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    August 13, 1853.] THE LEADER. 787

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    the quiet light of meditation , and the din of business to have drowned the still sad music of the conscious heart . Journals of Parliamentary proceedings details of court intrigue and aristocratic festivities , reports of scientific bodieS , _ f these , served up under the title of " biography , " are dust and ashes to me . But more than gold do I prize the communications of one who remembers , and can describe the significant passages of- his past history ; who is candid enough to point out the sources of his weakness and his strength , the occasions of his fall and his triumph , or who will fix and in his

    portray for me those scenes of old days , which , by lingering memory , assert and vindicate their claim to his regard . I would turn from the fruit of the tree of life , however rich and plenteous , to examine the growth of its trunk , and the direction of its branches , and would even strive ¦ to- get at its roots , in their depth and complexity beneath the native , soil . He that undervalues knowledge is a fool , but he is , perhaps , a still greater fool that does not prize , more than knowledge , the wisdom that comes from a thoughtful contemplation of the various phases of a human life .

    " If thpu hast something , bring thy goods , A fair exchange be thine ; I thou art something , bring thyjsoul , And interchange with mine . " If the reader ' s taste agree with mine , in this respect , he will , perhaps , be induced to accompany me through the following short descriptions and reflections , in the hope of meeting with that " one touch of nature , " which a true expression of real thoughts and feelings seldom , if ever , is without .

    In one of the South-Western English counties , there is a small straggling village , whose church-spire can be seen from the high road ,, peeping over the tops of the orchards and rows of elms , with which the neighbourhood is thickly planted . It is a quiet little place , of that sort which strikes the traveller with wonder , as to what the inhabitants can do with themselves all day ; or , rather , impresses him with an indescribable feeling , that it goes out of existence , when he has passed through it . On sunny afternoons , the overhanging gables of the old houses seem to nod as in sleep , and the villagers lean over their half-doors , and lazily blink into the street . One while , the stillness is broken by the wind , coming in from the meadows ; and whirlingjround the straws and leaves before the doors ; again , the street echoes with the voices and pattering feet of the children of the

    Dame-school , just let out . But these , sounds gradually subside , and , at nightfall , the occasional barking of a house-dog , and a few ruddy glimpses of light , are all that denote wakefulness and life . At one end of the single street , stands an old red-brick house , with bow-windows and heavy windowframes , on the inside of which you may see , to this day , long-necked blue glasses , with hyacinth roots in them . About that house , my earliest recollections cling . How well do I remember , when quite a little child , being put , as a punishment , into a lumber-room of that old house , at dusk I seem to hear , even now , the twittering of the birds on the eaves , and recall , with pity , my feelings of awe as it grew darker and darker , merging into dumb terror , when night fell , and the moon rose and looked in upon me , through the latticed window ; and my bitter and passionate sobbing , when I was brought down into the bright and warm parlour , to be

    forgiven . Perfectly , too , can I remember the funeral which I witnessed , from the nursery windows of that old house , ( it was my first hint of death !) my shrinking back at the sight of the black coffin , and the gloomy faces of the mourners ; my dread at the idea of the damp grave and lonely churchyard , at the very thought of which I used to wake in my little bed at night , and scream to find myself alone . These things have remained deeply graven on my mind , through many a worldly plan and many a busy scene ; and they " Run molten still in memory ' s mould , And will not cool . "

    I am no believer in that theory which regards the mind of the newlyborn child as a sheet of blank paper , destined to have its character written upon it by the pen of time . My own experience contradicts this notion . I can distinctly remember to have possessed tendencies and passions in my earliest years in no way traceable to circumstances of nurture or training , and which I must accordingly regard as innate and latent from the beginning . Be it the result of organization , or be it what it may , the child has a character no less distinctly marked , often more so , than the man . As a child , I waa reflective , timid , even cowardly , most grateful for kindness and sensitive to praise , not truthful ( few children , especially of such a cast of mind , are ) , cruel in my desires if provoked to anger , yet capable of sympathising to a degree of self-distress with suffering that appealed to my imagination . . , ¦ ¦

    If the reader be nequainted with that charming story , The Caxtons , he will remember a great many weighty arguments adduced by the sage and learned Mr . Caxton , in favour of sending his son , Pisistruins , a rather precocious youngster , to a # 6 od school , where play and work should combine to promote active enjoyment and generous emulation , and to check premature dreaminess and reflection . On the whole , I agree with the learned gentleman , and think his plan a wise one ; though I am not insensible to the many plausible arguments available for the other side of the question . Therefore I must consider it as fortunate that I was sent curly to school , albeit for only a short season , and that season , as will be seen , not without

    its hardships and shortcomings . The school to which I was sent was a large " Grammar school" in a neighbouring town . This little episode of my life had its tragic and its comic aspects , as well as one which , at the time , was simply dreary , but which in retrospect partakes in some measure of the character of both the others . By this last I mean the school-hours ; the instruction being decidedly of that class which Carlyle terms " hidebound pedantry "— " Propria qua maribus "—got by rote , and arithmetic taught after the horrible " rule-drilling" fashion , once almost universal , but now , thank Heaven and Professor de Morgan , fast disappearing from amongst us . My tragic experiences were rather numerous . A mere child

    amongst a set of boys possessing almost the strength and none of the caution of men , turned loose in a playground , it is marvellous to me , on looking back , how I escaped with life , or at least with unbroken bones . As it is , I vividly remember profuse bleedings from nose and mouth by unlucky back-stroke of wooden sword or single-stick , knock-down blows from large stones ( in some instances , I am afraid , intentional ) , and worse than all , standing out in horrible prominence , blows in the stomach , or , as the boys phrased it , "in the wind , ' * attended with instantaneous doubling-up , and fearful gasping for breath . The comedy of this period of my life , and which forms a set-off against these many disasters , was supplied by the face-making powers of two of my schoolfellows , who used , by the most frightful contortions of visage , to vie with one another for my approbation

    and laughter ; sometimes for a more substantial prizes—the very same for which the three goddesses displayed their rival charms before the shepherd of Mount Ida—an apple ; to be awarded , however , not to the most consummate beauty , but to the most frightful and outrageous ugliness . My task , as judge , was not always an easy one . There was in one of the candidates , a power of becoming first red , then purple , then black in the face , and steadily advancing to within an ace of bursting a bloodvessel , which strongly prepossessed me in his favour . But there was a " sameness of splendour" about this performance , that palled on me at length , while that of his rival displayed more versatility of feature , and was occasionally rendered very piquant , by a happy knack he had of looking over his shoulder with one eye , and down the side of his nose with the other .

    Just as the current of my school life was beginning to run somewhat more smoothly , it was interrupted by my father ' s removal to London , and his taking me with him . Nor was it resumed for two years . Had I heea one of a large family , this would have Been 4 ess injurious , for , in that case , I should have been under influences at home similar to those of a school , and , where they are wisely managed , the best possible for repressing selfishness , tutoring the temper , and calling out the affections . Unluckily , I was an only child , and , as we had no acquaintances , or few , in the

    metropolis , removal from school meant , in my case , total isolation from those of my own age and pursuits . Moreover , I cannot help regarding it as a misfortune , on other grounds , that London should have been the place where I was destined to spend my next two years . For though , as I have said , children have a character no less than men , yet that character is not matured or confirmed in them , but susceptible of vast alteration and modification , in various ways , and , among these , not the least important , in my opinion , is a judicious selection of the scenery , using that word in its widest sense , amidst which they live .

    This is , of course , of less consequence , in the case of a dull and unimaginative child , than in that of a sensitive and thoughtful one . The impressions made upon the latter , by the aspect of things around him , are deep and uneffaceable . They give a tone to his thoughts , and a colour to his dreams ; and , in after life , make themselves felt again and again , to cheer or to depress . Little do you think , in choosing your place of abode , how great a stake in your decision the child at your side may have—how vastly greater than your own can be . His being is yet in the hands of the great sculptor , Circumstance , its form and attitude alike undetermined . You are a finished statue , and , whether you be rough hewn or ad unguem

    redactus , so you will remain , whether degraded to the obscurity of the lumber-room , or set aloft , on the most conspicuous pedestal in the gallery . Some features of our journey to London stand out in my memory , and claim a place in this veritable record of my youthful experiences . We travelled up by a tedious , old-fashioned stage-coach , which rolled along with a stately swagger at the rate of nine miles an hour . I remember to have been delighted with the snugness of its padded-leather interior , ami the capacious pockets of its doors , in which I stored our sandwiches and biscuits , with a tremulous sense of the vastness of the sixteen hours journey that lay before us . I remember , too , my wonder at the large bright plane visible from the coach-window , and seeming to keep up with us as we went along ; my surprise at the apathetic indifference of a heavy great-coated boy

    who came into the coach at Andover and slept aill the way ; my enthusiasm when we passed Runnymcdc in the morning , and my disappointment at London ' when we got there at last . The expectation I liad formed of London was rather a curious one . One of my favourite b ooks had been an old history of Home , the frontispiece of which was a view of some part-of that city , presenting the usual features of temples , pillars , and statues , and exhibiting in the foreground an ancient chariot from which some stately personage in a toga was restraining the prancing of four very arch-necked steeds , whose upraised hoofs threatened destruction to one or two gravelooking individuals , bearded and habited like the charioteer . Rome was a great city ; so was London ; and the latter even less known to me than the former , of which I had got some idea from the famous picture aforesaid .

    August 13, 1853.] The Leader. 787

    August 13 , 1853 . ] THE LEADER . 787

• Citation
  • Leader (1850-1860), Aug. 13, 1853, page 19, in the Nineteenth-Century Serials Edition (2008; 2018) ncse-os.kdl.kcl.ac.uk/periodicals/l/issues/cld_13081853/page/19/