. I have made three meals

from it, and have eaten about one-third, which is less than I

expected I should eat. I have not stinted myself at all. I am

much the same in every respect as I was yesterday, only that I

feel as though I had eaten too much. I do not know whether I

shall be able to eat any supper.

“_April 16th._—I eat a little supper last night. I have been

much the same to-day as I was yesterday.

“_April 17th, 6.30 p.m._—I have not been quite so well to-day

as I was yesterday. I am troubled very much with the bile and

the headache. I have a good deal of the loaf left, more, I

think, than will last me for supper. My mother says there has

been a visible alteration for the worse in my appearance since

the commencement of the three days.

“_9.45._—I have just finished my loaf and supper. I made no

point of exactly finishing the loaf: it is merely accidental.

“_April 20th._—During this and the two last days I have fared

as usual. Still troubled with the bile and headache, though not

so unwell as before.

“The next three days I shall eat nothing but bread and butter,

the bread of the same kind as before.”

He next tried dry toast, cold toast and butter, hot toast and butter,

bread and bacon, bread and cheese, rice pudding, boiled green pease and

salt, damson-pie and sugar, bread and sugar; living for three days on

each article. It is not, perhaps, surprising that, in the course of the

experiments, he one day records “an acute pain in my left side nearly the

whole of the day.”

The next entry that I quote is of a very different kind:—

“_February 15th, 1819._—Campbell, the poet, is now in

Birmingham. He is engaged by the Philosophical Society to

deliver a course of twelve lectures on poetry. This morning he

called here to put his son under our care during his stay in

Birmingham. We consider this a feather in our cap.

“_March 2nd._—Young Campbell, who is about fifteen, is a boy of

talent. He has never been at a school, but has been educated

at home by his father. Mr. Campbell is so pleased with what we

are doing for the boy, that he says he should like exceedingly

to leave him with us; but, as he is an only child, he cannot

persuade Mrs. Campbell to part with him.

“_March 12th._—Yesterday, Mr. Campbell dined with us. He is

a very pleasant man in company. He related a great number of

pleasing anecdotes; but he did not answer the expectations I

had formed of the poet Campbell.[62]

“_August 22nd, 1819._—The people of Birmingham have taken the

first decisive step towards parliamentary reform. A town’s

meeting has been held at New Hall Hill for the purpose of

considering the best means of obtaining the representation of

all the unrepresented people of England, and particularly those

of Birmingham. At this meeting an immense concourse of people

assembled; some accounts say eighty thousand. I was present,

and witnessed nearly the whole proceedings. It was unanimously

resolved to appoint Sir Charles Wolseley representative of

Birmingham, with directions to make every effort to obtain a

seat in the House of Commons when it shall again assemble after

the present vacation. The object of this meeting was treated

by the opposite party with the greatest ridicule; but that it

deserves anything rather than ridicule is manifest from the

alarm it has evidently excited in the minds of the supporters

of the present system.

“At our Birmingham meeting the people conducted themselves with

the greatest decorum. Our magistrates had the good sense not to

provoke them by the presence of the military, and the immense

assembly dispersed without the least mischief being done.”

“_August 10th._—A few days ago I accompanied my brother

Matthew to Warwick, to assist him in preparations for the

defence of Major Cartwright, who was tried at the Assizes just

concluded. The offence charged against him, and the others

who were tried with him, was the election of a legislatorial

attorney or representative of the people of Birmingham (Sir

Charles Wolseley). My brother was engaged for the major, Denman

for Edmonds and Maddocks, and Wooller and Lewis defended

themselves. The trial occupied two whole days, the Court

sitting to a late hour each day. The speeches of Denman,

Matthew, and Wooller were, I think, the most eloquent I ever

heard; but in spite of justice, reason, and everything else

but the advice of the Judge, the blockheads in the jury-box

gave a verdict of guilty.... Matthew, as usual, received the

compliments of the Judge. He is rising very fast into fame.”

Thirteen years later, when the Reform Bill was carried, the great town

of Birmingham was at last represented in Parliament. “They have made me

Chairman of Attwood’s Committee,” wrote old Mr. Hill to his eldest son,

who was at that time a candidate for Hull.... “I am glad that you like

what I spoke at the town’s meeting. All I said came from the heart as

prompted by a sincere affection for liberty, goodness, and truth. Still

the fervour of delivery was not the less because Attwood and Birmingham

had common cause with Hill and Hull.” In that town in which, more than

forty years before, he had braved the violence of a Tory mob, the old

man had now the high honour of being called upon to propose, on the

nomination day, the election of the first representative that Birmingham

ever sent to the Commons House of Parliament.

CHAPTER VI.

It was in July, 1819, that the new school-house was opened at Edgbaston

with the happiest promise. Little more than a year later it was almost

destroyed by fire:—

“Everything (Rowland Hill recorded in his Journal) seemed to be

in a prosperous condition. We anticipated being shortly able

to pay all the expenses incurred in our building and removal,

when an event happened which plunged us all into the deepest

distress.

“On the morning of Wednesday, the 23rd of August, 1820, I was

awaked at five in the morning by the monitor entering my room

to take the keys of the lower rooms. I inquired what was the

time, and was glad to find that it wanted an hour of the time

at which I usually rose. I turned in my bed, and in a moment

was again asleep, little thinking of the destruction which, in

all probability, had then commenced. In about half-an-hour I

was again awaked, by two or three boys running into my room,

with the alarming information that the rooms in the roof were

on fire.

“In a moment I was in the roof rooms with my brothers, who

slept in the same chamber as myself. These rooms were even then

so full of smoke that it was difficult to discern the objects

near to us. The fire we found to be in a closet opening into

one of these rooms; the flames appeared through the crevices

of the door, which, never having been painted, appeared almost

transparent with the strong light within. The first impulse

was to endeavour to open the door and to throw in water, which

some had brought from the chambers below; but in this we did

not succeed, and, after a moment’s reflection, we gave up the

attempt, judging it best to confine the flames as much as

possible, for had the door been opened they would have burst

upon us in such a manner as to have driven us at once from

the room. The whole family had now caught the alarm. [In the

midst of the alarm Rowland Hill remembered that his eldest

brother’s wife, who, with her husband, happened to be staying

in the house, was in a delicate state of health. He went to

their room, and, quietly beckoning his brother out, in the

hope of saving her a sudden shock, told him that the house was

on fire.] After hastily slipping on a few clothes, some began

to remove the furniture from the different rooms.... In a few

moments we were all roused from a deep sleep, and plunged into

the most active and distressing employment. No one can be

surprised that at first the bustle and alarm should be such

as to prevent our taking, perhaps, the best possible means to

prevent the ravages of the fire; it has since struck us that

by taking off some of the slates it is possible that we should

have been able to throw water upon the fire and retard it,

if not put it quite out; but this was not thought of at the

moment, and the time during which there would have been any

chance of success lasted but for a few minutes.

“The first anxiety was for the safety of the boys; but, as the

fire was over their heads, alarm on that account soon subsided.

As soon as they had risen they began to throw their bedding out

at the windows, and to remove the other furniture of the rooms,

and even in the midst of all the bustle and anxiety I could

not but admire the activity and presence of mind on the part

of the boys. We are indebted to them more than to any other

individuals that the loss, though it was very great, was not

still more ruinous.”

The fire began in a closet under the roof. It was so close to the

staircase that all communication with the other rooms on the attic floor

was soon cut off.

“Order was somewhat restored among us—as much, perhaps, as it

could be under such circumstances; each of the elders among us

having taken the direction of certain things, with a number of

boys and others under his control, when a new cause of alarm

arose. It was recollected by my mother that one of the servant

girls, with a poor woman who came the day before to do some

sewing, slept in the bed which I have mentioned [it was a bed

in one of the roof rooms, which was occasionally used by sewing

and washing women], and it was found that the girl only had

escaped. I was at the front of the house giving directions

respecting the procuring of water when I learnt this alarming

news. I immediately ran upstairs, passed my father, who was

then on his way to rescue the woman, and who generously tried

to prevent my going by taking the risk upon himself; rushed

through the room in which was the fire into the next, and,

taking the woman from the bed, on which she lay in a fainting

fit, carried her in my arms to the top of the stairs. I could

do no more: although the whole was but the work of a minute,

such was the effect of the alarm and of the dense smoke which

I had breathed, that I loosed her, and she was caught by those

who stood upon the stairs. I myself staggered down one or two

steps, and should have fallen had I not been caught by one of

those who stood about. A few minutes were sufficient for me to

recover my strength. How the woman revived I do not know, but I

saw her soon after, apparently well, watching the furniture at

the front of the house.

“It afterwards appeared that the girl, awaked by the smoke,

called her bedfellow, ran downstairs and alarmed those who

slept on the first floor, about the same time that the

discovery was made by the boy who slept under the closet,

and who saw the fire as he lay in bed, through a ventilator

in the ceiling which opened through the floor of the closet.

The woman, instead of following her companion, actuated by

one of those inexplicable motives which sometimes influence

the conduct of the uneducated, remained in the room very

deliberately dressing herself, and I afterwards learned

that when I carried her out of the room her stays were very

regularly laced. When she did attempt an escape, owing to her

alarm, her want of knowledge of the arrangement of the rooms,

and the density of the smoke, she was unable to find the door,

and, after groping about the room some time, she said that she

‘threw herself on the bed, and gave herself up for lost.’ Next

to effecting her escape, or making some noise which would have

alarmed those who were about, throwing herself on the bed was

the best thing; for had she been elsewhere I never should have

found her, as the smoke was so thick that I could not discover

a single object in the room, and only found the bed by knowing

its situation from having been frequently in the room. If we

had known at the time we were in the next room, immediately

after the first alarm, that she was there, she would have been

rescued without any difficulty. The poor woman’s obstinacy cost

her her life, for although she was not in the least burnt, yet

such was the effect of the smoke upon her lungs, together with

the alarm, that the next day she became exceedingly ill, and

although we procured for her the best medical advice the town

afforded, she died in a few days. The surgeon who attended her

said that she died of a disease to which she had long been

subject, an enlargement of the heart, which was brought on in

this instance by the causes I have before stated.

“The engines arrived shortly after. I had provided for them a

stock of water by placing some large tubs in the front of the

house, which we filled with water before the engines came. One

of our pumps was undergoing repairs at the time, so that it did

not afford us any water. The other very soon became dry; but

we found an excellent supply from a pit a little nearer to the

town, on the right side of the road. Five men, for the promise

of five shillings each, stood in the water to fill the buckets,

and such was the rapidity of the supply, that not one of the

engines was for an instant without water.

“By about eight the engines ceased to play—the fire was

extinguished. Till this time so actively had I been engaged,

that I believe I had not time to reflect upon the consequences

of this accident. But now all was over. Exertion was no further

of any use. In informing my father that such was the state of

things, my throat felt as stopped, and the tears came to my

eyes. I went upstairs, and to the top of the house. The whole

of the roof, excepting that part over the school-room, was

destroyed. Two or three of the beams, reduced to charcoal,

remained in their places, and a few of the slates still rested

upon some of the bending rafters; the rest was bare to the sky.

In some places the rubbish was still smoking. To extinguish

this completely, and to search every place to be certain

that all was safe, occupied my attention for a time; but the

consideration of the probable effect this accident might have

on our future success would obtrude itself on my mind. We had

insured the house and furniture, but for a small sum; the first

for £500, the latter for £250, and I soon saw that the loss

would be considerable.

“In order to throw the water immediately upon the fire, we

raised a ladder which had been made a few months before to be

in readiness in case of such an accident. Up this the firemen

carried their pipes, and played almost directly upon the

flames.”

Among the firemen on the crumbling roof, directing and aiding them, was

his brother Edwin. “Observing that one of the men had difficulty in

reaching a place where the flames remained unsubdued, he seized one of

the largest slates, and so held it as to deflect the stream, all this

being done while his bride stood in anxiety below.”

“Another pipe was carried up the stairs, and threw its water

upon the fire through an opening over the back stairs. This

engine was very effective, till a scoundrel (and there were

several about who took advantage of the confusion to plunder

the house), in order to make the confusion still greater,

stamped upon the pipe and burst it. A fireman who saw this,

took a short staff out of his pocket and gave the fellow a

blow on his head, which sent him completely downstairs. I did

not know of this till after the fire was over and the rascal

had escaped, otherwise he should have been dealt with as he

deserved. I cannot think of any crime which so completely

shows the absence of all good feeling as to take advantage of

another’s misfortunes, and even to increase them for the sake

of plunder.

“It was necessary to do much immediately. We had all risen

in the greatest haste, and were but half-dressed. The poor

boys had lost all their clothes, except such as were on their

backs, and some which were then at the washerwoman’s,—for

their trunks, which were kept in one of the roof rooms, were

destroyed. We were all wet, hungry, tired, and distressed.

The house was completely swilled throughout with the immense

quantity of water which had been thrown upon it, so that it was

impossible to inhabit it immediately. Our family consisted of

almost eighty individuals, who were at that moment houseless.

The kindness of our friends and neighbours, however, soon

relieved us of part of our anxiety. They provided us with clean

linen, shoes, and everything we could want. A lady who keeps

a female school on the opposite side of the road, kindly lent

the boys a change of stockings. Our good friend, Miss Bache,

came with her servants laden with food for breakfast, which was

eaten by some in the garden. One or two gentlemen undertook the

care of the house and furniture; others led away the people

who had assisted to the ‘Plough and Harrow,’ where they were

refreshed with bread and cheese and ale, and all pressed us to

leave the place for a time and recruit our strength. The boys

were divided amongst the neighbours, who took them to their

houses. Mr. and Mrs. Busby, than whom kinder-hearted people

never existed, claimed a right to receive our own family, as

being the nearest neighbours. Here we breakfasted. It was a sad

meal, each trying to appear as little affected as possible, in

order to keep up the spirits of the others. If anything could

have removed our distress, it would have been accomplished

by the kindness of our friends, which no doubt did very much

to alleviate it. Invitations for ourselves and the boys—not

only from our immediate friends, but also from gentlemen whose

names we scarcely knew,—poured in upon us, and if our family

had been ten times as numerous, they would have been disposed

of with greater ease than was the case; for the offers of

assistance were so earnest and so numerous, that it was painful

to be obliged to refuse such as we could not accept.

“Our friend, Mr. Witton, offered us the use of the whole of his

house at Kitwell ready furnished. Mr. Blakeway, another of our

friends, made an offer, which we gladly accepted, of a house

of his in Tenant Street, which then stood empty. In this we

determined to put up the beds, most of which had been saved,

and use it as a lodging-house till our own could be repaired.

“We were anxious to inform the friends of the children as soon

as possible of the accident, in order to prevent that alarm

which the exaggerated accounts in the first instance generally

circulated on such an occasion would raise. This was undertaken

by a friend; but, notwithstanding the precaution, the good

people of Kidderminster, from which town we had several boys,

were terribly alarmed. An uncle of a boy named H——, whose

friends reside at Kidderminster, happened to be in Birmingham

at the time of the fire. As soon as the news reached him,

he wrote to his sister (the boy’s mother), to prevent any

uneasiness which she might have felt had she heard a wrong

account from another quarter. In his haste he incautiously made

use of the following expression: ‘Hazelwood is burnt down,

but Henry is safe.’ The report was immediately circulated in

Kidderminster that the house was burnt down, and that all the

boys except H—— were burnt. The friends of the other children

were in a state of the greatest anxiety. The father of one of

the boys immediately rode over in the greatest haste. He was

soon followed by another. I need not say how glad they were to

see their children.

“During the course of the day the friends of many of the

children arrived, and took their sons home. This, though it

relieved us of the care of them, made us anxious whether

an impression might not get abroad, that either we were

particularly careless or very unlucky; the more so, as an

alarm of the same kind, sufficient to induce us to send

for the engines, although they had nothing to do when they

arrived, took place the winter before. We now began to place

the furniture in the school-room and the chamber over, as this

part of the house had not been injured by the fire or the

water. Some also took precautions to defend the house from

further injury by rain. To accomplish this, we borrowed a great

quantity of tarpaulin from the different carriers in the town,

by means of which a temporary roof was constructed. I engaged

a number of men to remove the rubbish which had fallen with the

roof and ceilings upon the floors of the garrets, and to riddle

it in order that nothing valuable might be lost. The quantity

of rubbish collected amounted to several wagon-loads. Frederic,

and I slept at night in the school-room to guard the house.

We had also a watchman on the outside. The other part of the

family slept at the neighbours’ houses.

“The next day the family again assembled at dinner at the house

of my brother Edwin. We now made arrangements for restoring

things as soon as possible. One undertook the repairs of the

building; another those of the furniture; one to make out the

account for the Fire Office; another to prepare the house

in Tenant Street. Printed circular-letters were sent to our

friends as soon as possible, expressive of our gratitude

for the kindness we had met with, and stating our intention

of resuming the business of the school on the Thursday

following—that is, eight days after the fire.

“Besides the injury done to the roof, the floors of the rooms

in that part of the house, and the garret ceilings, were almost

completely destroyed. The garret floors were much injured by

the burning wood which fell upon them, and they doubtless would

have been destroyed altogether, but that persons were engaged,

at a considerable risk, in throwing water upon the blazing

timbers as they fell, before the engines arrived. The walls and

ceilings of the lower rooms were also much injured by the water.

“The school assembled on the day appointed. Till the roof was

completed the boys slept in Tenant Street; when that was done

they occupied the chambers of the house, a part of our own

family sleeping from home. It was not till Christmas that we

were enabled to reinstate everything.

“Among the things destroyed in the flames, almost every one

of us has lost something which he valued highly. My brother

Arthur has lost the accounts of some tours which he has taken

at various times; Howard has lost a copy of Mavor’s ‘British

Tourist,’ which he gained as a prize in the school. But in

things of that description I have been the greatest sufferer. I

have lost all my original drawings, six in number, which were

framed and glazed. I made these drawings when I was quite a

boy, and for that reason I valued them. At Hill Top they hung

in the parlour, but when we removed they were put in one of the

roof rooms till a convenient opportunity should occur to hang

them up. The electrical planisphere, representing the southern

sky, and the water-alarum, both of which I have described in

these memoirs, were consumed in the flames. I valued these

because they were the best specimens I possessed of my boyish

handicraft.

“I have not yet lost the impression which this accident made

upon my mind. My sleep is frequently broken by dreaming of

fire; when awake I often suppose that I smell smoke; and it is

not till I am out of bed that I can convince myself that I have

been deceived. It is remarkable that at the present time, and,

indeed, immediately after the fire, I remembered but little of

what took place; although the roof fell in, and the flames were

seen at a great distance from the house, I have no recollection

of noticing either; yet I was more than once on different parts

of the roof, giving directions to the firemen.”

He thus accounts for the origin of the fire:—

“Upon making known the situation of things as they stood

previous to the fire, it was suggested by some one that it

might have originated thus. I have before said that a great

quantity of carpeting, old and new, lay in the closet. An old

Brussels carpet was folded up and placed on the floor of the

closet; on this lay a roll of new Scotch carpet; and the whole

was surmounted by a number of empty paper hat-boxes. This being

the state of things, and the closet having no ceiling, it is

very probable that during the heavy rains which fell a short

time previous, some of the water might penetrate through the

roof and wet the carpets. The rain was succeeded by some of the

hottest weather I ever remember. The heat immediately under

the slates would be very great; and we were told that Brussels

carpeting, which is composed partly of hemp and partly of wool,

if wet and afterwards exposed to heat, will ferment and fire

spontaneously, in the manner that hay sometimes does. This

opinion, upon inquiry, we found to be confirmed by experience.

A ship in the Mediterranean took fire from the fermentation

of some wet ropes stowed in the hold. A relation of ours, a

builder, had his premises partly destroyed by the fermentation

of a quantity of hair for plaster, placed under a shed. He

knows this to have been the cause, from the circumstance of the

hair’s smoking having been noticed the day preceding.”

He discusses the question of insurance:—

“The question whether or not it is wise to insure, and to what

amount, appears to me a very difficult one. If a person’s

property be such that the loss of his house and furniture would

not be a ruinous injury, then it appears to me it would be

absurd for him to insure, because more than half the premium

consists of duty to the Government, and by becoming his own

insurance broker he saves that sum and the profit also. It

appears to me also to be bad policy to insure to a great

amount, because by a strange arrangement in all insurance

offices, the sum paid for damage is not estimated, as it ought

to be, by considering what proportion the damage bears to the

whole value of the building, and paying the sufferer the same

fraction of the insurance. Thus, if a house be worth £1,000,

and is insured for £100, if the building is damaged to the

amount of £100, the office will pay the whole of that sum;

whereas I should say it ought to pay only the tenth part of

£100—that is, £10; for the rate of insurance upon a large sum

is no less than that upon a small one, and the probability of

a house being injured to the amount of £100 is greater than

the chance of its being injured to the amount of £200, still

greater than the chance of its sustaining an injury to the

amount of £300, and so on.

“It was reasoning in this manner that induced me to insure

for so small a sum; but I forgot that our risk was greater

than that of our neighbours, in consequence of so many persons

residing under the same roof. For this reason, and because

we should not be equally well able to bear a second loss, we

have now insured to a much greater amount; but I am not sure

that we were not right before, and are mistaken now, because

the circumstance of our having been unfortunate is no proof of

error, any more than the gaining a prize in the lottery is a

proof of the propriety of purchasing a ticket.

“Some people have very strange ideas about insurance from fire.

They appear to think that it actually prevents a fire taking

place. Birmingham furnishes a remarkable instance of an error

of this kind. The workhouse, which is the property of the

whole town, is insured in the Birmingham Fire Office, which is

supported by a comparatively small number of individuals. I

wonder whether the company insures its own office? Perhaps it

does in another—or perhaps in its own!”

He fails, as it seems to me, to take into account that freedom from daily

anxiety which a man buys who insures his property to its full value, or

something not much short of it. His eldest brother told me that, at one

time of his life, he himself was so much troubled by the thought that

if he died early he should leave his young wife and children but ill

provided for that his health became affected, and his power of work

was lessened. His dread of poverty was, therefore, tending to keep him

poor. He insured his life heavily, and at once regained his cheerfulness.

He had paid, he added, in his long life far more in premiums than his

children would ever receive back on his death. This outlay, nevertheless,

he looked upon as a real money gain to him. It had given him freedom from

care, and this freedom had greatly helped to increase his earnings.

In the summer of 1821, Rowland Hill and his next brother, Arthur, crossed

over to Ireland, to inspect the Edgeworth-Town Assisting School. This

curious institution had been lately founded by Lovell Edgeworth, the

brother of Maria Edgeworth. On their way the travellers passed through

Manchester. There for the first time they saw a whole town lighted by

gas. Between Liverpool and Dublin steamboats ran during the summer

months. None ventured as yet to cross the winter seas. The fares were

high—a guinea and a-half for the passage. The sailing packets charged but

seven shillings; and it was in one of them that the two brothers crossed

over. On landing they had to undergo the Custom House examination, as

Import Duties were still kept up between the two islands. Two packets

arrived almost at the same time, but there was only one officer to

examine all the baggage. There were fees to pay; and overcharge was

rendered easy by the difference that still subsisted between English and

Irish money.

During their stay in Dublin they drove out with an Irish barrister to see

the Dargle. “We found,” wrote the younger of the two brothers—

“A line of bushes laid across the road into the grounds, and

were told by men working on the spot that we could not pass,

the place being under preparation for the King’s visit. Had we

been alone we should have either turned back or tried the power

of a bribe; but our Irish friend knew better; and after one or

two cajoling phrases, which moved not very much, proceeded to

‘damn the King!’ The effect was complete, a gap being at once

made, through which we passed, while one of the men remarked

that others had applied, speaking of the King in high terms,

but all those had been turned back.”

One evening they saw the general departure of the mails for the

provinces. They expected, as a matter of course, to find the guard of

each coach armed, as in England, with a blunderbuss; but they found

that he carried, in addition, a sword and pistols, while some of the

coaches had two guards, and others even three. They left Dublin for

Edgeworth-Town on a Sunday morning. For the first time in their life they

heard bells rung from churches that did not belong to the Establishment.

Rowland Hill’s Journal contains an interesting account of this tour:—

“On the road to Edgeworth-Town we were struck with the

miserable state of the poor Irish. Many live in huts without

either window or chimney, the door serving every purpose of

ingression and of egression. The poor women and children were

generally without shoes and stockings; the men, however, almost

always wear both, and even in the midst of summer appear

dressed in great coats. Though Sunday, we saw many parties

dancing in the roads and fields, the men in their great coats,

and carts and wagons passed along apparently as much as on any

other day. Every time the coach stopped it was surrounded by

beggars, apparently in the lowest possible state of misery.

“With a few exceptions, everything appears to be neglected. The

land is miserably cultivated, and worse fenced, and the houses

seem falling into ruin. You see gates with one hinge, and no

fastening, tied up by means of ropes or haybands; windows

reduced from a proper size to a single pane of glass, the

remainder of the window, as it was broken, having been stopped

up with a flat stone, a piece of wood, plaster, or a turf. In

many places half the houses are in a state of ruin, and quite

uninhabited. We learned that many had been reduced to this

state at the time of the riots.”

At Edgeworth-Town they lodged in the best inn of which the place could

boast. Nevertheless under the bed they found put away a store of old

shoes:—

“After breakfast we went with Mr. Edgeworth to see his school.

It consists of about 160 boys, of all classes, from the sons

of beggars to the children of some of the most wealthy men in

the neighbourhood. They are classed without any distinction

but that of merit, and to destroy every difference in

appearance, all the boys wore pinafores as a kind of uniform.

Out of school, however, some distinction is made. The sons of

gentlemen and respectable tradesmen have a separate playground,

and the boarders are divided among two or three houses,

according to their rank in society.

“About three-fourths of the boys had neither shoes nor

stockings, but they all appeared clean, happy, and contented.

“The plan of the school in some measure resembles the

Lancasterian, only that Mr. Edgeworth accomplishes much more

than I have ever seen done in a Lancasterian school. Every

boy pays a little for his education—viz., from 1_d._ to 5_d._

per week, according to his circumstances. Mr. Edgeworth has

a nursery of four or five acres, in which the poor boys are

allowed to work, in order to enable them to pay for their

education, for the washing of their pinafores, &c. There

are two masters with salaries, one of whom has the general

superintendence of the school in Mr. Edgeworth’s absence, the

other teaches the classics. The weekly payments of the boys

defray every expense of the establishment, except the rent,

within about a hundred a year. The boarders pay the masters of

the houses at which they lodge for all expenses attending their

maintenance.”

So eager were some of the boys to earn money by working over-time, that

Mr. Edgeworth was forced to limit the hours of this kind of labour. A

penalty was fixed for any one who should venture to begin work before the

appointed time. Shortly before the arrival of the two visitors, a boy

had been found on a summer morning hard at work as early as two o’clock.

He was saving up money to buy his mother a garment of which she stood

greatly in need. Not only was the breach of rule forgiven, but high

honour was done to the young offender. “The mode taken was characteristic

alike of man and country. When the required sum was made up, and the

garment purchased, this being hung from the top of a pole, was borne in

triumph through the single street of the town, all the boys marching in

procession, with their landlord at their head.”

“The boys, as far as we could ascertain in the course of a

week’s close inspection, are exceedingly orderly, attentive,

and well behaved. Mr. Edgeworth states that he finds the

children of the peasantry much more docile than those of

gentlemen, and the English more tractable than the Irish.

“The hay-harvest was now about, and the boys spent considerable

part of the day in the park making the hay. They worked in

classes, under the direction of monitors, and proceeded with

the utmost order and regularity; they very soon turned the

grass of several acres.

“Mr. Edgeworth spends a good deal of time in joking with his

boys. We saw him act before them the drunken, idle, low, but

shrewd Irishman, and many other characters for the instruction

and entertainment of his boys. They laugh with him, and, for

the time, master and scholars appear to be on the most familiar

terms.

“On Wednesday we dined at Mr. Edgeworth’s house: there is

something highly fascinating in the company of celebrated

people. In conversing with Miss Edgeworth, I felt that I

was renewing, as it were, an old acquaintance; for who is

there to whom she is altogether unknown? I must acknowledge,

however, that my introduction to her was not made without some

trepidation on my part, but so kind, so unassuming is her

manner, that in a very short time I felt almost entirely at my

ease in her company. I could not, however, quite rid myself of

the feeling that I was in the company of one who had shown by

her works that she could detect, and that she noticed every

little symptom of weakness which to a common eye might pass

unobserved. I was uneasy lest she should discover the defects

in my education before I could take an opportunity of alluding

to them, as is my custom in similar cases. Miss Edgeworth is

a short, sprightly woman, without any of the affectation of

politeness, but with much that is real. One is apt to suppose

that a person of celebrity must always appear as though a high

character was to be supported; there is nothing of this kind

about Miss Edgeworth; she is exceedingly lively, and even

playful in her manner, and seems to have not the slightest

objection to a good joke.”

“I still esteem it,” writes the surviving brother, “one of the greatest

honours of my life to have sat next to her at dinner by her own desire.

To me, and doubtless to my brother Rowland also, the interview with this

admirable woman savoured of romance. As an abstraction, she had long

been to every member of our family an object of respect amounting to

reverence. Her works had been to us a source of delight, of instruction,

of purity, and of elevation, but herself seemed indefinitely removed, and

we could hardly believe that we were now actually in her presence, and

admitted to friendly intercourse.”

“On Saturday I gave Mr. Edgeworth some parts of the rough

draft of ‘Public Education’ to read, which I had taken with me

to Ireland. He desired one of his monitors to take it to his

house, and leave it in his bedchamber, stating that he always

lay in bed till the middle of the day on Sunday, and that he

could read it before he arose in the morning.

“On Sunday morning, after our return from church, Mr. Edgeworth

sent to request our attendance at his school. We found the

boys all drawn up in divisions, and several gentlemen from the

neighbourhood were present. We joined Mr. Edgeworth, who stood

on a kind of stage formed by the stairs. He began a speech to

his boys on the subject of the papers which I had lent him to

read, in which he spoke in the most extravagant terms of what

he had read. He was sure that we had carried the science of

education to a perfection never before aimed at; he considered

himself highly flattered by our visit to his school, but felt

ashamed that we had not been better repaid for our trouble. He

hoped we would allow him to return the visit, as he was sure

nothing would delight him so much as a complete knowledge of

our plans.

“After he had concluded, he requested that I would honestly

state my opinions respecting his school, and he insisted

on my finding fault with something or other. I now felt

the convenience of having been practised at extemporaneous

speaking: for called upon as I was to address a great number

of individuals, without any previous notice or opportunity of

arranging and collecting my thoughts, and immediately after Mr.

Edgeworth had spoken in the highest terms of a work which, till

I afterwards undeceived him, he considered as entirely my own

production, and for which he lauded my powers in an extravagant

degree, I should not have been able to utter a single connected

sentence, had not former practice rendered that easy which,

without practice, is to some altogether impossible.

“In the evening we dined at Mr. Edgeworth’s. On entering the

library we found Miss Edgeworth reading ‘Public Education.’

She spoke of it in less extravagant but not in less pleasing

terms than her brother. She had read the greater part, and with

the highest delight. Upon her complimenting me as the author,

I informed her that I had written but a small part, and that

my elder brother was the principal author. She then spoke with

less restraint of the merits of the book, and said that it

reflected the highest credit on the writer, whoever he might

be. That her praise was not the unmeaning stuff of common-place

compliment I am sure, for it was not uniform. She objected to

some parts, which she advised us to alter. She had made notes

with her pencil as she read the book, which she pointed out to

us. Most of her suggestions we have adopted; a few which did

not meet our views, after mature deliberation we have ventured

to disregard. One part of the work contains a compliment to

Miss Edgeworth, written, as I could not help telling her for my

own credit, before we had any intention of visiting Ireland. It

is in speaking of our obligations to her as the author of so

many excellent tales for children. The name of her father had

been coupled with hers, but was afterwards crossed out from the

belief that the tales were almost entirely her own production.

This she had noticed, and, with tears in her eyes, requested

that his name might be restored, stating that he had materially

assisted her in all her productions, and that she wished never

to be considered separately from him....

“I cannot describe the restless activity of Mr. Edgeworth. This

evening he displayed more character than I had before had an

opportunity of observing. Let it be remembered that this was

Sunday evening.

“We did not sit down to dinner till after seven o’clock. So

long as the ladies remained in the room Mr. Edgeworth kept some

curb on his spirits. He was the complete gentleman, behaving

with the greatest respect towards his female relations,

and, indeed, towards every one at the table. As soon as the

barbarous custom now in vogue had driven the ladies to the

drawing-room, Mr. Edgeworth invited us to draw our chairs

together. The butler was ordered to bring some bottles of a

particular claret, which he told us was better than nectar. A

toast was proposed, and we proceeded to the business of the

evening, Mr. Edgeworth for some time watching very carefully

to see there was no unnecessary display of ‘daylight.’ Between

every toast, Mr. E. spoke in the most extravagant terms of

our book; and ‘Hazelwood School,’ ‘Mr. Hill and family,’ ‘The

author of the book,’ &c., were toasted with all due solemnity.

We did not fail to return thanks, and to propose ‘The

Edgeworth-Town Assisting School,’ ‘Miss Edgeworth,’ &c.

“I must remark that in the morning he had asked me many

questions respecting our band, and had expressed to his

boys his earnest wish that a band should be formed in his

school. Some of the boys, it was stated, could already play a

little upon the flute. Mr. Edgeworth desired them to perfect

themselves with all possible despatch.

“In the midst of our jollification, as we sat with the windows

open, we heard two flutes playing a quick tune in the town. Mr.

Edgeworth was delighted with this, and immediately sent one

of his servants to fetch the players, whoever they might be.

The man soon returned with two of the scholars, who had been

parading up and down the street without shoes and stockings,

and marching to their own music. We immediately adjourned to a

kind of conservatory, into which the dining-room opened, where,

after giving us another tune, the boys joined us in drinking

‘Success to the band.’ ... Delighted with every one, and with

himself in particular, Mr. Edgeworth got into the most playful

humour. Sometimes, after a toast, he directed we should join

hands all round, then cross them, &c.... At about midnight, he

proposed that we should go to the school-house, and see how

things went on there. He opened a back door, which let us at

once into the street. The key of this door he always kept about

him, as he said, that he might go out and inspect the state

of the town at any hour of the night without disturbing his

family. This he frequently does, going into people’s houses in

disguise,—in imitation, I suppose, of the hero of the Arabian

tales. The butler was sent forward to call up O’Brien, the

classical teacher of the school, and Steele, one of the head

monitors. He was cautioned, at the same time, not to forget

the good things which were under his care.... Steele, who,

though a young man of genteel appearance, is the son of a poor

bricklayer, sallied forth from a small cottage, and met us in

the street. Both he and O’Brien had been in bed. Mr. Edgeworth,

like most men who are occasionally very familiar with their

inferiors, is very tenacious of his rank and authority. Poor

Steele was desired to relate a story—of which the length very

far exceeded the interest—about a silver trowel which had been

presented by Mr. Edgeworth to Steele’s father, on account of

his having had the honour to open the family vault at the time

of the death of the late Mr. Edgeworth. The young man, as was

natural enough when we consider that he had been called out of

a warm bed, and was now standing in the street at midnight,

began his relation with his head covered. Mr. Edgeworth

immediately ordered him to take off his hat, and even made him

put it on the ground.

“At the school-house, after carefully satisfying ourselves that

all the boys were safely roosted, we proceeded much in the same

manner as at Mr. Edgeworth’s house. O’Brien and Steele were

asked by him if they knew any good songs, and they accordingly

favoured us with some of their best.

“Shortly after, Mr. Edgeworth, as though a thought had suddenly

struck him, cried out that he should uncommonly like a

beefsteak. Most of us agreed that it would be a good thing; but

Arthur, who had been rather fidgetty most of the evening, could

stand it no longer, and accordingly made good his retreat to

the inn. For my own part, I cannot say that I receive the least

true pleasure from parties like this; but, as every one must

occasionally join in them, I think it best to make oneself as

comfortable as possible under all the circumstances, and not to

attempt to swim against the stream.

“The mistress of the house, who I afterwards learned had been

in bed, was now summoned, and questioned as to the possibility

of satisfying our wishes. Fortunately she was provided with

the means, and at about two o’clock we sat down to a beefsteak

supper. After supper, Mr. Edgeworth commenced an oration in

praise of his butler’s grandmother, who had been remarkable for

many good qualities. The glasses were filled, the butler was

furnished with one, and with the utmost solemnity we drank to

the memory of the worthy grandmother....

“The next day we took our leave of the Edgeworths. Miss

Edgeworth had now read the whole of the book. She spoke of its

excellences in the same terms as before, but she objected to

some parts of our plan. She is afraid that the republicanism

of the school may be alarming, and advises that this part

should be made less prominent. She says she is afraid that

parents will dread the republican spirit which our system must

infuse among the boys. I think she has too much good sense to

think this an evil in itself—indeed, she spoke of it only as a

matter of prudence as regards ourselves. She, perhaps, may be

right, but I think that we may venture; because, in the first

place, the republican tendency of our plans is very far from

obvious, and there are very few Miss Edgeworths to find it out.

And again, I think people are now beginning to be a little

enlightened on the subject, and that we shall soon be on the

popular side of the question, even with that class which it is

our interest to please.”

On their way back to Dublin, the travellers overheard two Irishmen

discussing the career of Napoleon, tidings of whose death had lately

arrived. One of them maintained that the failure of his Russian campaign

was altogether due to a premature setting-in of the monsoons. The other

modestly remarked that he had always understood that these winds were

known only on the Indian Ocean. “Yes,” replied the first; “but that year

they blew a _tremendious_ long way inland, carrying with them prodigious

cold.”

The brothers took the steam-packet from Dublin to Holyhead. “The captain

told them that his company intended to attempt running it throughout the

next winter; and cautiously remarked that he thought in a storm a steamer

might even have some advantages over a sailing-vessel.”

In the summer of the following year (1822), Rowland Hill again visited

the Isle of Wight, accompanied by two of his younger brothers:—

“While in the Isle of Wight, I visited a cave in the side of an

immensely high cliff. This cave is called the Hermit’s Hole.

The only road to it is along a narrow path leading from the top

of the cliff. This path is steep and narrow, and the descent

is somewhat dangerous, as a slip would inevitably precipitate

a person down the cliff, a height of about seven hundred

feet, into the sea which roars below. Travellers in the Isle

of Wight speak in strange terms of this cave. One says ‘the

mere thought of such an adventure (that of visiting the cave)

is enough to shake the strongest nerves;’ and he recommends no

one to venture, as ‘the path is so narrow that it is impossible

to turn round, consequently a person who should set out must

go all the way.’ I believe I am naturally cowardly. I have,

however, I hope educated myself to face danger as well as most

men. I therefore feel a pleasure and an interest in voluntarily

putting my courage to the test, and I am proud when I find

I can do that which other people pronounce to be difficult.

Arthur would not venture to the edge of the cliff; but, after

taking off my coat, I proceeded down the path, followed by

Frederic. At first the path is protected by a projecting rock,

which forms a kind of breastwork on the sea side, but after a

few yards there is no protection whatever. I found the path

better than I had expected; but it is very steep and narrow,

and, besides slanting in length towards the cave, has a side

slant towards the sea. There were several loose stones upon

it, which made the danger so much the greater; some of these

upon the least touch fell into the sea. It was with some

difficulty I overcame an involuntary feeling of the necessity

of leaping after them. The cave has nothing in itself to repay

the danger of reaching it: the whole pleasure, indeed, consists

in the danger overcome. Notwithstanding the accounts given

by travellers, I turned back two or three times to see for

Frederic. He ventured the greater part of the way; but when he

came to a place where the path turned round a projecting part

of the cliff, his courage failed him, and he hurried back. I

must confess, however, that he accomplished more than I could

have done at his age. I think the path was about twenty yards

in length.”

CHAPTER VII.

In the summer of 1822 “Public Education” was published. Every effort

had been made to work up the school to a high degree of excellence. “I

am perfectly aware,” Rowland Hill wrote, “that much must be done before

our school is fully prepared to stand the minute, and, perhaps, in many

cases, invidious inspection which will take place in consequence of our

inviting attention. I am also convinced of the necessity of making very

vigorous improvements in my own mind. I hope I have already done much,

and I am determined to accomplish more.” The Exhibition, or Speech-day,

of June, 1822, had been a great success. “It was,” old Mr. Hill wrote to

his eldest son, “a night of triumphant excellence.” Under the date of

August 4th, 1822, Rowland Hill records in his Journal:—

“We have every reason at present to be pleased with the

reception the book has met with. It has not yet received much

attention from reviewers. An article has, it is true, appeared

in the ‘Monthly Magazine,’ speaking of it in terms of the

highest praise, and it has been noticed in terms of general

commendation in several of the newspapers; but I allude chiefly

to the private expression of the opinions of people of the

highest literary rank The book appears to interest its readers

in a very unusual manner. It seems to be spreading a kind of

education mania in the world.... Jeremy Bentham is a man who

will not be forgotten in the world; though neglected by a great

part of his countrymen, he is held in the highest esteem by the

enlightened and honest.... To him, as the author of a work

on education, and as a man of the greatest influence, Matthew

presented a copy of our book. A short time after he received

an invitation to dine with Mr. Bentham. He was received in the

most flattering manner. Mr. Bentham informed him that, when

he first saw the book, disgusted as he had often been by the

vague generalities of treatises on education, he threw it aside

without looking into it. Shortly after, however, he opened the

book, with very slight hopes of discovering anything worth

reading. His attention was very soon fixed; he gave it to his

reader, a young man of seventeen, who, to use Mr. Bentham’s own

phrase, went ‘chuckling all the way through it.’ Mr. Bentham

was so delighted with the work that he kept it on a little

shelf constantly within reach, and opened it many times during

dinner.”

Bentham sent a friend to inspect the school. “He certainly did not

neglect his duty, for he would take nothing on credit. Such inspections

as these, however, far from displeasing us, are exactly what we want.”

So favourable was the inspector’s report, that Bentham placed two Greeks

at Hazelwood at his own expense. He circulated the Magazine that the boys

published among his friends, and even sent a contribution to its pages in

a letter franked by Joseph Hume:—

“Queen’s Square Place, Westminster,

“April 11th, 1823.

“Proposed for the ‘Hazelwood Magazine,’ with Mr. Bentham’s love

to the good boys thereof, that they may consider which of the

two modes of discipline is preferable.

“_Extract from the_ MORNING CHRONICLE, _April 11th, 1823_.

“‘AN ACTIVE SCHOOLMASTER.—According to the ‘German Pedagogic

Magazine,’ vol. 3, p. 407, died lately in Spain, a schoolmaster

who for fifty-one years had superintended a large institution

with old-fashioned severity. From an average inferred by means

of recorded observations, one of the ushers had calculated

that in the course of his exertions he had given 911,500

canings, 124,000 floggings, 209,000 custodes, 136,000 tips with

the ruler, and 22,700 tasks to get by heart. It was further

calculated that he made 700 boys stand on peas, 600 kneel on a

sharp edge of wood, 5,000 wear the fool’s cap, and 1,700 hold

the rod. How vast the quantity of human misery inflicted by a

single perverse educator.’—_Whitehaven Gazette._”

Bentham wrote to Dr. Parr “in high terms of the system, saying that

it had caused him to throw aside all he had done himself.” He kept up

his interest in the school, and some years later, in company with Mrs.

Grote, at whose house he was staying, visited Rowland Hill at Bruce

Castle. “Mr. Bentham,” he wrote on September 15th, 1827, “paid us a

visit on Wednesday, and went away highly delighted. I never saw him in

such spirits before. It is the first time he has left his home since his

return from Paris (in 1825).” The fame of Hazelwood rapidly spread. The

Greek Committee placed two young Greeks in the school:—

“His Excellency the Tripolitan Ambassador has informed us that

he has sent to Tripoli for six young Africans, and the Algerine

Ambassador, not to be outdone by his piratical brother, has

sent for a dozen from Algiers. The Persian Ambassador also

thinks it would be much to the advantage of the monarchy he

represents to put a few persons under our guidance. If these

worthies should come, we must look out for a Mosque.”

“We will rejoice over them,” wrote old Mr. Hill to his son, “when

winds and seas have wafted them to port. Think not this proceeds

from incredulity. So much good fortune as to be the means of sending

civilization, and of darting one ray of liberty upon the wilds of Africa,

seems too much to hope for.”

Wilberforce, the venerable champion of negro emancipation, and Grote, the

future historian of Greece, went to Birmingham to inspect the school.

Grote heard the boys construe Homer. Even at that time enough was known

of his studies in Greek to make the young master who was taking the

class feel not a little nervous. Two of Mrs. Grote’s nephews were removed

from Eton and placed at Hazelwood. Five years later Grote, writing to

Rowland Hill to introduce a friend, says, “I have taken the liberty of

mentioning to him the high opinion which I entertain of the Hazelwood

system.” The elder of the two nephews on leaving Cambridge went over to

Stockholm as a kind of apostle of the new learning. “Public Education”

had been translated into Swedish by Count Frölich, and a company was

formed in Sweden to found a “Hillian School.” Professor Säve, of the

University of Upsala, stayed a month at Hazelwood, carefully studying the

system. But even a Professor could not master such a system in a month,

and aid was called for from England. The young Cambridge man offered

himself as a volunteer in the great cause. He went over to Stockholm,

and for many a year helped to keep the faith pure and undefiled in the

_Hillska Skola_.

Lord John Russell sent Dr. Maltby to inspect the school, and Dr. Maltby

some years later on, when Bishop of Durham, gave out the prizes. “The

number of visitors here,” wrote Mr. M. D. Hill when on a visit to his

father’s house, “is immense. It is quite a nuisance. They sometimes have

three or four parties at a time, and not a day passes without some.”

The Marquis of Lansdowne, the Earl of Clarendon, Lord Auckland, Lord

Kinnaird, Sir George Napier, Sir George Pollock, Brougham, De Quincey,

Roscoe, Malthus, Joseph Hume, Nassau Senior, Robert Owen, W. J. Fox,

Basil Hall, Babbage, and Lardner were all interested in Hazelwood,

and not a few of them sent pupils there. Some of them even wished to

reform the constitution. “We have had, on the whole,” wrote old Mr.

Hill to his son, “a pleasant interview with Mr. Hume and Dr. Gilchrist.

They wish to set us right in two important particulars. First—That we

should compel all to remain when the Committee comes to be chosen.

Second—That the votes be all secret on that and all other occasions. We

are quite obstinate on both questions, and, in conformity with usage,

persist in old ways. You will be most highly amused with the honourable

gentleman’s penetrative inspection, when it shall become safe to tell

all. He is, however, a right good fellow. The Doctor set out with a

grammatical examination, but presently delapsed into an etymological

disquisition and lecture, exquisitely amusing and, as I maintain, highly

instructive.” In January, 1825, “Public Education” was criticised in

the “Edinburgh Review,” and criticised in the most friendly spirit.

The “London Magazine” followed a year later with a long, and a still

more friendly, article by De Quincey. M. Jullien, the editor of the

“Revue Encyclopédique,” himself inspected the school, and then published

in his Review an article on the book. The ex-President of the United

States, Thomas Jefferson, who was at that time organising the University

of Virginia, sent for the work. Mr. Bowring wrote to say that he had

himself sent out a copy to the President of Haiti. Many pupils were sent

to Hazelwood from abroad, chiefly from the newly-founded Republics of

South America. The school almost at one bound sprang into fame. “It was

a celebrity,” Rowland Hill wrote in his old age “which I now think was

excessive, and which was followed in some instances by disappointment.”

Yet at the time it might well have seemed to the young man that his

early dreams were not the children of an idle brain. He might well

have thought that he had already done much towards rendering his name

illustrious in after ages.[63] In his letters, however, I find few signs

of triumph. In his Journal, unfortunately, a break of many years begins

about this time. He had begun to keep it for the sake of practice in

composition, and his lesson was now learnt. “I can now employ my time to

greater advantage, and I rather grudge the little attention which I still

devote to my history.”

His health was breaking down under his heavy labour. Writing to his

eldest brother a fortnight after the beginning of the summer holidays of

1822, he says:—

“You complain, and with justice, that I do not write to you.

To tell the truth, since the holidays commenced I have done

nothing at all. I can scarcely say how the time has passed;

all I know is that it is gone. The exertions previous to the

exhibition were succeeded by a languor of which I have not yet

been able to rid myself. It was not my intention to have left

home these holidays, for there is much that I wish to do, but

every one tells me I am thin and pale.... Arthur and Frederic

are much in the same predicament with myself.”

He had much wanted, he said, to go to Scotland, with letters of

introduction to the officer who was conducting the trigonometrical

survey. Owen’s establishment at New Lanark had also “a strong magnetic

influence.” A year later (1823) he again excuses his neglect to write to

his brother. “Writing a letter always costs me a headache.” He had just

enjoyed a six weeks’ tour through the north of England and Scotland:—

“Through Westmoreland and Cumberland I of course walked, and

never spent four days more pleasantly than in viewing the

delightful scenery those counties afford. At New Lanark I was

received in the most hospitable manner by the Owens. I spent

two days and a-half there very pleasantly and profitably. In

the management of the children neither rewards nor punishments

are employed. The consequences are that the children appear

very happy, very healthy, many very intelligent, and many

very inattentive and disorderly; but when I consider that the

children in the schools are nearly all under ten years of age,

and that what they are taught is effected without any pain

whatever being intentionally inflicted, I cannot be sure that

theirs is not the correct mode of proceeding.”

During this tour he was free from pain nearly all the time:—

“But the very morning after my return the pain returned, and

has not yet left me, though it is not so bad as at first....

I am cruelly disappointed to find that so much time and money

should have been expended to so little purpose, as it at

present appears.”

Three months later he describes his fear of a relapse into “the maddening

state of mind” from which he had but lately escaped.

In the spring of 1824 he writes:—

“I cannot condense my efforts as I used to do. I am obliged to

take more time for everything.”

A few months later his brother Matthew writes to him:—

“I am very glad to hear of your recovery. If I were you, I

would let the exhibition go to the Devil rather than overwork

myself.... Depend upon it, you will never be paid either in

fame or profit for any exertion in that barren spot. Spare

yourself for better times.”

When the summer holidays began, he took a trip to Paris:—

“I visited one of the floating baths on the Seine, when,

forgetful of my weak state, I plunged at once into deep water.

Immediately the attendants hurried forward to my rescue with

long, slender poles, like boat-hooks, and were very angry, as

though I had intended suicide. And, in fact, I found that I was

quite too weak to swim.”

It was in vain that his brother urged him to spare himself. Whatever he

put his hand to, he did with all his might. A year later (September,

1825) he was once more dangerously ill. “Mr. Hodgson,”[64] his father

wrote, “prohibits all hints even about business. He says that the

serious aspect assumed by the carbuncle is clearly the effect of mental

excitation, and that your brother’s is the first instance of such a turn

in a person under forty that has come under his observation.... It is a

sad thing to be paralysed at the instant of high water in our affairs.

Disappointment is, however, no new thing to us, and patience may work a

retrieval, as it has done in times past.”

Two days later he again writes:—

“Though it were vain to disguise the fears which intrude

themselves on your mother’s mind and my own, still we have Mr.

Hodgson’s assurance that all will go well, provided the dear

boy’s mind can be kept from painful excitement.... Mr. Hodgson

has told your mother that, as soon as Rowland recovers, he

shall strongly advise him, as a medical friend, to abandon any

plan that shall demand unusual energy. These, my dear boy, are

damping suggestions. My fear is that they will be unavailing,

and that a life so truly valuable will be lost in splendid but

abortive efforts.”

The severe operations which he had to undergo he bore with the utmost

fortitude. During the worst of them he never uttered a sound, but merely

said when it was over, “Come, that’s no trifle.” Bodily pain at all times

of his life he endured with silent patience.

It was fortunate that there was no sense of failure in his plans to

heighten his illness. He had none of that misery to encounter which, as

he had written, would come upon him should Hazelwood not succeed. His

success seemed complete. In 1819 the new school-house had opened with

sixty-six pupils. Year after year for seven years the numbers steadily

rose till, by 1826, there were 150. Rugby did not at that time number so

many. When he was lying on his sick-bed his father wrote—“Applications

(for admittance) are almost become a source of anxiety, unless they

were made pleasant by a greater portion of health and strength to meet

them.” I have been told by one who was then living in Birmingham that

so great for a time was the eagerness to get boys into Hazelwood that,

when the school was full, strangers often sought the advocacy of a common

friend, in the hope of still securing a place for their son. The very

thoroughness of the success was a great misfortune. The steady growth of

the new school during its first few years was due to its real merits.

The two youngest sons had joined their elder brothers in the management,

and for some years there were four of them all working harmoniously

together, and with the greatest energy. “Public Education” did not at

first rapidly swell the numbers. But when Jeffrey in the “Edinburgh

Review,” and De Quincey in the “London Magazine,” both blew a loud blast

in its praise, then the tide of prosperity set in with far too sudden

and too full a flood. The heads of the young schoolmasters were by no

means turned by their success. They found themselves confronted with

fresh difficulties. Rowland Hill had before this become painfully aware

of his own shortcomings. But these were brought more than ever home to

him by his very success, for it lifted him at once into a higher class

of society. Men of rank and men of learning sent their children to be

educated at Hazelwood. The expectations that “Public Education” raised

were undoubtedly too high. The young authors wrote with thorough honesty.

But they were writing about their own inventions and their own schemes;

and, like all other inventors and schemers, they had a parental fondness

for the offspring of their own brains. The rapid increase in the number

of pupils was, moreover, as it always must be, a great source of danger

to the discipline. In any school it is always a very hazardous time when

the proportion of new boys is large. But in such a school as Hazelwood,

with its complicated system of self-government, the hazard must have been

unusually great. Out of 117 boys, with whom the school opened in January,

1825, only sixty-three had been in it more than seven months. At the very

time, therefore, when Rowland Hill might with good reason have looked to

enjoy some rest from his prolonged toil, a fresh strain was thrown upon

him. It is not wonderful that he sank under it for a time, almost broken,

as it seemed, in health and spirits.

In the midst of his hard work, a few months before the second of the two

illnesses, he had been suddenly called upon to face a new difficulty. He

had been bent on founding a great school, which should serve as a kind

of model to the whole country. “I had refrained from writing to you,” he

wrote to his eldest brother, when he was regaining his strength, “because

I knew it to be important to my speedy recovery to keep down as much as

possible all those associations connected with the little school, and

with the great school, which so uniformly arise in my mind whenever I

write to you, let the subject be what it may.”

Even so early as the year 1820 he had recorded in his Journal:—

“All our plans are necessarily calculated for great numbers,

and I contend that, where the strength of the teachers is

proportionate, a school cannot be too numerous. If we had 500

instead of 70 boys, I would make this place a Paradise. Till we

have some such number, the effects of our system, great as they

have already been, cannot be justly appreciated. I have some

hopes that in time we may be able to explode the foolish ideas

that private education and limited numbers are desirable.”

A few years later he began to see that it was not in a suburb of

Birmingham that even he could make a Paradise. He saw that to carry out

his plans the day must come when he should move to the neighbourhood

of London. There was still much, he felt, to be done before he should

be ready to take this step. But from a clear sky there came a clap of

thunder. He was suddenly filled with alarm lest his plans should be

forestalled. He was startled to learn that Bentham had one day said to

Matthew Hill, “I have been thinking whether, if a sucker were taken from

your Hazelwood tree and planted near London, it would grow.” In February,

1825, Matthew wrote that Brougham had just told him that he, John

Smith,[65] and James Mill had resolved to found a school at London on

the Hazelwood plan immediately. “Brougham has some money in hand, and J.

Smith has offered to find the rest at four per cent. Brougham says that

Burdett, Hobhouse, and Mill are strongly in favour of Hazelwood.”[66]

Rowland Hill was not a little alarmed at the news, and with some reason,

too. “Will it not be well,” he wrote back to his brother, “to inform

Brougham that we have it in contemplation to establish a metropolitan

school ourselves? If he knows this already, I think his conduct is very

strange.” The brothers were not long in coming to a decision. They

resolved to act upon Bentham’s thought with all speed, and plant near

London a sucker from the Hazelwood tree.

[Illustration: BRUCE CASTLE, TOTTENHAM.]

As soon as Rowland had somewhat recovered his strength, he began to

explore the country round London, in the quest after a suitable house.

The search was a long one. “I have,” he wrote in March, 1826, “with the

exception of a small district which I am just going to explore, and a

part of Essex, examined every great road from London.” At length his

efforts were crowned with success. In the old mansion which had for ages

borne the name of Bruce Castle, standing in the beautiful fragment of

what once had been a wide park, he found a home for his new school. He

had always been keenly alive to the charms both of scenery and antiquity.

Here he found the two happily combined. The park, indeed, was but small,

yet so thick was the foliage of the stately trees, and so luxuriant the

undergrowth of the shrubberies, that its boundaries failed to catch the

eye. High overhead the rooks, from time immemorial, had had their homes

in the lofty elms. The wood-pigeons built on the topmost branches of a

noble cedar of Lebanon, and the cuckoo, with his two-fold shout, never

forgot there the return of spring. The kingfisher has been seen perching

on a branch that overhung the pool in which the water-hen has reared

her young. Hard by the main building stood an ancient tower, where the

owls, year after year, made their nest—a tower which was standing when

Elizabeth visited the mansion, and when Henry VIII. met there his sister,

Queen Margaret of Scotland. Ancient though it is, it does not go back

to days when both the house and manor took their name from their owner,

the father of King Robert Bruce. The foundations of earlier buildings

have been found deep beneath the lawn. On two of the bricks of the house

there can still be read the first letters of names which were carved,

as the date tells, when a Stuart was King in England. Through a narrow

gate in the western boundary of the park, the path leads, across a quiet

lane, into the churchyard. Here, as tradition told, the wall had been

broken down when the last of the Lords Coleraine died, who had once

owned the manor, and through the gap the body had been carried to its

resting-place. Close by this little gate rose a graceful Lombardy poplar

to the height of 100 feet—a landmark to all the country round. Through

the trees, when winter had stripped them of their leaves, was seen from

the windows of the Castle an ancient church-tower of singular beauty: ivy

had covered it to the coping-stone with the growth of full two hundred

years. When the foliage of summer hid it from the view, nevertheless it

made its presence known by a peal of bells famous for their sweetness.

The sound of the summoning bell might well inspire lofty thoughts and

high aims, for it had once hung in the Citadel of Quebec, and had rung

out the alarm when Wolfe stormed the heights of Abraham. The bells still

remain, but the ivy has yielded to the ruthless hand of an ignorant

restorer. The tower is ivy-mantled no more; and the graceful work of two

long centuries has been in a moment wantonly cast away.

This beautiful home was doubly endeared to Rowland Hill, for here he

brought his bride, and here he spent the first six years of his wedded

life. In the same summer that he left Hazelwood he had married the

playmate of his childhood. His affection for her had grown with his

growth, and had never for a moment wavered. He had long loved her

with the deep but quiet love of a strong nature. He was no Orlando to

character his thoughts on the barks of trees. Even to his Journal,

though he kept it hidden from every eye but his own, he never entrusted

his secret. Two years before he kept his golden wedding-day he noticed,

it would seem, this silence so uncommon in a lover. “From motives of

delicacy,” he noted down, “I avoided in my Journal all mention of my

early attachment to C——.” If his early records were silent in her praise,

yet, when he came to write the history of the great work of his life, he

spoke out with no uncertain accents. “I cannot record my marriage,” he

wrote, “without adding that my dear wife’s help in my subsequent toils,

and not least in those best known to the public, was important, perhaps

essential, to their success.” An old-fashioned friend of his family, who

knew well how hard she had laboured in helping her husband in his great

work, on hearing some one say that Mr. Rowland Hill was the Father of

Penny Postage, quaintly remarked, “Then I know who was its Mother. It was

his wife.”

CHAPTER VIII.

The family group at Hazelwood, of which Rowland Hill had for many years

formed the central figure, began with his settlement at Bruce Castle

to break up. It had from time to time been lessened by the marriage

of a child; nevertheless, four sons and a daughter had been left, who

lived year after year under their parents’ roof in harmony and with

great singleness of heart. “In our course through life,” he said in a

passage which I once more quote, “from the beginning to the present hour,

each one of us has been always ready to help the others to the best

of his power; and no one has failed to call for such assistance again

and again.” How great was the aid that he afforded his brothers, they

gratefully acknowledged. One of them, writing to him a few years after he

had left Hazelwood, said:—

“No one, I am sure, can forget for many hours together that the

family owes much more to you than to any other member—that, in

fact, the sacrifices you have made, and the energy and talent

you have brought to bear on its advancement ought to obtain

for you the constant acknowledgments and gratitude of all.

Arthur and I frequently avow this in our private conversation.

I think, too, you show beyond dispute that you have been more

persevering than most of us in your pursuits, even though you

were not allowed to choose your profession.”

In the time of their tribulation and in the time of their wealth, the

brothers were equally united. Many years they had passed in breathing—

“The keen, the wholesome air of poverty;

And drinking from the well of homely life.”

Not a few years had they now enjoyed of prosperity. But prosperity had

no power to snap that bond which had been knitted in adversity. “The

whole family participated in my joy,” wrote Rowland, when, as a boy of

thirteen, he won the drawing prize. Throughout life, every prize that he

won—every prize that any of them won—was a matter of rejoicing to all.

“The spirit of co-operation was recommended to us,” the brothers wrote,

“by our parents—during their lives and on their death-beds.” An instance

of this may be seen in the following letter, written to Rowland Hill by

his father:—

“_September 17, 1827._

“MY DEAR SON,—This day thirty-five years ago I lost my beloved

brother Matthew. Dating this letter first brought into my

mind the recollection of the circumstance that this was the

melancholy anniversary, which is marked in my mind more than

any other day of the year. Nor have I a wish that such might

not be the case. To see my children united, as they are, in

strong fraternal affection is doubly delightful, as it so

forcibly reminds me of that which subsisted between my brother

and myself to the moment of his death, and which will remain

with me till quenched by the corresponding event. The sorrows

of such feelings you know to be preferable to the joys of

anti-social gratifications.”

On this spirit they all steadily acted. I have come across an old letter

in which the eldest son wrote to ask Rowland for his help in a matter

of great moment. It so happened that the request came at a time when he

could be but ill spared from his school. He answered:—

“As we cannot, from ignorance of many of the facts, judge how

far my going is important to your interests, I will state to

you the sacrifice on our part, and then leave the decision

in your hands, begging of you to determine the question with

reference to the total amount of advantage, and not caring

whether the sacrifice is on our side or yours.”

He states at length the difficulties under which he himself lies; and

thus concludes:—

“You know us too well to suspect us of unwillingness to assist

in promoting your success in life. If the probable advantage to

yourself, and through you to the other members of the family,

will, in your opinion, outweigh the probable inconveniences

which we may sustain, pray say so without the slightest

reserve, and I will meet you at the time appointed.”

When he was first made a partner in the school, he recorded in his

Journal: “I do not know whether my father intends to give me a share of

the profits of the business, and I shall say nothing about it myself till

he can better afford it.” It would seem that for the next nine years

he altogether forgot to say anything about it, for it was not till the

time of his marriage that any division was made of the common stock.

The father and mother and the four sons who had been concerned in the

management of the school had hitherto lived like the early Christians:

“Neither said any of them that aught of the things which he possessed

was his own; but they had all things common.” “I suppose,” writes one

of the survivors of this band of brothers, “when any one was about to

incur a larger expense than usual, as for a long journey, he must have

mentioned the matter to the others, and so obtained at least a tacit

consent; but there was nothing formal in the matter, nor can I remember a

single discussion on the subject; for each knowing the family necessities

acted accordingly. Of any separate fund possessed by any single member

I have no recollection.” To hold property in common for many years would

generally put family concord to a severe strain. To divide it might,

perhaps, put it to one still more severe. Happily in the division that

now took place the strain was not felt. The second son, Edwin, who up to

this time had had no share in the school, was made arbitrator, and he

apportioned the common property, which was of no inconsiderable amount,

among his parents and his brothers. “I have,” he wrote, “considered the

property as having been accumulated within the last twelve years, and I

have supposed that the efforts of each brother were equally efficient

at the same age. I suppose accumulation to begin with the age of twenty

years. The value of the services of each I have assumed to increase with

the age of each, and in the proportion of age.”

The brothers now drew up Articles of Partnership. The two schools were

to be managed as one business. The parents retired, but their place

was filled up by the second son and his wife. The Twelfth Article of

Partnership was as follows:—

“From a consideration that it is far more important that each

claimant should receive enough money to enable him to defray

the reasonable expenses of his maintenance, clothing, &c., than

that some should be accumulating property, whilst others might

be running in debt, it was determined that should the profits

in any one year ever fall so low as not to yield more than the

estimated amount of the necessary expenses of each claimant

for that year, the proportions recorded above shall no longer

be observed, and the following sums (which are considered as

equivalent to such necessary expenditure) shall be substituted

in their stead.”

The “necessary expenditure of each claimant” was calculated by the number

of people whom he had to support. For each of the three unmarried

brothers it was fixed at the same amount. The two married brothers were

each to be allowed between two and three times as much as a bachelor.

If in any year there were not profits enough made to supply even the

“necessary expenditure,” each claimant, nevertheless, could draw upon the

general fund for “the stated sum.” In more years than one it happened

that “the total of profits arising from all sources did not equal the

expenses incurred in the maintenance of the families.” The profits

were then divided “according to the plan provided to meet such a case,

namely, that each partner have a share proportioned to his estimated

reasonable expenses.” The more children a partner had, the larger share

he received. In this arrangement there was, it must be allowed, something

not altogether in accordance with the principles laid down by Mr. Malthus.

When, some years later, the school partnership was dissolved, a plan for

mutual insurance was at once formed by Rowland Hill and the three other

surviving partners under the name of _The Family Fund_:—

“To afford to each a security, to a certain extent, against

future suffering from poverty, and to secure to all such

advantages of union as are perfectly consistent with the

non-existence of a partnership, it is further agreed to form

a fund, to be called the Family Fund, to be applied to the

relief of any of the undersigned, or their wives, or their

descendants, who, in the opinion of the Managers of the Fund,

may require such relief.

“The Managers of the Fund to consist of the survivors among the

undersigned, or such other persons as the Managers, for the

time being, may appoint in writing.

“The Managers to have the uncontrolled disposal of the Fund, as

regards both principal and interest.”

Each brother was to begin by contributing to the fund a considerable sum

of money, “and, further, one-half of the surplus of his annual clear

earnings (exclusive of the proceeds of investments) over his reasonable

expenses.” The surplus earnings were to be taken on a series of years. An

estimate, varying in each case, was adopted of the reasonable expenses

of each brother. While they considered it expedient, they said, to leave

themselves and their successors unfettered in the management of the fund,

they, nevertheless, thought that it might be useful to put on record some

of their views. From these views I extract the following:—

“That anyone possessing an interest in the Fund should be

considered as entitled to relief, if in circumstances much

depressed as compared with the others, though not in absolute

poverty.

“That so long, however, as he is able, without great

embarrassment, to draw on his own capital, his claim to relief

should not be admitted.

“That in determining the amount of relief, regard should be had

to the propriety or impropriety of the conduct which has led to

its necessity.

“That at occasional annual meetings,—say once in ten years,—it

is desirable to consider whether it might not be expedient

to close the Family Fund account, and divide the whole among

the undersigned, or their wives and their descendants. It

is the present opinion of the undersigned that such a step

will probably be expedient, when all their children shall

have attained adult age, with a view, perhaps, of a similar

arrangement being entered into by such of their descendants as

may desire it.

“That in the ultimate division of the Fund, regard should

be had first to the unmerited necessities of the respective

families; secondly, to the amount of aid which shall have been

previously afforded to each from the Fund; and, lastly, to the

total amount contributed.”

The Family Fund existed for many years. At last it had done its work,

and it was brought to a close. Whereupon the four brothers issued the

following address to “the junior members of the Hill family”:—

“Many of you know that until lately there existed, under

the name of the Family Fund, a joint property formed by

contributions from several members of the family, and intended

to serve as a security against pecuniary distress on the part

either of the subscribers, or of those immediately dependent

on them. As each of us who did so subscribe subsequently

accumulated property sufficient for the limited security

required, as the above arrangement was attended with trouble,

and, in the unsatisfactory state of the laws respecting

property, might, at some future time, have caused serious

difficulties, we brought it to a close, and divided the

property of which we had thus been joint owners.

“As this dissolution is liable to misapprehension, we think

it may be useful to you to be informed that it proceeds from

no distrust of the principle on which the Family Fund was

established; which, indeed, we still regard as perfectly sound

in itself, and, under a better state of the law, equally

applicable to any set of persons who, having confidence in each

other, are yet, individually, of such limited means, as to

stand exposed to risk of pecuniary difficulties.

“The principle involved is simply that of insurance, founded

on the undoubted fact that want is a greater evil than

wealth, beyond a simple competence, is a benefit; and that,

consequently, where the income is either terminable or

uncertain, it is wise, after providing the necessaries of

life, to employ at least a part of the remainder in purchasing

security for the future.

“We may add that in such a union, beyond the mere material

benefit, there naturally arises a moral influence of

considerable power; and of this we have experienced the

advantage; our connection having been sufficiently close to

give to each of us, in a great measure, the benefit of the

experience, knowledge, and judgment, of all the others, and to

secure to each that friendly advice of which every one, some

time or other, stands in need.

“We attribute such success as has attended our family, and

such respect as it has obtained, very much to the spirit

of co-operation which was recommended to us by our parents

during their lives and on their death-beds; and which we, in

turn, living and dying, would recommend to our successors

as amongst the best means of enabling them to do good to

themselves individually and collectively, and no less to their

fellow-creatures at large.

“EDWIN HILL,

“ROWLAND HILL,

“ARTHUR HILL,

“FREDERIC HILL.

“Bruce Castle, Tottenham, _July, 1856_.”

As they trusted each other for aid in case of need, so at all times did

they look to each other for counsel. The affairs of all were known to

each. At every important turn, each sought the judgment of all. “I have

mentioned your advice to the Family Council,” wrote Rowland Hill, in the

year 1825, to his eldest brother. “After some discussion, the following

agreement was come to.” In describing a decision to which he came twelve

years after this date, he writes: “As usual in cases of great difficulty,

I consulted my father and my brothers.” Eleven years later he entered in

his Journal: “E. H., A. H., F. H., and I, met to consult on the steps

to be taken in consequence of the Postmaster-General’s communication,

and decided what should be done. These family consultations are a great

aid to me.” When he was bringing the great work of his life to a close,

he did not, he writes, send in his resignation, as Secretary to the

Post-office, till he had first consulted his brothers. The following

letter, which he wrote to his eldest brother, shows, not only how

strongly he felt the advantages of this family union, but also how ready

he always was to own, and own to the full, how much he himself had owed

to it:—

“Hampstead, 4th December, 1867.

“MY DEAR MATTHEW,—Thank you very much for your kind and

affectionate letter. Fortunately, the members of our family

have always been ready to assist one another—consequently, each

has worked with the combined force of all. This was markedly

the case as regards Penny Postage, as I have endeavoured to

show in the history. But for your great help and that of our

brothers, I should have accomplished but little.

“No one, I am sure, has a better right to draw consolation from

past services than yourself. Not only have you individually and

directly effected a vast amount of good, but you have been the

pioneer for us all.

“Very affectionately yours,

“ROWLAND HILL.”

[_A fac-simile of this letter is given over-leaf._]

In the earlier meetings of the Family Council, rules were sometimes laid

down for their own guidance. Some of the brothers took too little heed

to what they said before outsiders; and, when politics or religion was

the subject of talk, forgot that they were schoolmasters, and spoke out

with the freedom of men. The Council accordingly passed the following

resolution: “It is our opinion that when anyone, by announcing an

opinion, or by a mode of expression, has startled his hearers, that

circumstance is a strong presumptive proof that he has done an injury to

himself.” This is worthy of La Rochefoucauld himself, and yet it was but

little acted on, it would seem, by some of the members. Rowland Hill,

writing to one of his brothers about the time when this resolution was

passed, says: “In making your own conduct conform to that which we all

agree to be right, you exercise a degree of self-control which no other

member of the family has ever evinced.” It was to this rule, I have no

doubt, that he was referring. At another meeting of the Council, I find

it recorded: “It is desirable to settle how far perfection of speculative

opinion should be sacrificed to practical effect.” The question, I fear,

remains unsettled to the present day.

[Illustration: [FAC-SIMILE OF LETTER.]]

[Illustration: [FAC-SIMILE OF LETTER.]]

This curious league of the brothers was due to many causes. From

childhood they had been steadily trained up in it by their parents.

They had long lived all together under the same roof. The eldest son,

who left home at an earlier age than any of the rest, did not finally

quit it till he was six-and-twenty. Each had a thorough knowledge of the

character of all the rest, and this knowledge resulted in thorough trust.

They had all come to have a remarkable agreement on most points—not

only of principle, but also of practice. The habits of one, with but

few exceptions, were the habits of all. He who had ascertained what

one brother thought on any question would not have been likely to go

wrong, had he acted on the supposition that he knew what was thought by

all. They were all full of high aims—all bent on “the accomplishment of

things permanently great and good.” There was no room in their minds for

the petty thoughts of jealous spirits. Each had that breadth of view

which enables a man to rise above all selfish considerations. Each had

been brought up to consider the good of his family rather than his own

peculiar good, and to look upon the good of mankind as still higher than

the good of his family. Each was deeply convinced of the great truth

which Priestley had discovered, and Bentham had advocated—that the object

of all government, and of all social institutions, should be the greatest

happiness of the greatest number for the greatest length of time. In

their youth their aims were often visionary; but they were always high

and noble. If they were daring enough to attempt to improve mankind, they

were, at all events, wise enough to begin their task by setting about

to improve themselves. One of the brothers had by nature a hot temper.

He was, as a boy, “jealous in honour, sudden and quick in quarrel.” He

was the first of them “deliberately and seriously to adopt the maxim

which treats all anger as folly.... Having arrived at a principle, and

that while yet a youth, he strove earnestly, and with great success, to

reduce it to practice.” Certainly his latter years were all placidity.

Another brother had convinced himself “that men become what they are,

not of themselves, but by birth, education, fellowship, and other

such influences; and, therefore, he regarded the slightest approach to

vindictive feeling as both wrong and foolish.” Whatever wrongs he has

suffered through life—and he has had his share—he has never suffered

the pure benevolence of his soul to be for one moment clouded over by

resentment. In truth, they all, at all times, with set purpose, aimed at

placing themselves under the guidance of reason.

They had all been trained by their father from their earliest years to

reason, and to reason not for victory but for truth. As the family day

by day gathered for its meals—meals of the most frugal kind, where, for

many years, nothing stronger than water was drunk—there was often held a

debate on—

“Labour and the changing mart,

And all the framework of the land.”

In this debate all, parents and children alike, were on an equality.

Age was never put forward as a substitute for argument. There had been

little timidity in any of them in their early days, and little fear of

pushing any principle to its extreme consequences. “Keble,” writes Dr.

Newman,[67] “was a man who guided himself and formed his judgments, not

by processes of reason, by inquiry, or by argument, but, to use the word

in a broad sense, by authority.” Rowland Hill, and the other members of

his family, were the exact opposite of Keble. They cared nothing for

authority in the sense in which Dr. Newman uses the word. On reason,

inquiry, and argument, and on them alone, were their judgments formed.

Into such questions as these the elder of the two sisters entered with

scarcely less eagerness than her brothers. She had the same “hereditary

detestation of tyranny and injustice,” and the same “ardent zeal in

the cause of civil and religious freedom.” She was as thorough-going a

reformer as any of them—“yet a Woman too.” She had her brother Rowland’s

high courage and his quiet fortitude also. At the time of the fire at

Hazelwood she was but a girl: yet so great were the efforts that she

then made that she injured her spine. A year and a-half she was forced

to spend on the couch. “Her household motions, light and free” as they

had hitherto been, were suddenly checked. “Nevertheless, throughout

this long period,” says one, who spent much of the time with her, “no

murmur was ever heard.” We, who knew her only in her latter years, let

our memory dwell, with a pleasure and a consolation that never fail, on

her wonderful equanimity, her gentle disposition, and her comprehensive

love. The few who can remember her girlhood say that it showed the woman

“as morning shows the day.” She married early, but she married the warm

friend of all her brothers—the upright son of the upright schoolmaster

who, for conscience sake, had braved the violence of a furious mob.[68]

Her new home was close to Hazelwood, and so by her marriage the family

circle was rather widened than narrowed. The younger sister was an

invalid from her infancy. Her disposition was gentle and loving, but

throughout her short life she was one who was much more called upon to

bear than to do.

“An awful blank” was made in the family group by the death of Howard,

the youngest son. He bore the name of the great and good man whose

friendship to his father’s uncle was the boast of his family. Had he been

granted a long life even that high name might have received from him

fresh honour. He was but five-and-twenty years old when he was cut off by

consumption. Like many another who has suffered under that malady, he was

happily buoyed up by hope nearly to the end. Almost up to his last day

the light of a bright vision, on which he had for some time dwelt, had

not faded away from his sky. “He was bent on showing the world an example

of a community living together on principles strictly social.” He had

saved some money, and all that he had, and himself too, he was ready to

sacrifice for the good of his community. Much time he purposed to spend

in travelling on foot gathering information, and still more time was to

be spent in acquiring the power of enduring bodily toil. He hoped that

others would contribute towards the furtherance of his scheme, but he

would accept, he said, no contribution as a loan. His colony he meant to

settle with foundling children of the age of two years.

“Whether I should begin with one or ten infants, or any

intermediate number, would chiefly depend on the amount of

contributions raised. I would not take more than ten for the

first year, and should afterwards increase according to my

power, aiming to about twenty-five of each sex. These children

I should endeavour to instruct to maintain and enjoy life by

co-operative exertions.”

His utilitarianism was of no narrow kind. His aim was the highest

development of his pupils, both morally and intellectually. He was eager

to begin at once, but if his brothers could for awhile but ill spare his

services he was willing to wait. “It must, however, be remembered,” he

wrote, “that as the success of the experiment much depends on my power

of conforming to a new mode of life, every delay by which my present

necessarily expensive and insincere habits are continually strengthened

greatly increases the difficulty of the proposed undertaking.” He would

have, he well knew, to face the judgment of the world, which is always

hard on those founders of new republics or novel communities who venture

to lay their foundations outside Utopia or below the sky.

“I am almost careless of the opinion of others, and am

labouring to make myself quite insensible to any expression of

either praise or blame. Further, I propose to seclude myself

and _protegés_ as far as is practicable for about fifteen

years.”

He died at an age when the growth of the mind in all who strive after

knowledge is very rapid. Had he lived a few years longer, he would

have seen that the world, as a whole, is wiser than any one man in it,

and that total seclusion from it is the worst of all trainings for the

young. But death swept him away, and there is nothing left of him save

“a fragment from his dream of human life.” The world never knew his

great worth, and his brothers never forgot it. “Time, and the ordinary

current of events,” wrote one of them to his father, “have had their

ordinary effect of deadening the acuteness of our feelings, but at

present the world wears but a dreary aspect to me.” “Believe me, my

beloved son,” wrote the bereaved father a few weeks later, “that whenever

troubles assail us we mechanically turn to thoughts of our children for

comfort.... That you and all our offspring may be as fortunate as we

respecting this first of parental rewards, the prudence and integrity of

children, is our most earnest prayer. Greater good luck it were useless

to hope for, almost impious to desire.”

The vision that another brother raised was of a very different kind. “He

had read Adam Smith’s great work as if it had been an attractive novel.”

Political economy became his favourite study. Huskisson had just entered

upon his reforms of our fiscal system, and the youth longed to play his

part in the great work of improvement that seemed at length to have

fairly begun. For him the school was too small a stage. “He longed for a

wider scope, and, above all, a greater power of doing good.” Huskisson

must surely stand in need, he thought, of more enlightened assistants

than he had at present. Was not his progress along the path of reform

timid and slow, and was not that owing to the fact that, in the offices

of Government, there were few to be found but men of routine and mummery?

He asked his eldest brother whether it would not be practicable to put

him under Huskisson’s wing. He was reminded of the boy who wished to go

apprentice to a bishop.

Such dreams as these were not unnatural in young men who had lived so

much to themselves. It was not till they were grown up that they began

at all to mix in the world. When Rowland Hill was twenty, he mentions in

his Journal two young men as “almost the only persons excepting our own

family with whom I am in habits of intimacy. Indeed, I enjoy so much the

society we have at home,” he says, “that I do not feel the want of a very

extensive circle of friends.” “They had a little ideal world of their

own,” said one who knew them well in those days. Such a world, however

noble it may be, has its own dangers. The high purpose, the fixed mind,

the unconquerable will, the courage never to submit or yield, may well

be nourished there; but it is on a wider stage that a man best learns to

measure life. They who do not master this lesson betimes find it a hard

thing to master it at all; for soon custom lies upon them with a weight—

“Heavy as frost, and deep almost as life.”

From them no small part of the world is likely to remain hidden. To not

a little that men have thought and felt they remain insensible. They can

form a right judgment of those who differ from them only in opinion, but

they find it hard to understand any who go further than this, and differ

from them also in sentiment. Lord Macaulay had this defect in a striking

degree, and yet he had been brought up in a wider circle than the life of

a provincial town, and his mind ranged within no narrow bounds.[69]

“There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio,

Than are dreamt of in your philosophy.”

Some of the greatest benefactors of mankind would have held that, however

true this might be of Horatio, it could not rightfully be addressed to

themselves.

When all that is needed is an appeal to reason and not to sentiment, then

in such men prejudices may quickly fall away. Like many another ardent

and honest reformer of those days, Rowland Hill had in his youth formed

a harsh judgment of the ruling classes. His father had belonged to a

small political club, which met once a week at the houses of the members.

“The conversation,” writes one of the brothers, “very commonly took a

political turn, the opinions on all sides savouring of the extreme, so

that my father was, by comparison, a moderate. It is notorious that men,

very remote from power, with its duties and responsibilities, are apt

to be extravagant in expectations and demands; and so it certainly was

here. ‘I would do thus,’ or ‘I would have this,’ were put forth in full

ignorance of what was practicable, sometimes of what was even desirable.

Such discourse could not but assist the bias already in our minds, so

that we grievously underrated the great actual advantages and high

comparative freedom which our country enjoyed.”

When Rowland Hill, on one of his early visits to London, first saw

Guildhall, he wrote in his Journal: “Much to the disgrace of the City

of London, the monument of Pitt remains there still.” In some later

year he placed opposite the word _disgrace_ a mark of interrogation.

Such feelings as these, which had been nursed in the worst days of Tory

rule, began to die out with the dawn of happier times. With the passing

of the great Reform Bill, all bitterness passed away from him and his

brothers. Nay even, into such good heart had they been put by the repeal

of the Test and Corporation Acts, Roman Catholic Emancipation, and the

Battle of Navarino, that, though the King was George IV., yet at a small

supper-party at Hazelwood one of them struck up, “The King: God bless

him,” and all joined heartily in the refrain. Their enthusiasm was partly

due to some spirited political verses composed and recited by Sheridan

Knowles, who happened to be one of the guests. “It was not without

considerable feeling,” wrote one of the brothers, “that we afterwards

learnt that, while this loyal effusion was pouring forth, the poor King

was dying.”

The removal to the neighbourhood of London at once opened to Rowland Hill

a wider world:—

“In November, 1826 [he wrote], I assisted in founding the

Society for the Diffusion of Useful Knowledge, which,

commencing public operation in the following year, took

so active and important a part in the creation of cheap

literature. Though as a member of the committee[70] I took some

share in the duty, I fear, upon reflection, that such aid as

I was enabled to give was scarcely equivalent to the benefit

which I derived from association with the able and eminent men

with whom I was thus brought in contact.”

His residence at Bruce Castle he but briefly described in the Prefatory

Memoir to “The History of Penny Postage.” It was, to a great extent,

the life of a schoolmaster; and that life in the earlier part of the

narrative had been set forth at considerable length. The following is the

account he gave of these years:—

“During a portion of 1829, and throughout the two following

years, I occupied part of my leisure hours in devising means of

measuring time, in connection with astronomical observations,

more minutely than had hitherto been done. With this view I

tried many experiments, and succeeded in carrying accuracy

of measurement first to one-tenth, and by a subsequent

improvement, to one-hundredth of a second. In June, 1832, I

addressed a letter to the Council of the Astronomical Society,

of which I had been a member for about seven years, showing

the principle of my device, which is in some measure indicated

by the name I gave it, viz., the ‘Vernier pendulum,’[71] and

applying for the loan of one of the Society’s clocks, with a

view to further experiment. This being granted, I continued my

investigation for some time, when it was brought to a close

by a circumstance which, combined with others, changed my

whole course of life. I shall, therefore, only further remark

that as the letter just mentioned records a piece of work to

which I gave much time and thought, and of which I felt then,

and perhaps feel still, a little proud, I have given it in

Appendix D. My invention, I must add, never came into use,

being superseded by an adaptation of electricity to the same

purpose, which, while equal in accuracy, had the advantage of

much readier use.

“My health, which had already twice broken down under the

weight of my work, now began to show signs of permanent

injury; and I was becoming sensible of the necessity for some

change, though to obtain this was no easy matter. Simple rest

I feared would not answer the purpose, as my mind was likely,

by mere force of habit, to revert to my suspended duties, and

moreover to busy itself with anxiety about the little family

now depending upon me. Change of occupation was, therefore,

what I sought, and this was one motive to the astronomical

investigations previously referred to. I found, however,

that so long as I remained at my post, there was small hope

of substantial benefit, and I began to consider the means of

release. In 1831 I had prepared for Lord Brougham a paper which

I entitled ‘Home Colonies: Sketch of a Plan for the Gradual

Extinction of Pauperism and for the Diminution of Crime;’ and

this, with Lord Brougham’s consent, was published in 1832.[72]

My hope in writing it, beyond that of doing good, had been

that it might lead to my temporary employment by Government in

examination of the Home Colonies of Holland, which were at that

time attracting much public attention, and seemed to afford

valuable suggestions for the improvement of our own Poor Law

Administration, then, as is well known, in a lamentable state.

One great object of the plan, as set forth in my pamphlet, was

the education of the pauper colonists. The pamphlet excited

a certain amount of interest, as well among working-men as

those higher in society: but I had yet to learn how strongly

the doors of every Government office are barred against all

intruders, and how loud and general must be the knocking before

they will open. I must in fairness add that I had also to be

made aware how much official doors are beset by schemers, and

how naturally groundless projects raise a prejudice against

all proposals whatever. Any one curious on the subject may

find some notice of the plan in the ‘Penny Magazine,’ Vol. I.,

p. 42. However, I scarcely need add that no result followed,

either to the public or to myself, the evils which I had sought

to mitigate being otherwise grappled with in the Poor Law

Reform of 1834.

“Meantime my malady increased, and it was at length determined

that the school at Hazelwood should be disposed of, and the

removal to Bruce Castle made complete, the middle of 1833

being fixed upon as the time for the change. My intention was

to employ the whole of the midsummer holidays, and as much

more time as I could profitably so spend, in a tour on the

Continent, leaving the question of my return to be decided by

the state of my health and other circumstances. I had begun to

feel unsettled in my occupation. In addition to its wearing

effect upon my health, I had begun to doubt the expediency of

my continuing in a profession into which I had entered rather

from necessity than from choice, though I had subsequently

laboured in it, like other members of my family, with zeal and

even enthusiasm, and in which the very progress made by the

school in public estimation made my position on some important

points increasingly uncomfortable. This pressed the more after

the untimely death of one of the two brothers associated with

me at Bruce Castle, the youngest of our family, who, having

enjoyed many of those advantages in education which were denied

to me, had been as it were my complement. It is true, indeed,

that the accession of my brother Arthur from Hazelwood brought

present relief, but this also facilitated my withdrawal,

giving me as a successor one whose heart I knew to be fully

and fixedly engaged in his work.[73] My ambition had grown

with our success, or rather, indeed, far outrun it; and I was

now thoroughly convinced—partly, I must admit, by a check in

our tide of success—that in my present career, unless I could

add to my other qualifications those classical acquirements

which rank so high in general estimation, it could have no

sufficient scope. I think, indeed, I was perfectly honest in

saying, as I did at the time, that neither wealth nor power was

my main object, though I was not insensible to the allurements

of either, but that it was indispensable to my desires to do,

or at least to attempt, something which would make the world

manifestly the better for my having lived in it. What that was

to be I could by no means tell, further than that it must be

some work of organization, which I knew to be my forte; but

that point secured, I still felt, notwithstanding my impaired

health, my old unlimited confidence as to achievement. All this

may have been very rash, and even foolish; I merely mention it

as a fact, and look upon it as turning out fortunate, since it

was essential to the sequel.

“Although, however, I separated myself from duties in which

I had been earnestly engaged for three-and-twenty years, I

have never lost interest in the school, nor ever failed

to render it such assistance as lay in my power. I gladly

hailed the early return of its prosperity; and at the end of

thirty-six years from my withdrawal I rejoice to see it still

flourishing.”[74]

“The check in the tide of success” was in great measure due to the

failure in Rowland Hill’s health. There were other causes, however, at

work. On some of these I have already touched, while others I could not

at present with any propriety describe. The description is the less

needful as with them he was only remotely connected. It was not wonderful

that his health began, as he said, to show signs of permanent injury.

Less than two years after he had been warned that he must abandon any

plan that should demand unusual energy, he had, in defiance of his

doctor, opened his new school. In December, 1829, in June, 1832, and

in December, 1832, I find the state of his health made the subject of

anxious discussion in the Family Council. His work as a schoolmaster

was becoming distasteful to him, and he was beginning to long for a

change. He longed still more eagerly for that freedom of thought, speech,

and action, which even at the present day a schoolmaster can but very

imperfectly command. It was in change of occupation that his active mind

for many a long year always found its best repose. Besides the matters

that he has recorded in the extract that I have just given, he seems,

at this time of his life, to have turned over in his mind many other

schemes. The following I have found jotted down in a memorandum, dated

December, 1832:—

Pendulous Mechanism applied to Steam-Engines.

Propelling Steamboats by a Screw.

Improvement in Bramah’s Press.

Plan for Checking the Speed of Stage-Coaches.

Weighing Letters.

Assorting Letters in Coach.

Telegraphs: by Pressure of Air, &c.

Gas: for Distant Places Compressed along Small Pipes.

Road-making by Machinery.

To one scheme he must have given not a little thought, though I cannot

find that he ever brought it before the world. It is curious as

containing, as he says, the germs, and something more than the germs,

of the Parcels Delivery Company, the General Omnibus Company, and the

District Post. In 1873, he thus docketed the paper in which it is

described: “I have no recollection as regards this scheme; but I presume

that it was one of my several projects to obtain a living after I had

withdrawn from the school.”[75]

All his brothers but one had become still more eager than himself to

give up school keeping. One alone was happy in his work. He throughout

life loved his school as much as his scholars loved him. Rowland Hill

was not singular in his family in his desire “to do, or at least to

attempt, something which would make the world manifestly the better for

my having lived in it.” I find recorded in the handwriting of another

of the brothers at this date that “his favourite objects are connected

with improvements in the art and science of national government; and the

happiest position in which he can hope or desire to be placed is one in

which he is pursuing such objects, in conjunction with the other members

of the family.” To carry out their objects they required comparative

leisure and complete freedom of action. Some of them had more than once

turned their eyes towards the community of New Harmony, which Robert

Owen had lately established in Indiana, on the banks of the Wabash. In a

letter, dated February 8th, 1827, Rowland Hill tells one of his brothers

that he has just met with a friend who had lately returned from New

Harmony:—

“He gives excellent accounts of Harmony, though Owen has

met with the difficulties we expected on account of his

indiscriminate admissions. Several of the members of the

Society of Natural History of New York, with the president at

their head, have joined the community.... Here is a specimen

of the advantages of the system. The naturalists having made

the children acquainted with their wants, the little creatures

swarm over the woods, and bring in such an abundance of

specimens that they are forming several immense collections,

some of which they will present to new communities, and others

will be exchanged for collections in other quarters of the

world. W—— says by these means vast numbers of insects have

been discovered, of the existence of which the world was

previously in ignorance. What think you of selling Bruce Castle

again, and going off?”

In a paper that he drew up a few years ago he has left a brief record of

his acquaintance with Mr. Owen:—

“My visit to New Lanark was the first decided step towards

an intimacy with the Owen family, which continued for many

years. From the commencement I saw much to admire in Mr.

Owen’s views; but I invariably urged him to be satisfied with

their gradual introduction, and above all not to attempt to

apply them in their complete form to persons of all ages

taken indiscriminately, and without previous training, from

society at large. Mr. Owen always evinced a most friendly, I

might say affectionate, feeling towards myself, my wife, and

other members of the family. His opinions regarding myself

were shown, among other ways, by his urging me to undertake,

on terms advantageous to myself, the management of one of his

communities; but, for the reasons indicated above, I declined

the offer.”

Not long after the removal to Bruce Castle, some of the brothers

carefully prepared a scheme for establishing a “Social Community.” The

first mention that I find of the plan is the following:—

“Sketch out a plan detailing—first, the objects in which union

can take place with little danger of violence to our present

habits; as, united purchases of food, clothing, coals; library;

news-room; use of each other’s knowledge and connections;

cooking; rooms and apparatus for receiving friends, parties,

&c. (persons not to go to each other’s houses unless invited.

If one wants society, he must go to the public rooms); pleasure

grounds; baths; cab or omnibus.

“Economy of having men of various professions united, as a

medical man, a lawyer, architect, schoolmaster; house-warmer;

telegraph for own use and for hired use.”

From the scheme, when completed, I make the following extracts:—

“PLAN PROPOSED.

“_Object._—The union of the family and the formation of a small

community of persons, in addition to the family, thinking and

feeling as we do.

“The Community to be established near London, for the sake of

access to the world at large, and to be located on a farm for

the sake of economy, and as a means of providing profitable and

healthy employment for the members during part of each day.

“Plans either for public good or private emolument to be

matured in the Community, and then either prosecuted at the

Community’s establishment or carried into effect in the world

at large by members liberated for a time for that purpose.

* * * * *

“PREPARATORY STEPS.

“Find a case in which an intelligent man has left other

pursuits for farming, and has succeeded.

“Find an intelligent person familiar with farming pursuits, and

proper as a member of the Community.

* * * * *

“Draw up a statement showing the probable yearly income and

expenditure in conducting a farm of —— acres at —— near London.

Also the probable amount of the produce of such farm—the kinds

of produce which it is best to grow—the amount of assistance

required—of superintendence—of risk—the principal sources of

pleasure or annoyance in farming occupations—how far they are

conducive to health—especially as regards the members of our

own family.

* * * * *

“Check among ourselves, in every possible way consistent with

our present position, expensive habits of every kind, and

even desires for costly gratifications. Encourage habits of

simplicity and economy, and in every way prepare for entering

into a state of comparative seclusion and frugality.

* * * * *

“ADVANTAGES EXPECTED.

“Release from many unpleasant restrictions as to the free

expression of opinion, to dress, to absurd customs.

“Economy in houses, clothes, food, fire, artificial light, and

matters of appearance generally.

“Superior education for our children.

“Superior opportunities of obtaining knowledge ourselves by

observations, experiments, &c.

“Release from perplexing and harassing responsibilities.

“Release from the necessity of compelling the observance, on

the part of others, of matters often really opposed to wisdom

and sound morality, and very frequently of merely conventional

value.

“Society. Enjoyment of that of most of the members of our own

family, and that of persons of similar views, who might be

willing to join in the plan.

“Probable power of appearing before the world advantageously by

means of discoveries mechanical, scientific, agricultural, or

otherwise.

“Increased security from infectious disorders, anarchy, injury

by change in the national prosperity; also the security which

arises from the cultivation of economical habits.

“Mitigation of the evils consequent upon the employment of

servants.

“Improvement of habits by the influence of numbers upon the

individual character of members of the Community.

“Great advantages of the close union of a variety of talent

by the collection of a number of persons, and their intimate

organization and knowledge of each other.

“Facility for bringing the whole strength of the Community to

bear upon one point when needful.

“Increased opportunities of producing extensive good.

“(Improvements in machinery, farming, &c., may be introduced

without producing even temporary distress, if the Community can

execute its own labour.)”

The “great advantages of the close union of a variety of talent” were

seen by a man who had been trained in a widely different school. In the

year 1836, Rowland Hill received the following letter from his friend Mr.

John Lefevre.[76]

“MY DEAR MR. HILL,—It has frequently occurred to me that if

eight or ten individuals of average intellect were to direct

their attention simultaneously and in concert on any specific

object which it might be desirable to invent, or any particular

subject which it might be useful to explain, their joint

efforts might produce a more satisfactory result than the

unaided powers of a single person, although such person might

be considerably superior to any one of the parties to the

combination. I am anxious to try this experiment, and it would

give me great pleasure if you would join me in it.

“I would propose that you and Coode[77] and I should each

choose two associates, to be approved of by us all, and that

the nine associates should meet once a month about seven in the

evening.

“Each should furnish two questions for the consideration of the

association, and out of these we would fix on two or three for

the subject of each meeting.

“One of us should in turn act as the _reporter_ of the meeting,

_i.e._, he should be responsible for a statement of the result.

“The subjects should, in the first instance, be as simple as

possible, and should be such as to be matters of scientific

amusement rather than of importance I say this because by

adopting this course, if the whole thing fails, we shall only

have been amused without having been disappointed.

“Let me know at your leisure what you think of this, and do not

mention it to any one until you have made up your own mind on

its _primâ facie_ practicability.

“Yours ever,

“J. LEFEVRE.”

“I heartily concurred in the suggestion,” Sir Rowland Hill

has recorded, “and the first meeting was, I think, held at

my house. My nominees were Mr. Wheatstone and my brother

Edwin.[78] Among the earliest subjects of conversation were

Wheatstone’s Telegraph—not then in practical use—and my

printing machine.... I brought under the consideration of my

friends a question which I had long had in mind, as to whether

steamships could not use as fuel the hydrogen of the sea-water;

but Coode, who was a remarkably well-informed and clear-headed

man, succeeded in showing that the heat which would be lost

in extracting the hydrogen would be equal to that gained by

its combustion. Consequently that what I aimed at was really,

though in a disguised form, nothing else than a perpetual

motion. So far as my memory serves, this was anterior to the

announcement of the doctrine of the correlation of forces.”

Shortly after I had lighted on a copy of the scheme of a Social

Community, I called on Sir Rowland Hill. The following is my note of the

conversation that passed:—

“I talked to him about the scheme of a Social Community. He

said that it was mainly the project of some of his brothers,

but that he quite approved of it. Their chief aims were to

escape from work that was too severe, and to get complete

freedom of speech. He had no doubt that they should have made

it answer. They were resolved to be very frugal. I said that

to most men of business the scheme would seem that of madmen.

He answered that at that time there were many such projects

supported by men of great weight. Owen’s plan was more or less

approved of by Brougham and others. He (Sir R. Hill) and his

brothers saw great merits in it, though they also saw great

faults.”

The following letter, which he wrote to one of his brothers in defence of

the scheme before it had as yet in any way taken shape, throws much light

on the objects that they had in view:—

“I am very sorry, and not a little surprised, that our plan

should have been so far misunderstood as to cause so much alarm

on the part of mother and yourself, and I hasten to remove your

fears by simply telling you what the plan is. The only plan to

which I have given my consent is this:—To ascertain, in the

most satisfactory manner, by enquiry and even by experiment,

what is the smallest sum on which we can live with economy

but comfort, avoiding all such expenses as are at present

incurred, not because they are conducive to happiness, but

because we are expected by others to meet them; yet at the same

time indulging in some gratifications which we are at present

denied. In determining this sum to allow nothing whatever for

the produce of our labour, letting that stand as security

against the ill-effects of any error in our calculation. Having

determined this amount, to ascertain next, how much capital,

secured in the fullest manner, as by mortgage on ample freehold

landed property, would afford the required income, and then

to continue our present undertaking till such a capital is

raised.... I think you will now see that our views are by no

means very dissimilar. Your wish is, I believe, to save money

with the intention of retiring and living on your savings at

some future time. You perhaps would wait, till you can maintain

without labour the same rank you now hold, still continuing to

mix with the world and to conform with the world’s notions of

propriety and happiness. We are for separating from society

so far as may be necessary to enable us to regulate our mode

of living solely with a reference to _our own_ conceptions of

comfort. We conceive that our plan promises these advantages

over yours, that it will enable us to put it into execution

earlier, and that we shall be more happy when it is executed

than if we adopted your plan.

“The very common plan of working very hard during the best

years of your life, in order that you may heap up security for

future comfort, is, I think we are all agreed, a very mistaken

one. It is much wiser to be satisfied with a less amount of

security, and enjoy your ease while your spirits and health

remain unimpaired, and before your habits are so far fixed as

to render any change undesirable. Still there is an amount of

security which is necessary to prevent care and anxiety; but

that necessary amount will, of course, be proportionate to the

scale of living you may adopt.

“To me it appears to be of very little consequence whether we

are consistent or not, but it is very important to be right.

“If we have been right hitherto, we should make no change

because we have been right; if we have been wrong, it would

be unwise to continue so for the sake of being consistent.

I know that right and wrong are here comparative; and that

it may be wise to continue in a path which you have already

trodden, though it may not be the most direct, or the least

rugged, rather than encounter the hedges and ditches which may

lie between you and the straight and even road. But if you can

satisfy yourself that the advantages of the direct road will,

in all probability, more than balance the labour and risk of

getting into it, you would be foolish not to make the change.

I am not begging the question by assuming that the proposed

course is the best; I only wish to show on what grounds the

propriety of a change ought to be discussed.

“Though I disregard a character for consistency, which is a

virtue or a vice according to circumstances (which is it in

Lord Eldon?) yet I am desirous to show that I have not made

so many mistakes, nor so decidedly changed my views as you

imagine. I conceive that we have been already remunerated

for the additional outlay in building at Hazelwood. With

the views I now advocate, the propriety of purchasing Bruce

Castle may be questioned; but I do not see that the step was

manifestly improper. The buildings and grounds would, in all

probability, sell for more than they cost us.... My views have

certainly changed inasmuch as I am now inclined to abandon the

hope of establishing the College, or collection of schools

of which I used to talk; but the change has been caused by

circumstances as unexpected by others as they were by myself.

I allude to the great reduction in numbers at Hazelwood, and

to the present prospects there and here (we expect barely

to maintain our late number), showing, I fear, diminished

confidence in the public—to the vexations arising from the

fact of our being obliged to teach so much which we consider

as nearly useless, and, in some cases, very mischievous—from

the unreasonable expectations of the friends of our pupils,

and from the still-continuing caprices of the parents, as

manifested constantly by the removal of boys with whom we have

been most successful.... I think too that we are all wearing

ourselves out very fast, and that the time is not very far

distant when some of us will be obliged to stop, without

perhaps health and spirits sufficient to enjoy any mode of

living. As to my anxiety to do good, it is as strong now as

ever, and I think that the proposed change, by allowing us to

educate our children for a better state of society, will enable

us through their means to do good much more effectually, and

even speedily, than we could on any other plan.... As regards

myself, even if you were all the warmest advocates of the plan,

it is very possible that I might never share its advantages.

I have not as yet said anything to my wife on the subject.

It is true that she often talks of retirement as a desirable

thing, but even if she should be inclined to join in this very

economical plan of retirement, I think the persuasions of her

friends would very likely influence her against it, and without

her consent I shall not join in it myself.”

Rowland Hill was, indeed, a man, to use Gibbon’s words, “whom nature

had designed to think as he pleased, and to speak as he thought.” Such

freedom as this is only enjoyed in its fullest extent by those who have

secured “independence, that first earthly blessing.” But independence, if

it is chiefly enjoyed by men of ample means, is, nevertheless, within the

reach of those who have but simple wants. Yet after all there was not a

little truth in what their old father wrote on hearing of this scheme of

his sons: “My dear son Rowland. You and your brothers are the last men to

make monks of.”

Such a scheme as this has a strong outward resemblance to the

Pantisocracy of Southey and Coleridge; but the differences between

the two schemes are far greater than the resemblances. The two poets

were as young as they were unversed in the ways of the world, when the

delightful prospect of happiness opened before their view to live with

their friends in the most agreeable and most honourable employment, to

eat the fruits they had raised, and see every face happy around them.[79]

The band of friends whom they had gathered round them were, perhaps, not

more experienced than themselves. But the planners of the other scheme

were men who had spent many years in hard work, and in habits of strict

economy. They did not, like the two poets, look upon money as a huge

evil with which, happily, they should not long have to contend. They

had learnt its value. They knew how to buy and how to sell. They had a

certain amount of capital at their command. Two of them, moreover, were

skilful in the use of tools, and fertile in mechanical inventions. They

had long tried in their family union the plan of a Social Community,

and were entering upon their undertaking with a clear insight into the

difficulties which awaited them. They were fully alive, moreover, to

the dangers that Owen had brought upon himself by his indiscriminate

admission of all comers. They only proposed to invite men to join them

with whose characters they had first become thoroughly acquainted.

In a list of “members apparently qualified,” I find the names of Dr.

Southwood Smith and Mr. Roebuck. “I formed an intimate acquaintance

with Mr. Roebuck,” Sir Rowland Hill has recorded, “about the year 1830.

In 1832 (I think) my wife nursed him through a long illness at Bruce

Castle.” Their _Social Community_ was not so much an end in itself as a

means towards other and far higher ends. They had schemes for moving the

earth; but they wanted a fulcrum. They had no leisure. What Rowland Hill

could do when he was free from his school, he showed in the next four

years of his life. In the spare time that a man could command who was

Secretary to a new and active Commission, he invented, as will be seen,

a printing-press, and devised his great scheme of Postal Reform. In

like manner his youngest surviving brother, who, a year or two after the

Social Community was planned, was made the First Inspector of Prisons in

Scotland, had in no long time thoroughly reformed them, and made them a

model for the whole kingdom.

No steps were taken to carry through their scheme. It had scarcely been

completed on paper before Rowland Hill obtained, what he had long wanted,

“a work of organisation.” Within no long time all the other brothers were

happily engaged in occupations that suited their powers and their tastes.

“When I was a young man,” said Sir Rowland Hill one day to me, “there

were very few careers open. I never even dreamed of the possibility of

getting into the Civil Service.” A new career, however, was at length

opening for him, and the long, though broken, course of his public

services was on the point of beginning. To this point I have traced his

life, and here I shall bring the first part of my task to an end. His

history for the next thirty years will be given in his own narrative. I

shall take up my pen again at the date of his retirement, and do my best

to describe the closing years of his long and honourable life. My task

will be no easy one, for

“The eyes of men,

After a well-graced actor leaves the stage,

Are idly bent on him that enters next,

Thinking his prattle to be tedious.”

CHAPTER IX.

[In the Summer of 1833, as has been shown, Rowland Hill had gone abroad

for the benefit of his health. In the Prefatory Memoir to the History of

Penny Postage, he thus carries down from that date the history of his

life to the year when his great occupation first took strong hold of his

mind.]

“I had spent some weeks in France, without, however, having

gone further than Orleans (travelling was slow in those days),

when an opportunity for such a change as I was revolving in my

mind happened to present itself. A project was forming for the

colonisation of the then unoccupied territory now called South

Australia, the prime mover being the late Mr. Edward Gibbon

Wakefield, with whom I had previously some acquaintance, and

who, indeed, had shown me a year before a prospectus of his

enterprise, in which, however, all places for names, whether

directors or officers, were then vacant. Meeting him now in

France, I was invited by him to join in the scheme, being also

assured that several men of high character and position had

already done so. His proposal was that, in the event of his

project being launched, I should be secretary in England; while

another gentleman, the late Mr. Gouger, was to be secretary

in the new colony. Though very unwilling to cut my holiday so

short, yet fearing that if I missed this opportunity I might

not soon find another equally promising, I determined on

accepting the offer, and went forthwith to my work.

“The change was obviously a very great one, and it was to be

seen how far my past training, if I may apply the term to

what was in so large a degree fortuitous, had fitted me for

the duties that now devolved upon me. Necessity had taught

me diligence, punctuality, and perseverance; and combined

with inclination, and perhaps some natural aptitude, it had

cultivated in me the power and habit of invention, created a

certain versatility, and armed me with boldness to surmount

obstacles, to disregard mere conventionalisms, and to feel and

exercise a certain independence of spirit. I had also been

led to acquire a power of influencing and directing others,

and of holding subordinates to responsibility. In my new

occupation all these powers and habits were to find abundant

exercise; and the question naturally arises in my mind whether,

considering all that lay before me, the course of circumstances

by which they had been formed or strengthened was not more

fortunate than the training which would have been given by

a more premeditated and systematic mode of proceeding, with

ample means at command. Had I been more regularly prepared for

the profession I was leaving, should I have been equally able

to perform what I afterwards accomplished, or indeed equally

fitted to make those improvements in school management of which

I have already spoken, and which, however trivial some of

them may appear in these more advanced days, were at the time

decided and even bold innovations?[80]

“Before going on to my proceedings in reference to the South

Australian Association, I will, for the sake of convenience,

mention two passages which occurred in the midst of them;

and here I will take the liberty to remark that, though I

had ceased to take part in formal education, I nevertheless

bore the general object constantly in mind, and made all my

subsequent efforts more or less subservient thereto.

“In the year 1834 I took, with others, an active part in

proposing that total abolition of the stamp duty on newspapers

which was effected about twenty-five years later: and I

endeavoured to show, I still think correctly, that this might

be done with little or no loss to the revenue. It must be

remembered that there was then a heavy duty on advertisements,

and my expectation was that the field for advertising would so

increase, and thereby so multiply advertisements, as soon to

restore the whole fiscal produce of newspapers to its former

amount. In estimating the probable increase in the number of

newspapers, I applied a principle on which I subsequently

relied in reference to postal reform, viz., that the cheapening

of an article in general demand does not as a rule diminish the

total public expenditure thereon, the increased consumption

making up for the diminished price. Perhaps the actual state of

things (1869), though the matter is complicated by the repeal

of the advertisement duty, may be regarded as sufficient to

show that such expectation was not unreasonable. These views

I set forth when I went up in a deputation to the Chancellor

of the Exchequer; and the late Lord Monteagle, who then held

the office, not only did me the honour to listen with much

attention, but requested that he might be supplied with further

information on the subject—a request with which I complied as

soon as I could collect the necessary materials. The result, as

may be remembered, was not the total abolition, but a reduction

of the stamp duty, from about threepence-halfpenny (net) to one

penny; an excellent measure in itself, yet but feebly tending

to that recuperation for which I looked; since the retention

of any duty left a serious obstacle to the multiplication of

journals, a fact abundantly shown _e converso_ by subsequent

events. My argument on the subject will be found in full in the

‘Companion to the Newspaper’ for June 1st, 1834; where also,

I may observe, may be seen the first suggestion of stamped

covers, though not in relation to letters. The suggestion came

from the editor, Mr. Charles Knight, and was indeed in some

sort indispensable to the plan of total abolition, since the

unstamped newspapers would not be transmissible by post without

payment; and this, if made in money, would seriously add to the

trouble of transmission. Of course, adhesive stamps were as yet

undreamt of.

“In looking over the paper referred to, I find that, at the

time when I drew it up, London was the only town in Great

Britain which produced a daily newspaper; that there were but

six other towns with papers issued oftener than once per week;

only two of the six being in England, viz., Liverpool and

Canterbury.

“The other passage referred to is my addressing a letter

to Lord Brougham, in April, 1834, on the subject of pauper

education. The bill subsequently called the New Poor Law was

then in progress through Parliament, and the intended changes

seemed to me to afford an opportunity, not to be neglected,

for improving the education of pauper children, then for the

most part in a wretched state, the schoolmasters being very

frequently themselves paupers. To suggest this improvement was

the object of my letter.

“I pointed out that the union of parishes, combined with the

proposed classification of paupers (a design unfortunately

but very imperfectly realized), would bring together large

numbers of pauper children, and thus facilitate their

education. By reference to the report of the Commissioners,

I showed that children educated in workhouses became for the

most part paupers for life; while in the few parishes where

good education had already been established, few remained

chargeable beyond the age of childhood; that by making good

education general, one great source of pauperism would be

stopped; and that even as regarded immediate benefit, if

industrial occupation were introduced into the schools, the

expense of maintaining the children would be partly defrayed by

the results of their labour, while such occupation instead of

retarding would even promote their intellectual progress. After

urging some further considerations, I concluded by offering

any assistance that I could give in forming a complete plan.

Perhaps amidst Lord Brougham’s multitudinous duties he had no

attention to spare for the proposal; perhaps the difficulty

with which the actual changes were made, and the outcry long

maintained against them, may have indisposed Government to

any further innovation. But whatever may be the explanation,

I cannot avoid speculating on the amount of the benefit which

might by this time have resulted from the suggestion, had it

been adopted and efficiently worked. How much pauperism and how

much crime might have been prevented![81]

“To return now to the subject of South Australian Colonisation.

The main principles on which it was intended to proceed were,

first, that the colony should from its very establishment be

self-supporting (a condition hitherto unheard of); secondly,

that means should be taken to keep the colonists from that

dispersion which had so often produced grievous suffering and a

fearful mortality; thirdly, that no convicts should be admitted

into the colony; fourthly, that means should be taken for the

immigration of a sufficient number of free labourers; and,

lastly, that in the selection of these the numbers of the sexes

should be kept equal. It is only necessary to add that, with

a view to discourage dispersion and to supply an emigration

fund, the price of land was to be fixed comparatively high,

probably at one pound per acre. All these provisions will be

found embodied in the Act of Parliament eventually passed on

the subject (4th and 5th William IV., chap. 95).

“As I found Mr. Wakefield’s report relative to the high

character of the association fully supported by the facts, I

joined it with great satisfaction.

“Hoping to avoid the expense, difficulties, uncertainty, and

delay of an application to Parliament, the association applied

to the Colonial Secretary for a charter; which, however, was

refused, partly on the alleged ground of want of precedent.

As there was no remedy, we took the necessary measures for

carrying a bill through Parliament. But here the obstacles were

so many, that earnest and able as were those who undertook the

management of the bill, viz., Colonel Torrens, Mr. Whitmore,

and Mr. (now Sir William) Hutt, there would have been but small

chance of success without some one to take upon him, as it

were, the drudgery of the process. Such aid we were fortunate

enough to command in the person of my brother Matthew, who

had been elected to the first reformed Parliament as member

for Hull. By the joint efforts of all, the bill was at length

carried through both Houses.

“Commissioners to put the Act in execution were appointed by

the Crown, May 5th, 1835; the chairman being Colonel Torrens,

and Sir William Hutt and Sir John Lefevre being two of the

commissioners. To this body I was appointed Secretary. To

colonise, without any assistance from Government, an almost

unknown wilderness, was a sufficiently difficult task; but

the difficulties of the commission were increased by certain

stipulations which Government, doubtless a little uneasy at the

novel project of independent colonisation, had thought proper

to impose.[82] One of these was the preliminary investment

in Government securities of the sum of £55,000, £35,000 to

be produced by sale of land, and the remaining £20,000 to

be raised on the security both of further sales and of the

colonial revenue; the investment in full to precede the

exercise of any of the general powers and authorities under

the Act. As no surveys had yet been made, the province indeed

being very little known, and as even the site of the capital

could not yet be fixed on, compliance with such requirements

was obviously difficult, and the difficulty was increased by

the want of funds with which to pay preliminary expenses; but

by great effort the necessary means were secured before the

close of November in the same year,[83] And here, in justice,

it must be mentioned, that in the great work of founding the

colony, the Commissioners were materially assisted by the

formation of the South Australian Company, due mainly to the

exertions of Mr. G. F. Angas.

“Under all circumstances, however, the early surveying of the

land was very important; while, at the same time, economy

restricted the choice of surveyors mainly to those embarking

in the enterprise on other grounds. The selection having been

made, however, and the staff sent out, we hoped for the best;

but disappointment followed. The survey made slow progress,

and demands came home for such an increase of force as in

that early stage would have swamped the whole enterprise.

These, fortunately, my previous practice in surveying enabled

me successfully to oppose; but it was not until a new chief

surveyor had been sent out, in the person of Lieutenant (now

General) Frome, R.E., and a new governor with ampler powers

than his predecessor, that matters were at length put right.[84]

“The payments to ship-owners and ship-surgeons were regulated

by the number of emigrants conveyed; but as the occurrence

of births and deaths produced considerable variation during

the voyage, it became important to determine at what period

the number should be ascertained. I advised that this should

be done, not, as was customary, at the beginning of the

voyage, but at its close, so as to supply a strong motive to

the maintenance of the general health aboard ship. This plan

being adopted answered so well, that the number that arrived

in the colony often exceeded that recorded at departure; the

births on board having outnumbered the deaths. Not thinking

it well, however, to trust entirely to this arrangement, I

took, under authority of the Commissioners, every care to have

both ship and provisions effectually surveyed. On both points

a controversy frequently occurred which it may be well to

mention. I always took care that the requirements authorised by

the Commissioners should be emphatically urged on the attention

of the contractors, and constantly received assurance that they

were fully understood, and should be fully acted upon; but when

defects and blemishes were brought to light by the accuracy of

the survey, and the stipulated consequences enforced, an outcry

arose, as if the connection between promise and performance

were an unheard-of and most unwarrantable innovation. After

a time, however, as our practice became recognised, evasive

attempts grew rare, the first expense being found to be the

least.

“Another difficulty arose from unpunctuality in time of

sailing, the ships chartered to convey emigrants being too

often unprepared when the appointed day arrived. The first

means adopted to obtain punctuality was to stipulate for fines

in case of delay; but the artificial nature of this arrangement

rendered its maintenance difficult. Excuses were tendered,

often plausible, sometimes substantial, so that their rejection

was hard, while at the same time, whether the penalty were

enforced or remitted, the passengers by the particular ship

suffered all the inconvenience of delay. To remedy these evils,

the rule now established was, that whenever the day for sailing

arrived, whether the vessel were ready or not, the expense of

boarding and maintaining the emigrants was to be borne by the

ship-owners. This gave such a motive to punctuality that delay

became infrequent, while, at the worst, detained passengers

were relieved from all loss save that of time. I may add that

the combined effect of our precautions was that no emigrant

ship was lost, nor even sustained any serious accident.

“Yet further to expedite the despatch of emigrants, I procured

one additional arrangement. At this early period the sailing

of chartered ships being but monthly, the interval was

inconveniently long; so that persons who had made up their

minds to emigrate were often kept for two or three weeks

in that unsettled state which inevitably precedes a great

removal. To furnish intermediate opportunity, I induced the

Commissioners to give notice to ship-owners that if they

were willing to submit to the conditions imposed on vessels

chartered by the Commissioners, at the same time undertaking

the conveyance at the lowest rate yet tendered and accepted,

any unappropriated space should be occupied, in whole or in

part, by such emigrants as might be on hand.

“In short, the whole scheme—in which, however, I must admit

that my share was but subordinate—worked so well that in the

year when I withdrew from my connection with the colony, though

this was only the fourth year of the despatch of settlers,

the sales of land produced as much as £170,000, the number

of chartered ships being thirty-eight, and that of emigrants

upwards of five thousand.

“Subsequently, indeed, difficulties arose, serious indications

of which had appeared before I ceased to be secretary. The

expenditure in the colony, notwithstanding every precaution

taken at home, had begun to exceed the authorised estimates,

and this eventually compelled the Commissioners to seek aid

from the Government; the consequence being that the management

of the colony was in effect transferred to the Colonial

Office. The debt, however, then contracted was, I believe,

subsequently discharged, and if so, the colony may fairly

be said to have been from the first self-supporting, being

certainly the first, and perhaps the only, colony that could

claim that honour.

“As regards the political system of the colony, I may be

allowed to mention that when the Commissioners, in their third

annual report, recommended Government to grant it municipal

institutions, the recommendation included at my suggestion the

plan[85] which has been already spoken of[86] as devised by my

father many years before, and has recently been more known to

the world in connection with the name of Mr. Hare. This plan

was adopted at the time, though abandoned at a later period.

“As this secretaryship was my first public employment, and as

the estimation in which I was held at its close was important,

if not essential to my subsequent course, I may, perhaps, be

pardoned if I give here the letter in which my resignation

was acknowledged, and my services referred to. I have only to

add that, heavy as were my duties during the four years of my

secretaryship, and the year or two that preceded my formal

appointment to that post, I was also engaged, throughout the

whole period, at one or other of two arduous undertakings.

Of the former I shall speak presently; the latter was Postal

reform; my facts being collected, my plan devised, my pamphlet

written, and my case established before a parliamentary

committee, more than a year before I left my post.

“‘South Australian Colonisation Office,

“‘Adelphi Terrace,[87] September 27, 1839.

“‘SIR,—The Colonisation Commissioners for South Australia beg

to acknowledge the receipt of your letter of the 16th instant,

tendering your resignation as Secretary to their Board; an

appointment in the Treasury having been conferred upon you by

Her Majesty’s Government

“‘In communicating their acceptance of your resignation, and

in conveying to you their thanks for the zeal, energy, and

talent which you have uniformly displayed in the discharge of

your duties as Secretary, the Commissioners cannot forego the

satisfaction of recording their high appreciation of your

successful exertions, in systematising the general business

of the Commission, and in devising, framing, and carrying

into effect the arduous and complicated arrangements of the

Department of Emigration.

“‘Though sensible of the loss they have suffered in being

deprived of that combination of theoretical and practical

ability which you have manifested in conducting their business,

yet the Commissioners, while expressing their individual

regret, cannot withhold from you their sincere congratulations

upon the advancement you have obtained through the important

service which you have rendered to the public.

“‘I have the honour to be, Sir,

“‘Your most obedient servant,

“‘ROBERT TORRENS,

_Chairman of the Commission_.

“‘ROWLAND HILL, Esq. &c. &c. &c.’

“The former of my two interludes—if I may so style a piece of downright

hard work—was an improvement of the printing machine, which I took in

hand when it yet seemed doubtful whether the South Australian enterprise

would yield me an income. My attention to the subject of printing, I may

here observe, arose from my connection with the Useful Knowledge Society,

then so actively engaged in promoting and cheapening popular literature.

“Every one knows that about twenty years before this period the

process of printing, at least in the largest offices, had been almost

revolutionized by the admirable machine invented in great part by the

late Mr. Edward Cowper, afterwards Professor Cowper of King’s College,

London; with whom, I may add, I became acquainted about this time, and

whom to know was to regard and esteem. At the time when I turned my

thoughts earnestly to the subject, the machines then in use (for by this

time great improvements had been made in the original invention, partly

by Mr. Cowper himself, partly by others, particularly by Mr. Applegarth),

could throw off in the hour, instead of the two hundred and fifty single

impressions, to which the Stanhope press, the best in previous use, was

limited, eight hundred sheets thoroughly well printed on both sides, or

four thousand of such quality as was admissible in newspapers, printed on

one side.

“Meantime, however, an important improvement had been made in the

manufacture of paper, viz., that of Fourdrinier; and it occurred to me

that advantage might be taken of this to construct a printing machine

capable of working at much higher speed. By Fourdrinier’s machine, as is

well known, paper is produced, not in single sheets, as by the former

mode, but in long scrolls, capable, I believe, of almost indefinite

extension; and I perceived that by their use, one, and probably the only

insuperable obstacle to a rotatory machine, was removed. I perceived also

that such machine would have a double advantage; its greater speed being

produced by a far smaller expenditure of power.

“The difficulties to be surmounted, however, were neither small nor few.

The plan implied the necessity of attaching the types to a roller; which,

again, involved a change in their form, and also devices to keep them

firmly in place against the combined power of gravity and what is called,

or rather miscalled, centrifugal force. Another difficulty regarded the

supply and proper distribution of the ink, for which no interval could

be left, as the process of printing off was to be absolutely continuous.

As my invention was not practically adopted, and has been in a great

measure superseded by later improvements, I forbear details, referring

the curious either to my specification, which is dated August 12th, 1835,

and numbered 6762; a printed copy of which may be procured at the Patent

Office, or to the ‘Repertory of Patent Inventions,’ No. 35, where the

machine is accurately and lucidly described.

“It is but just to record, that in giving my invention a practical shape,

I was constantly and ably assisted by my brother Edwin, who, I may here

add, afterwards became known as the originator of the machine for folding

envelopes, which attracted so much attention at the Great Exhibition

of 1851. Many of the minor parts, essential, however, to the efficient

working of our printing machine, were of his device and construction, and

in my necessary absence the work proceeded under his superintendence.

“At length, as is already implied, the machine was completed, and the

patent secured. Its operation was repeatedly shown to members of the

trade and others interested in the matter; the work produced, though at

high speed, being pronounced beautiful, and that which is technically

called the register accurate perhaps beyond parallel, while its

action was so rapid that even when worked by hand it threw off double

impressions of the size of the _Globe_ newspaper at the rate of eight

thousand per hour, or nearly ten-fold the number produced at the same

time by the reciprocating machine; nay, more, during this very process it

could concurrently throw off eight thousand single impressions from each

of its two rollers; thus making up thirty-two thousand single impressions

in all.

“It remains to be explained why the invention never came into general

use.”

[It was Sir Rowland Hill’s wish that the passage which next followed

in the Prefatory Memoir should be enlarged. He was not well enough

himself to make the additions which he desired, but he supplied his son,

Mr. Pearson Hill, with the necessary information and documents. After

suggesting in a manuscript marginal note the changes which should be

made, he added: “I leave this in my son’s hands, who will best know how

to deal with it.” Mr. Pearson Hill has accordingly supplied me with the

following statement:—]

“The practical difficulties to the employment of the machine

for the printing of newspapers—the work for which it was

especially fitted—were all in a fair way of being removed. A

provisional contract, which is still in our possession, had

even been entered into with certain parties to provide my

father with the means of rapidly casting curved stereotype

plates, similar to those now used for printing newspapers, when

he found himself face to face with what proved an insuperable

difficulty on the part of the Stamp Office.

“In those days, and indeed for many years after, newspapers

were charged with Stamp Duty. By the requirements of the Inland

Revenue Department, every separate sheet on which a newspaper

was printed had to bear an impressed stamp—the separate sheets

being sent to the Stamp Office to be so impressed, and then

returned to the various newspaper printing offices ready for

use.

“This necessity for cutting the paper into separate sheets

before printing, of course, was absolutely inconsistent with

printing the newspaper from a continuous scroll. My father

applied, therefore, to the Treasury to make arrangements to

allow the stamp to be affixed by machinery as the scroll passed

through the press (as was indeed done years afterwards), but

his request was refused.[88] This decision on the part of the

Treasury deferred for something like five-and-thirty years the

introduction of the present rotatory printing-press.

“The following is a copy of his memorial to the Treasury, and

of the answer that he received:—

To

_The Right Honorable the Chancellor of the Exchequer_.

The Memorial of

ROWLAND HILL.

Sheweth,

That your Memorialist has recently obtained His Majesty’s

Letters Patent for certain improvements in the method of

letter-press printing by machinery, the object of which

improvements, besides considerable economy, is a very

greatly increased speed in the printing of newspapers, but

which object cannot be fully realized unless a change can

be permitted in the manner of impressing the Government

Stamp upon the newspapers printed by his machines, inasmuch

as it is an important part of his plan to make use of the

paper, not in separate sheets but in very long scrolls,

_i.e._, in the state it is first produced by the modern

paper-making machines, each long scroll as it passes

rapidly through the printing-machine receiving a series of

repetitions of the letter-press.

Further that

Your Memorialist’s

apparatus is so constructed that one complete impression,

and no more, is produced by one revolution of the machine,

since the types necessary to the printing of a complete

impression are arranged around a cylinder, whose surface

is by the said types, with the addition of proper marginal

spaces, wholly covered, so that each revolution of this

cylinder gives exactly one impression.

Also

That the Government Stamp could readily be attached to

the printing cylinder of your Memorialist’s machine, so

that each revolution of the cylinder giving an impression

of the type, should necessarily give an impression of the

Stamp also; and that there are contrivances well known to

machinists, and extensively used by them, by which the

number of turns made by a machine can be recorded without

chance of error or possibility of fraud. The Gas Meter is

the most familiar instance, and upon its accuracy the Gas

Companies stake their important interests without doubt or

hesitation.

That

Under these circumstances your Memorialist ventures to

hope that in the Bill now before Parliament for the

consolidation of the Stamp Acts, a power may be given to

the Commissioners of Stamps to make such arrangements as

they may deem advisable for affording to your Memorialist

and to the Public the advantages which the use of his

improved printing machine offers.

Your Memorialist takes the liberty to enclose the draft of

a clause for consideration.

COPY OF ENCLOSURE.

178.—And whereas it is expedient that no obstacle should

be presented to the introduction of improvements in

machinery for printing newspapers; and that to this end it

is desirable that a provision should be made for allowing

newspaper stamps to be affixed to the paper before it is

cut up into separate sheets: Be it therefore enacted, That

it shall be lawful for any printer of newspapers to stamp

his own paper (either as it passes through the printing

machine, or in such other way as he may prefer), provided

he can satisfy the Commissioners of Stamps and Taxes that

no danger of a fraud on the Revenue will arise in his case.

COPY OF REPLY.

Treasury Chambers, 18th June, 1836.

SIR,

Having laid before the Lords Commissioners of His Majesty’s

Treasury your Memorial praying that a Clause may be

inserted into the New Stamp Bill, allowing the printers of

newspapers themselves to impress the necessary Stamps on

their papers, I am directed to acquaint you that My Lords

cannot comply with your request.

I am, Sir,

Your obedient Servant,

A. G. SPEARMAN.

Mr. Rowland Hill, 2, Burton Crescent.

“It may not be without interest to the public to show how

easily ‘insuperable’ official objections can be overcome, when

those who raise them desire it. Many years afterwards, when

the proprietors of a London newspaper were making improvements

in their printing machinery, and required the very facility

for which my father had vainly contended, the Board of Inland

Revenue, as I am told, on looking into the Act of Parliament

on the matter, found that though the printing of the impressed

stamp at the same time as the rest of the newspaper was clearly

illegal, the only parties who could proceed against any

newspaper proprietor so offending were the Commissioners of

Inland Revenue themselves. Now as the Commissioners had made

up their minds to allow the change, not only was an intimation

given to the proprietors of the newspaper in question that they

would not be interfered with, but the officers of the Stamp

Office—Mr. Edwin Hill especially—gave most valuable assistance

in devising the means of carrying out the improved (though

decidedly illegal) arrangement.

“I may add that at the Caxton Exhibition in 1877, a copy

of my father’s patent, as well as a type cylinder, inking

apparatus, and such other portions of his printing machine as,

after a lapse of forty-two years, could be got together, were

exhibited, and are now to be seen by any one interested in the

matter in the South Kensington Museum.”

[Though the employment of his printing machine for newspaper work was

rendered impossible by the obstacle described above, it might still

have been available for other purposes, had he been able to give it his

attention. He thus continues his narrative:—]

“It was about this time that I began to entertain distinct

hopes, however slight as yet their foundation, of employment

in relation to postal affairs; and as usual in cases of

great difficulty, I consulted my father and my brothers on

the subject of future proceedings. I represented that I

found myself unable to continue my duties in relation to the

Australian Commission, and, at the same time, both to take

effectual means for establishing the success of the printing

machine, and to labour efficiently at my project for postal

reform. Here was grave matter for consideration, the invention

having already cost a large amount of labour, spread over a

whole year, from both my brother and myself, besides £2,000

in hard cash; while, on the other hand, postal prospects, in

which every one present took a deep interest, all having

indeed already laboured with me in the cause, were regarded as

promising. It was inquired whether my brother, who had thus

far assisted me in the printing machine, could not himself

carry the matter to completion; but unhappily his health was

at that time in too depressed a state to leave any hope that

he could alone surmount obstacles so formidable. Here I may

remark that, at one time or other, every member of our family

has fallen, at least once in his life, through excessive labour

and anxiety, into severe, protracted, and even dangerous

illness—illness involving consequences which nothing but our

unshaken union could have enabled us to support. After long and

careful consideration, they concurred in advising that the Post

Office should be preferred to the printing machine; and as this

recommendation seconded my own opinion, I decided to act upon

it.

“I have only to say, in conclusion, that a printer of the

highest standing in his trade, induced, I suppose, partly by

what I had done in this matter, partly by a general knowledge

of my antecedents, offered me in 1839 a very advantageous

partnership,[89] which I should certainly have accepted, but

that it would have involved my refusal of the offer which

Government had just then made me, viz., of a post in the

Treasury for the prosecution of my plan of postal reform.”[90]

[This account of Rowland Hill’s printing-press may be well brought to an

end by the following extract from a letter which he wrote to his wife on

July 17th, 1835:—]

“I have a good account to give of the printing machine. We have

now completed the single machine, and the night before last we

gave it a trial. It worked better than I hoped even, and fully

established, I think, the correctness of the views we have

entertained. Miss D——, who left for Birmingham this morning,

has taken with her the scroll of paper which was printed....

It will be forwarded to you. I need not ask you to take care

of it, and to return it when you come back to me. Some day or

other it may be a great curiosity.”

BOOK II.

HISTORY OF PENNY POSTAGE.

“_There is good to a man’s self in doing good to others; and

the further this extends the higher it rises, and the longer it

lasts. Besides, there is beauty in order, and there are charms

in well-deserved praise: and both are the greater, by how much

greater the subject._”—SIR WILLIAM TEMPLE.

PREFACE TO THE HISTORY OF PENNY POSTAGE.

The following narrative was originally drawn up at much greater length,

and in its present shape is the result of a double abridgment, first in

manuscript and afterwards in print. This proceeding was according to a

preconceived plan; my wish being to leave to my relatives a more detailed

history than was likely to be acceptable to the public, and at the same

time to supply ample means for dealing with any question that might arise

as to accuracy of statement.

Perhaps it may be thought that abridgment might have been advantageously

carried yet further; but, on the one hand, I hope there is at present no

more superfluous matter than can be readily skipt; and, on the other,

I naturally desired that the public should have so much of detail as

would distinctly set forth the authorship, execution, and administration

of the chief Postal Reforms effected during the last thirty years. My

story is told in the first person; but it is only in a limited sense

that it is autobiographic. For reasons that will be easily gathered

from the narrative, I had to devolve upon another the task of immediate

composition, and I deemed it fortunate that one upon whose pen I had much

relied from the first, had leisure for the work. This, I may remark, is

much more vicarious in the narrative presented to the public than in

the original, where events are to a great extent described in letters

or in extracts from my Journal. Of course the whole has undergone my

careful revision, a duty in which I have been by no means unaided; but,

after every correction, I cannot feel sure that sense has not sometimes

suffered in paraphrase; and if it appear hereafter that on some minor

points expression conveys or suggests erroneous meaning, I must ask

the reader to believe that such deviation is not only contrary to my

intention and sincere desire, but has occurred in spite of our earnest

efforts.

If the reader find somewhat too much of self-assertion—if he think I

have too often quoted what is complimentary to myself—I ask him to

consider how much I have suffered from detraction and injustice; how my

conclusions were ridiculed, my success denied; and how, when success was

incontestable, the origination of my plan was claimed by others. Let him

see me dismissed from office, without recompense, by a man of Sir Robert

Peel’s high character, and consider the presumption naturally arising

from an act so unusual; let him observe how long and pertinaciously the

progress of Postal Reform was troubled and thwarted, and how loudly and

confidently I was charged with proceedings for which I of all men was

farthest from being responsible. He will readily be aware that claims and

accusations may revive when I am no more; and will perhaps pardon me if,

with all the reserve adverted to above, I am still led by precaution into

what he may regard as prolixity.

One point more. If it be asked why I do not yet publish this history,

so as to enable me to meet in my own person any controversy to which it

may give rise, I answer—first, that by the time of its completion my

vigour, both of body and mind, had become so impaired, as to put such

direct defence, should it be needed, altogether beyond my power; and,

secondly, that I hope and trust the delay of a few years may enable my

executors, while retaining all statements essential to the completeness

of the narrative, so to place it before the public as to avoid wounding

the feelings of any one.

ROWLAND HILL.

_February, 1871._

HISTORY OF PENNY POSTAGE.

CHAPTER I.

CONCEPTION OF MY PLAN. CHIEFLY 1836.

Amongst the many subjects which casually attracted the attention of our

family, the operations of the Post Office naturally took their turn. My

father spoke at times of Palmer’s great improvement,[91] which he well

remembered, and mentioned its beneficial results. Postal considerations,

moreover, came upon us in a very practical form; every day that brought

post-letters brought also a demand for payment, the postman waiting at

the door till he had received his money. In the very early period, when

we were most straitened in means, his rap was not always welcome; the

demand being certain and sometimes inconvenient; the recompense, in

the way of news, doubtful. Tradesmen’s circulars, in particular, which

sometimes came from a considerable distance, and always unpaid, were

great causes of disappointment and irritation. Happily they were but rare

in those days, or the evil would have been intolerable.

As much more than half the present generation have had no experience of

any other system than that of penny postage, it must be difficult, if

not impracticable, to give an adequate conception of the state of things

at the time referred to, of the height and variety of rates charged,

and of the multitudinous shifts resorted to for their evasion. The law

gave the Post Office a monopoly, and respect for the law is considered

characteristic of our countrymen; but, to the best of my memory, I never

knew of any one being withheld from its breach on this point, save by

considerations either of convenience or of prudence.

The following facts are given by way of example: If, when residing at

Birmingham, we received a letter from London, the lowest charge was

ninepence, while the slightest enclosure raised it to eighteenpence,

and a second enclosure to two shillings and threepence, though the

whole missive might not weigh a quarter of an ounce. We had relatives

at Haddington; the lowest rate thence was thirteenpence-halfpenny;

others at Shrewsbury, but the postage thence I do not remember, as we

never used the Post Office in our correspondence with them, since a

tradesman in our town who had occasion to send and, in turn, to receive

a weekly packet, was kind enough to enclose our letters, we carrying

them more than half a mile to place them in his hands, while the return

letters, being dropped by him into the Birmingham Post Office, came to

us charged with merely the local rate of one penny. In looking over

letters of the period antecedent to the Post Office reform, I find

constant reference to expedients for saving postage; thus, in writing

to a friend at a particular town, we would trouble him to call upon

such and such others to communicate intelligence, or to make inquiries,

the result to be reported in his next letter; sometimes, even, we would

ask him to call upon tradesmen to give orders, or to urge despatch in

commissions previously given. If a friend were about to make a journey

to a town where we had connections, we did not hesitate to place letters

in his hands, regardless alike of his trouble and the chance of his

forgetfulness; being ourselves, of course, ready in turn to perform the

like service. In the year 1823, taking a holiday excursion through the

lake district[92] to Scotland, and wishing to keep my family informed

as to my movements and my health (then in a depressed state), I carried

with me a number of old newspapers, and in franking these, according to

the useless form then required, while I left the postmark with its date

to show the place, I indicated my state of health by selecting names

according to previous arrangement; the more Liberal members being taken

to indicate that I was better, while Tories were to show that I was

falling back; “Sir Francis Burdett” was to imply vigorous health, while

probably “Lord Eldon” would almost have brought one of my brothers after

me in anxiety and alarm.[93] In later days, more especially after our

removal to the neighbourhood of London, and most of all while my eldest

brother was in Parliament, we sometimes procured franks, particularly

when for any reason we had unusual regard to appearances; but as at that

time we were in easier circumstances, we felt some compunction in using

franks for general purposes, thinking it questionable to evade an impost

by the use of means from which, as we well knew by earlier experience,

those lower down were utterly debarred. This feeling became stronger as

we learnt the monstrous abuses which had grown up in connection with the

franking system; when we found, for instance, that though a member’s

frank would cover but an ounce, there were franks of another kind which

served for unlimited weight, and were said to have been actually used to

free a greatcoat, a bundle of baby-linen, and a pianoforte.

Even in our early days, however, necessity being the mother of conception

as well as of invention, my father, while testifying great admiration for

the postal system generally, had repeatedly expressed the opinion that,

even for fiscal purposes, postage was unwisely high, an opinion which

in all probability tended to draw my attention to postal affairs. Be

this as it may, the earliest record on the subject that I can find in my

memoranda, and which is dated August, 1826 (that is, ten years before the

publication of my pamphlet), gives my first conception of a travelling

post office. It is as follows:—

“The mails reach London at six in the morning, and the

distribution of letters does not commence till after nine.

Might not the mails arrive three hours later, and consequently

leave the respective towns three hours later, if the letters

could be assorted and marked on the road? And might not this be

done by the guard, if he had the inside fitted up with shelves,

&c., for the purpose? The charge for postage might be marked

with a stamp; as each bag was received, all the London letters

it contained would require the same stamp-mark, except in cases

of double and treble letters, when the mark might be repeated.

If, from any defects in the address, the guard should not be

able to assign any letter to its proper district, he might

put it by for assortment at the General Post Office, to be

delivered the next day.... An additional body might be added to

the coach for inside passengers, or, the load being less, two

of the horses might perhaps be spared, which would enable the

speed to be increased (as with a proportionate load two will

go quicker than four horses), and would save time in changing

them.”

At a yet earlier date than this, however, though how many years before

I do not know, I had given some little thought to the subject of more

rapid locomotion; having mainly in view, I believe, the speedier

conveyance of the mail. I had considered, as well as some others, the

question of propulsion by steam, being of course entirely unaware of

the great invention then progressing in the mind of George Stephenson;

and, indeed, having no notion that the laying of a railway would be a

necessary preliminary. Steam, however, I soon abandoned for a more potent

as well as more portable agent, viz., gunpowder;[94] and with this I

made some experiments; but these proving unsatisfactory, I carried my

researches no further, and so escaped, perhaps, a serious explosion.

My next memorandum bears date January 11th, 1830, and suggests the

feasibility of conveying the mails through tubes by atmospheric means;

but this, also, remained a crude and unpublished conception.

I have already mentioned[95] that our opinion was from first to last, and

without reserve or exception, in favour of free trade. Such being our

views, we had welcomed with joy the gradual relaxation of the protective

system, which, commencing under Mr. Huskisson, never absolutely stopped

until protection was no more. We had remarked, with satisfaction, that

the lowering of the tariff had not produced a corresponding reduction

in the public revenue; and we indulged in sanguine hopes that, even

where reduction appeared in a particular department, it either would be

temporary or would be made up in some other.

The year 1835 having brought a large surplus in the general revenue,

we naturally speculated as to its application in the reduction of

duties;[96] and it was then that my thoughts first turned earnestly

to the Post Office. I now examined more in detail the result of the

late financial reforms: and I found (as subsequently stated in my

pamphlet[97]) that in the reductions hitherto made, the relation between

the relief to the public and the loss to the revenue had varied greatly;

so that, while in the instance of leather and soap the reduction of one

half of the duty had eventually caused to the revenue a loss of one

third, in that of coffee the same reduction had actually produced a gain

of one half. This brought me to the conclusion that, “when a reduction of

taxation is about to take place, it is exceedingly important that great

care and judgment should be exercised in the selection of the tax to

be reduced, in order that the maximum of relief may be afforded to the

public with the minimum of injury to the revenue.”[98]

My next attempt was to arrive at some rule which might serve for general

guidance in such cases; and I came to the conclusion that, with some

allowance for exceptions, the best test would be found by examining each

tax “as to whether its productiveness has kept pace with the increasing

number and prosperity of the nation. And the tax which proves most

defective under this test is in all probability the one we are now in

quest of.”[99]

This test brought the tax I had in mind, viz., that on the transmission

of letters, into bad pre-eminence; since, during the previous twenty

years, viz., from 1815 to 1835 (my investigations being made in 1836),

the absolute revenue derived from the Post Office, whether gross or net,

instead of increasing, had even somewhat diminished; whereas, if it had

merely kept pace with the growth of population, to say nothing of the

concurrent spread of education, extension of trade, and advancement in

prosperity, the revenue—I mean the net revenue—would have increased by no

less than £500,000.[100]

To try the matter further, I looked out for some other tax, which, while

less exorbitant, was in other respects liable to as nearly as possible

the same influences, and I naturally took the duty on stage-coaches.

I found that the amount yielded by this, instead of diminishing, like

that in question, had more than doubled in the same period; increasing

from less than £218,000 to nearly £500,000, or about one hundred and

twenty-eight per cent. I found, again, that if the Post Office revenue

had risen in like proportion (and it seemed scarcely to be doubted that

the demand for the conveyance of letters had increased in the same ratio

as that for the conveyance of persons and parcels), the increase of

net revenue would have been no less than £2,000,000.[101] The general

fairness of this conclusion was afterwards shown by the fact; 116 per

cent. having been the ratio of increase in the net revenue of the Post

Office during the twenty years between 1847 and 1867.

For yet further comparison, I turned to the accounts of the Post Office

revenue in France, where the rates of postage were less exorbitant than

with us, and taking the gross revenue (the net revenue not being given),

I found that this had risen from somewhat less than £1,000,000 in 1821

to nearly £1,500,000 in 1835, about fifty-four per cent. in fourteen

years.[102]

Nor was I proceeding without authority in thus condemning the existing

postal rates as unsound in policy, Sir Henry Parnell having attributed

the non-increase of the revenue to the high duty charged on letters;

while Mr. McCulloch had not only taken the same general view, but

attributed the loss to the illicit conveyance of letters, for which the

increased number of coaches gave so much facility.[103] Of the important

services of Mr. Wallace in elucidating the same point I shall speak

hereafter.

While thus confirmed in my belief that, even from a financial point of

view, the postal rates were injuriously high, I also became more and

more convinced, the more I considered the question, that the fiscal loss

was not the most serious injury thus inflicted on the public; that yet

more serious evil resulted from the obstruction thus raised to the moral

and intellectual progress of the people; and that the Post Office, if

put on a sound footing, would assume the new and important character

of a powerful engine of civilisation; that though now rendered feeble

and inefficient by erroneous financial arrangements, it was capable of

performing a distinguished part in the great work of national education.

I became also more alive to the consideration that the duty of rendering

its operation as beneficial as possible, incumbent as this must be on

any institution, became doubly so on the Post Office, from its being a

monopoly; that, as it forbade all others to perform its functions, it was

bound to render its own performance as complete as possible.[104] Of this

view I found strong confirmation in the recent report of a Government

Commission.[105]

Being thus fully convinced that the present arrangements were wrong, I

had next to inquire as to the changes most effectual for redress. As I

had never yet been within the walls of any Post Office[106] (an advantage

which was, indeed, reserved for me until after the adoption of my plan),

my only sources of information, for the time, consisted in those heavy

blue books, in which invaluable matter too often lies hidden amidst heaps

of rubbish. Into some of these, as previously implied, I had already

dipped; but Mr. Wallace having supplied me by post with an additional

half hundred weight of raw material, I now commenced that systematic

study, analysis, and comparison, which the difficulty of my self-imposed

task rendered necessary.

I started, however, with the simple notion that rates must be

reduced,—but soon came to the conclusion that such reduction might be

carried to a considerable extent not only without loss to the revenue,

but with positive benefit; that a larger reduction might be made without

loss, and a still larger without drawing upon the surplus beyond a

reasonable extent.[107] The question to be decided therefore was, how

far the total reduction might safely be carried; and this involved two

preliminary inquiries; first, what would be the probable increase of

correspondence consequent upon such or such reduction; secondly, what

would be the augmentation of expense consequent upon such increase.

Investigation upon this latter head brought out three important facts.

The first was that one great source of expense was to be found in what

is technically called “taxing” the letters, that is, ascertaining and

marking the postage to be charged on each; the second, that great

expense likewise arose from complicated accounts, postmasters having to

be debited with unpaid postage on letters transmitted to their offices,

and credited with their payments made in return; while they again had

to receive and check the payments of the letter carriers, who, it must

be remembered, received, at that time, from the public, almost all the

postage paid; the third, that the cost of delivering letters, great as it