Chapter II: Rugby

We stayed at Twyford till the end of 1833, when our father resolved to send us to Rugby. Dr. Arnold had been a little his junior at Oriel; and, though considerably exercised by the Doctor’s politics, he shared that unhesitating faith in his character and ability which seems to have inspired all his contemporaries. In the meantime George had gone up rapidly into the highest form at Twyford, amongst boys two years older than himself, and generally carried off not only prizes for the school work but for all kinds of gymnastics. Twyford was a little before its time in this respect, as we had quite a number of gymnastic poles of different kinds in the playground, upon which we had regular lessons under a master who came over from Winchester. Every half-year we had a gymnastic examination, attended by the master’s daughters, and a lady or two from the neighbourhood, who distributed the prizes (plates of fruit and cake) at the end of the day to the successful boys. One special occasion I well remember, in which the excitement ran particularly high. A new prize for vaulting was to be given, not for the common style “which any boy could do,” our master said; but for vaulting between the hands. I don’t want any of you to try it, for it is a dangerous exercise, and I wonder that some of us did not break our necks in attempting it. You had to place both your hands on the back of the vaulting horse, as far apart, or as near together, as you liked, and then spring over between them without lifting either, even for half an inch. Of course none but long-armed boys could do it at all; but there were enough of these for a large entry. Very soon, however, one after another fell out, either for touching with their feet, or shifting a hand during the vault; and George and a very active boy, a great friend of ours in after years, Charles Mansfield by name, were left alone. They two went on springing over the horse, without the least touch of foot or shifting of hand, until it was at last voted by acclamation that they should divide the great plate of grapes, apples, and sponge cakes, which stood ready for the winner.

But I must not tell you so much of all his successes in athletic games. These things are made too much of nowadays, until the training and competitions for them outrun all rational bounds. What I want to show you is, that while he was far more distinguished in these than any of you are at all likely to be (or indeed, as things stand, than I for one should wish you to be), he never neglected the real purpose of a schoolboy’s life for them, as you will see from some of his early letters from Rugby to which school we went in February 1834, when he was only twelve years old. These are all addressed to his father and mother, and generally end, “Please consider this for grandmama as well as for yourselves.” No boy was ever more thoughtful of every one who had any possible claim upon him. Here is almost the first of them.

“RUGBY, _April 25th, 1834_.

“MY DEAR PAPA AND MAMA,

“I received your letter to-day. I have got a little cough now,
but it is getting better every day. Tom is quite well. I now
generally keep among the four first of my form, and I find that
by application you are enabled to do yourself greater credit
than if you trust yourself to the assistance of books or that
of other boys. There are two boys besides myself who always
do our work together, and we always take three-quarters of an
hour out of school, besides three-quarters which is allowed us
in school, to prepare our work. The work of our form is the
Eumenides of Æschylus, Homer, Virgil, Horace, and Cicero’s
Epistles. The half year is divided into two quarters, one
of which is for classics mostly, and the other for history.
The books for the next quarter are Arrian’s Expedition of
Alexander, and Paterculus’s History of Rome, and Mackintosh’s
English History. For Composition we do Greek Iambics and Latin
Verse, which is generally taken from some English author, and
we translate it into Latin. We also do English and Latin themes
once a week. The Easter business is just over; there were three
speech days, the rehearsal (or first day), the day on which
the poor people are allowed to come, and the grand day. On the
grand day the day was very fine, and there was a very large
assembly of people. The speeches and prize compositions and
poems were—

SIXTH FORM.

Lake.[1]—Latin essay: Bellum civile Mariannum.
Lake.—Latin verse: Phœnicia.
Clough.[2]—English essay: The English language.
Clough.—English verse: Close of eighteenth century.
Arnold.[3]—Greek verse: The murder of Becket.

FIFTH FORM ESSAY.

Jacson.—On the Sources of Pleasure.
Emeris.—Speech of Canning at Lisbon.
Simpkin.—Conclusion of Warren Hastings’ trial.

“The speeches began at one o’clock; they were ended at three,
and about 200 went to dine at the ‘Spread Eagle.’ Here Dr.
Arnold gained a complete triumph over Litchfield and Boughton
Leigh, who wanted to prevent his health being drunk on account
of his politics, or their private malice. I have not much more
to say now. Give my love to cousins, uncle, grandmama, and
everybody.

“I remain, your affectionate Son,

“G. E. HUGHES.”

[1] Now Dean of Durham.

[2] A. H. Clough, the poet.

[3] The Rev. C. Arnold, of Rugby.

He writes home of everything, in these first years, except of what he knew would only give pain, and be quite useless—the exceedingly rough side of school life as it then existed. A small boy might be, and very frequently was, fagged for every moment of his play hours day after day; and there was a good deal of a bad kind of bullying. But these things he took as a matter of course, making the best of what was inevitable. He used often afterwards to declare, that the boys of that generation made the best fields at cricket he had ever seen, and to set it down to the unmerciful amount of fagging they had to go through. Escape out of bounds before you were caught by a sixth form boy, was the only remedy; and, once out of bounds, there was the river for amusement, and the railway, upon which large gangs of navigators had just been put to work. George became a skilful fisherman, and a most interested watcher of the earthworks, and duly chronicles how he has caught a big eel in one letter; in another, how “the railway is going on very fast: they have nearly filled up one valley, and carried it over a stream;” in a third how “Mr. Wombwell’s show of wild beasts has come in, I believe the finest in England,” and including “four elephants, a black tiger and tigress, and two lions, one of which was the famous Wallace who fought the dogs.”

Before the end of the second year he had got through three forms, and was nearly the head of the fags, and anxious to try his hand for the single scholarship, which was then offered at Rugby for boys under fourteen. As there was only one, of course the competition was a very severe one. But his first letter of that year contains a passage too characteristic to pass over. So I must leave the scholarship for a moment. We, with other boys who lived in Berkshire and Hampshire, were often obliged to post, or hire a coach to ourselves, as there was only one regular coach a day on those cross-country roads. We used to make up parties accordingly, and appoint one boy to manage the whole business, who had rather a hard time of it, while all the rest enjoyed themselves in the most uproarious manner. George was soon selected as the victim, and bearer of the common purse; and his conscientious struggles with postboys and hostlers, landlords and waiters, cost him, I am sure, more pain and anxiety than all the scholarship examinations he ever went in for. Thus he writes in February 1836, to tell of our safe arrival, and then goes on:—

“We had just enough money to pay our journey. The worst of it
is, that every postboy, when they see that they are driving
boys, at the end of the stage, when you pay them their money,
are never contented, and say, ‘never given less than so and
so;’ and, ‘shall be kept up all night;’ ‘roads bad,’ &c. &c.,
and keep on bothering you till you really don’t know what to
do. However, that is over now, and we are fairly settled again
at Rugby, and very comfortable.”

And then, at the end of the half, when he has to begin arranging for the return journey, “the Doctor will not take any account of these plaguey postboys, and so always allows us too little journey money.”

“_December 11th, 1836._—About our journey money; I do not
think that Dr. Arnold gives us quite enough. I suppose he does
not exactly know the distance we have to go. He only gives us
30_s._ each. I think you always give us 6_l._ (or 2_l._ apiece)
to go there, which just takes us, including everything.”

We were always encouraged to bring our friends home, but how scrupulous he was about using the privilege the remainder of the letter just quoted will show you:—

“There is a boy who will go all the way home with us—G——. He is
a præpostor. He is going as far as Newbury that day, where he
is going to sleep, and go on in the Oxford coach to Winchester,
where he stops. Would you think it any inconvenience to give
him a bed? It is not, however, of the least consequence, only
I think that being a stranger in those parts he would take it
kindly, and be able to return the favour to Walter or Tom at
Rugby. If you think it the least inconvenience pray tell me,
for it does not signify one jot: I have not said a word to
him on the subject yet. We begin to smell the approach of the
holidays; the bills are being made up, the trunks brought down,
the clothes cleaned, &c. &c. I shall take care to peep into the
Museum on my road through Oxford, as I did not half satisfy my
curiosity before. I am glad to hear that Dumple goes well in
harness; also that the wild ducks “habitant in flumine nostro,
quos ego, maxime gaudeo;” that Mr. Majendie has approved of
my Lyric verses, which, however, I cannot think merit such
commendation. There has been a great balloon mania in the
school lately; everybody has been making a balloon. We set them
off with spirits of wine lighted under them, and then run after
them. They generally go about five miles, and we always recover
them after a hard run. I have cut one out myself from tissue
paper, and I will bring it home that I may have the pleasure of
setting it off before Jenny. I think she would like to see it.”

But I am forgetting the scholarship.

“RUGBY, _March 16, 1836_.

“I will now tell you what I was examined in for the
scholarship; 1st, in composition, Latin theme; subject, ‘Est
natura hominum novitatis avida,’ which, as you may imagine, was
very easy; Latin verse, ‘The Battle of Thermopylæ;’ English
theme, ‘Painting,’ also very easy. In the Latin verse I did
seventeen verses in two hours, which was more than any other of
the candidates, and I quite satisfied myself in the other two
subjects. In Latin construing we had a passage from Virgil and
Cæsar, and in Greek, Homer’s Odyssey. We were also examined in
St. Paul, and, thanks to your abbreviation, I answered all the
questions. We have yet to be examined in Mackintosh, French,
and mathematics.

“I think now I have satisfied you with respect to the work of
the scholarship.”

In his next of April 2nd, he communicates the result as follows, but not mentioning that six of his competitors were older than he, and in higher forms:—

“We are all quite well. I did not get the scholarship, but
I was third. I have been promoted out of the lower into
the middle fifth, and I am doing very well in it. We read
Demosthenes, Thucydides, Cicero in Verrem, and the Antigone of
Sophocles. The great examination at the end of the half is soon
going to be set. The middle fifth and upper fifth are examined
together, and if I do well in it I may be high up in the fifth
at the end of the half.”

He did well, as usual, and got into the fifth at the summer examination. Your grandmother had a small bookcase made on purpose for our prizes, which was being rapidly filled by George. He writes thus to her just before our holidays:—

“_June 6th, 1836._—I have got some good news for you. I have
got an addition to your rosewood bookcase, _alias_ a prize!
It’s called ‘Rickman’s Architecture.’ It is very nicely bound,
and has some nice pictures of abbeys and churches, with a
description of all the fine cathedrals and large churches,
amongst which I saw our old Uffington church. Donnington Castle
was also mentioned.”

On returning as a fifth form boy he describes the fifth form room, of which he is now free, with great delight, and reverence for its “two sofas, three tables, curtains, and large bookcase,” and adds—

“I have got a nice double study to myself, but I wish I had
some more books, since I think that nothing makes a study look
so nice as books. I must bring some to Rugby next half; I can
take care of them now. I have lately been engaged in making an
English verse translation of a chorus in the Eumenides, and I
will give it you, if you think it worth while reading. I wish
you would criticize it as much as you can. I know it is very
imperfect, but as it is the first regular copy of English verse
I ever did, I think it is pretty good for me. Here it is,” &c.

But I shall not copy it out for fear of tiring you, and indeed I feel that I must hurry over the rest of his school life. When every line and word is full of life and interest to oneself, it is perhaps hard to judge where to stop for the next generation. A few short extracts, however, from his letters during his last three years will, I think, interest you. At least some of the references will show you what a time of revolution you were born into. When we were your ages there was no railway between London and Birmingham: and in all other directions, and on all other sides of English life, the change seems to me quite as great as in this of locomotion.

“_April 1837._—They are getting on very fast with the railroad,
and I hear that it is to be finished in August. I intend going
to-morrow to Kilsby to see a very large tunnel that they are
making for the railroad there.

“There has been a row about fishing. Mr. Boughton Leigh’s
keeper took away a rod from a fellow who was fishing in a part
of the river that has always been given to the fellows to fish
in, but which the keeper said was a preserve of Mr. Leigh’s.
The fellows went in a body to Mr. Leigh’s house, but found he
had gone to London; they are going to write a letter to him,
asking the reason of taking the rod. The fellow who had his
rod taken away has caught an immense quantity of pike, and
this half he caught in one afternoon two, one 5 lbs., the other
three.”

...

“_June 1837._—I dare say you will be glad to hear that
Stanley[4] has got the English verse; they say it is the best
since Heber’s Palestine that has been written; some part of
it was quoted in the ‘Standard.’ Vaughan[5] also has got the
Porson’s Greek verse, and the Greek Ode and Epigrams.”

...

“_September 1837._—There was a meeting at Rugby a little while
ago, got up by some horrid Radicals, about paying Church rates,
whether they should pay them or not: but there was a very large
majority that they should pay them; although half the town are
Dissenters, and another quarter Radicals.”

...

“_November._—I suppose Tom has told you that I have been raised
to the sixth form, and am now a præpostor. I do not find the
work much harder than it was in the fifth. A Mr. Walker,
philosophical lecturer, has just been here, and when he found
the fellows would not come to his lectures, and heard that
they were playing football, delivered himself of this elegant
sentence, ‘Brutes, to prefer football to philosophy!’ which
you may imagine caused a laugh, and did not at all further his
object of procuring an audience. This same person afterwards
caused an article to be put into the _Northampton Herald_
complaining of the conduct of Dr. Arnold, in not allowing the
boys to go without permission of their parents. Yesterday the
school house, after a resistance of six days, were beaten; but
it is not quite certain about whether it was a goal or not,
and perhaps we shall play it again. The classing examination
is just going to begin. I believe I am pretty well prepared.
Clough has gone. Dr. Arnold has been away at London, at an
examination of London University. Dr. Arnold’s two sons are now
at Rugby, having left Winchester. I have changed my study, and
have now a horribly dark place in the bottom passage, which it
is the fate of the bottom præpostor in the house to have, but I
shall leave it next half.”

...

“_March 1838._—I write to tell you that I should like to write
for one of the prizes, as I think it will be a good exercise
for me; I have no particular choice, but I should prefer
either the English prose, ‘On the increased facility of local
communication, and its probable effects on society,’ or the
Latin verse ‘On the abdication of Charles the Fifth;’ and I
wish you would tell me which you think the best.

“The London and Birmingham Railroad has been opened from Rugby
to Birmingham, and also from Stoney Stratford to London, but,
in consequence of Kilsby tunnel falling in, it will not yet
be opened the whole way: it is opened all the way now except
thirty miles in the middle. I saw one of the trains go by
yesterday for the first time in my life, and I was very much
astonished.”

...

“_June 1838._—Have you read Mr. Dickens’ ‘Nicholas Nickleby?’
I liked it very much, though I thought some parts of it are
very much exaggerated and unnatural; particularly that about
the school, if you have read it. I am sure no one could help
laughing at it; but I think ‘Oliver Twist’ much superior.

“The Great London and Birmingham Railroad is to be opened
throughout to-morrow week, I believe, so there will be no more
coaches to bother us.”

[4] Now Dean of Westminster.

[5] Master of the Temple.

About this time a scribbling fever attacked the upper boys at Rugby. A year or two earlier the _Rugby Magazine_ had gained considerable repute, from the publication of some of Clough’s early poems, and contributions by others of the Stanley and Vaughan generation; and had thus furnished a healthy local outlet for the literary secretions of the sixth form. But that journal was now no more, so we were thrown back on the periodicals of the outside world. To get a copy of verses, or a short article, into one of these, was looked upon as an heroic feat, like making fifty runs in a school match. And of all the magazines, and they were much fewer in those days, Bentley’s was the favourite; chiefly, I think, because of the “Ingoldsby Legends,” which were then coming out in it. Mr. Barham was an old friend of your grandfather; and I believe it was through him that George had the pleasure of seeing himself in print for the first time. The editor accepted some translations of Anacreon, which he had done out of school-hours. Here are two specimens, and though I do not care to see any of you writing for magazines, I should be glad to think that you could render a classic so well at the age of seventeen:—

ANACREON MADE EASY.

η γη μελαινα πινει.

The dark earth drinks the heaven’s refreshing rain;
Trees drink the dew; the ocean drinks the air;
The sun the ocean drinks; the moon again
Drinks her soft radiance from the sun’s bright glare.
Since all things drink, then—earth, and trees, and sea,
And sun and moon are all on quaffing set,
Why should you quarrel, my good friends, with me,
Because I love a pot of heavy wet?

Θελω λεγειν Ατρειδας

I wished the two Atreidæs’ fame to sing,
And woke my lyre to a bold martial strain,
In vain, alas! for when I touched the string,
The song to love and Cupid turned again.
I changed my string, then my whole lyre, I vow
Nought _would_ come out but sentiment and sighs,
Till Cupid broke my numskull with his bow:
“Learn your own place, presumptuous, and be wise.
If you sport epic verses, for your pains
Nought will you get, of that one fact I’m cartin.
Leave to old Grinding Homer blood and brains,
And stick to _me_, old boy, I’ll make your fortin.”

When “Bentley” arrived at the school-house we were all in astonishment, and not a little uplifted at this feat, which seemed to link the school-house to the great world of literature. George took it very quietly, mentioning it thus in his next letter home:—

“_Sept. 1838._—’Tis pleasant, sure, to see oneself in print. I
saw my production in Mr. Bentley’s last number by the side of
much more deserving ones: I was very much amused with the last
number, particularly with the report of the proceedings of the
Mudfog Association. The idea of giving the young noblemen and
gentlemen a place on purpose for their pranks was delightful,
and likely I should think to knock that sort of thing on the
head.”

We now went always by rail to London, the guards of those days allowing us, for some time, to travel outside, where we scrambled about amongst the luggage, and climbed down into the carriages while the train was going. I often wonder that none of us broke our necks, especially the present Scotch Secretary of the Treasury, W. Adam, who was the most reckless of us all at these exploits. We always managed, during our few hours in town, to call on some of our father’s literary friends, who were wonderfully kind to us. Here is a specimen:—

“_March 1839._—I then went and called on Mr. Barham, and we
went for a walk, first up into St. Paul’s Library, where I
saw some very fine books. We then went to Drury Lane Theatre,
and Mr. Barham got us tickets for that night from Mr. Peake,
who is, I believe, stage manager. It was curious to see the
difference between the theatre in the day-time, and when it was
lighted up at night. We then went to the Garrick Club and saw
all the pictures there, which were very interesting. We went to
Drury Lane that night and saw Mr. Van Amburgh and his lions,
which was the only thing worth seeing in the evening. I saw
some other lions, authors, &c. whom Mr. Barham knew; I am sure
I think he knows everybody. I must not forget to tell you that
we went through Alsatia, to a coal wharf Mr. Barham wanted to
visit.

“Have you seen Sir Robert Peel’s speech about the Corn Laws?
I should think he must have tired his legs and his lungs both,
before he sat down: I don’t understand much about it, but it
seems to cause a good deal of excitement.”

In the summer of 1839 he went in for the Exhibition examination, and did so well that his success in 1840 (his last year) was almost a certainty. But he did not remain for another examination, and I must tell you the reason of his leaving before his time, because, though I was then furiously on the other side, I think now that he was in the wrong. It was one of those curious difficulties which will happen, I suppose, every now and then in our great public schools, where the upper boys have so much power and responsibility, and in which there are (or were) a number of customs and traditions as to discipline, which are almost sacred to the boys, but scarcely recognized by the masters.

It happened thus. Just at this time the sixth form boys were on the average smaller and younger than usual, while there were a great number of big boys, not high up in the school, but excellent cricketers and football players, and otherwise manly and popular fellows. They swarmed in the eleven, and big-side football, and were naturally thrown very much with George and his friend Mackie.[6] In some houses, no doubt, they were inclined rather to ignore the authority of the sixth themselves, and of course their example was followed by the fags, so that the discipline of the school began to fall out of gear. At last matters came to a crisis. Some of the sixth form took to reporting to the Doctor cases which, according to school traditions, they ought to have dealt with themselves; and in other ways began to draw the reins too tightly. There were “levies” (as we called them) of the sixth and fifth, at which high words passed, and several of the sixth were sent to Coventry. This made the Doctor very angry, and he took the side of the disciplinarians. Then came a rebellious exhibition of fireworks one evening in the quadrangle. Then an Italian, with a lot of plaster casts, committed the unpardonable sin of coming into the Close without leave, and his wares were taken, and put up for “cock-shyes.” He went straight to the Doctor, who insisted that the sixth should discover and report the offenders; but those who would could not, and those who might would not. The Doctor’s face had been getting blacker and blacker for some time, and at last, one November morning, he sent half a dozen of the big fifth and middle fifth boys home, and told George and his friend Mackie, and one or two other sixth form boys, that they could not return after the end of the half-year.

[6] Afterwards M.P. for Dumfriesshire, a fine scholar and great athlete, who died only nine months before his old friend.

And here I will give you two of your grandfather’s letters to us on these matters, to show you how we were brought up. He was an old Westminster himself, and so quite understood the boys’ side of the dispute.

He begins to George, telling him first about home doings, and then goes on:—

“I have received a letter from Dr. Arnold deserving attention,
by which it appears that you have been remiss in your duties
as a præposter, though he speaks fairly enough as to your own
personal conduct. He alludes particularly to the letting off
of fireworks, and the man whose images were broken, in neither
of which you appear to have shown due diligence in discovering
or reporting the boys concerned. Moreover, he thinks that
those præposters who have been more active in enforcing the
school routine have been unjustly treated with contempt and
insult by the larger party of the boys—in fact, either bullied,
or cut; and evidently he thinks that you have been amongst
the cutters. Now, it is impossible for me to enter into the
exact merits of the case at a distance; and possibly I may
not be inclined to see it in all its details with the eye of
a zealous schoolmaster; but, as you are now of a thinking
age, I will treat the matter candidly to you, as a man of the
world and a man of business, in which capacities I hope to
see you efficient and respected in the course of a few years.
Your own conduct seems to be gentlemanly and correct. Very
good; this is satisfactory as far as it goes. But clearly,
by the regulations of the school, you have certain duties to
perform, the strict execution of which may in some cases be
annoying to your own feelings, and to that _esprit de corps_
which always exists among boys. Nevertheless, they must be
performed. Those young men who have a real regard for the
character of their school, which all of you are ready enough
to stickle for when you get outside its walls, must not allow
it to become a mere blackguard bear-garden, and to stink in
the nostrils of other public schools, by tolerating, in those
they are expected to govern, such things as they would not do
themselves. When you grow a little older you will soon perceive
that there is no situation in life worth having, and implying
any respect, where moral firmness is not continually required,
and unpleasant duties are to be performed. Were you now in the
army, you would find that if you were not strict enough with
your men, you would have a pack of drunkards and pilferers
under your command, disgracing the regiment; and would receive
a hint from your Colonel, in double quick time, to mend your
vigilance or sell out. Ditto, if you were older and a college
tutor. I remember a clever, amiable, and learned man, whom
our young fellows used to laugh at behind his back, and play
tricks on before his face, because he laboured under such a
nervous gentlemanly scrupulousness that he could not say Bo to
a goose, and therefore they learned little under him. I find
myself that a magistrate has many harsh and disagreeable duties
to perform, but he must perform them, or the law of the land
becomes an old song, and his own person ridiculous. So that,
in fact, I only urge you to conform yourself, like a sensible
person, to the general condition of human life. I am inclined
to think that the slackness in your case has arisen more from
constitutional ease of temper than for fear of what a clique
of disorderly fellows might say of you: for if it had been the
latter motive, I am sure you had it not by inheritance from
your mother or me. But this ease of temper may be carried to a
fault. In a word, you must correct it forthwith in your conduct
as a præposter, if you expect that I can treat you, as I wish
to do, in the light of a young man, and a responsible person:
as to my affection, you will always have that, so long as your
own conduct is good. Now as to those crackers; you must have
known the thing was childish and dangerous, and forbidden for
good reasons. Remember poor Harrow.[7] Therefore you might have
interposed in a firm and civil way, and prevented it on pain of
instant report to the master, and no one could have complained
that you did anything ungentlemanly. As to the fellows who
broke the poor man’s images and would not fork out the damage,
I wish you had been more successful, perhaps more active, in
discovering them; if you had broken their heads I could not
have blamed you. But on this I must write to Tom. So good bye;
and if you really value my respect for your character, look
sharper to your police department. Remember you are no longer a
child.”

[7] There had recently been a fireworks row at Harrow, the details of
which had got into the newspapers, creating much scandal.

Then, on the same sheet, follows a letter to me. I must explain that I had been one of the image breakers, but had come forward with one of the others and paid the damage.

“I have heard an account of the affair of the images. You
should have remembered, as a Christian, that to insult the
poor is to despise the ordinance of God in making them so: and
moreover, being well born and well bred, and having lived in
good company at home, which, may be, has not been the privilege
of all your schoolfellows, you should feel that it is the
hereditary pride and duty of a gentleman to protect those who
perhaps never sat down to a good meal in their lives. It would
have been more manly and creditable if you had broken the head
of ——, or some pompous country booby in your back settlement,
than smashed the fooleries of this poor Pagan Jew, which were
to him both funds and landed estate. This strict truth obliges
me to say, though, if you had bought his whole stock to indulge
the school with a cock-shy, I should only have said ‘A fool
and his money are soon parted.’ It is impossible, however, to
be angry with you, as you came forward like a lad of spirit
and gentlemanly feeling to repair your share, and perhaps more
than your share, of the damage. The anxiety the poor fellow had
suffered you could not make up to him. And it is well that you
did make such reparation as you did; had it not been the case,
you never would have recovered the place you would have lost in
my esteem. Remember, this sort of thing must never happen again
if you value that esteem. And have no acquaintance you can
avoid with the stingy cowards who shirked their share of the
damage: they can be no fit company for you or any gentleman. I
don’t know what the public opinion of Rugby says of them. We
plain spoken old Westminsters, in the palmy days of the school,
should have called them dirty dogs; and so much for them, more
words than they are worth. I am glad to find that your general
conduct is approved by the Doctor: and now that you have put
your hand to the plough, don’t take it off; and God bless you.”

In conclusion, _to George_:—

“Don’t cut, or look shy on, any of the præposters who have done
their duty, if you do not think they are acting from private
pique, or love of power. This question you have sense and
honesty to decide for yourself. I have hinted to Arnold that it
_may_ be so, but cannot know it as well as you do, yea or nay.
And if you do your own duty without flinching, your opinion
will have weight with all whom it may concern. The Doctor
evidently thinks you could be of essential use to him if you
liked, and I am sure he is much too fair and honourable a man
to want to make spies of his pupils. If you do not back him in
what he has a right to enforce, you pass a tacit censure on a
man you profess to esteem.”

George’s answer produced the following from your grandfather:—

“I like the tone of your vindication much. It shows the proper
spirit which I wish to cultivate, and a correct sense of what
your duties are as a member of society. Be assured that I hate
as much as you do the character of a talebearer and meddler,
and a fellow who takes advantage of a little brief authority to
gratify his own spite and love of importance. And in my reply
to Dr. Arnold I said, that having been bred up on the system
of ‘study to be quiet and mind your own business,’ you might
very likely have fallen into the extreme of non-interference;
which I thought was the best extreme for a gentleman to follow.
I also hinted that his pets might not be quite immaculate
in their motives, or deserve the good opinion of the more
gentlemanly boys of their own standing, who had a right to form
their own judgment and limit their own acquaintance, though
not to interfere with the discipline of the school. What you
have said of the fellow who caused the expulsion (rustication
I should call it) of the others, confirms me. His conduct, in
fact, if his words could be proved, deserves a round robin to
Arnold from the school; and if you are sure it is so, I will
back you with my full sanction in cutting any such malicious
rascal. I think you will see after this that I do not speak
from the notions of a pedant or a disciplinarian, and that I
do not care two straws how you stand in the opinion of Doctor
this, or Doctor that, provided you deserve your own good
opinion as a Christian and a gentleman, and do justice to good
principles and good blood, for which things you are indebted
to sources independent of Rugby. But with all this I do not
abandon my position, of which indeed you seem convinced, that
order must be enforced at the expense of disagreeable duties.
All I wish is this: put Dr. A. out of the question if you
please, and enter into the views of the parents of the junior
boys as if they were your own family friends: with this view
you will not only protect their sons in their little comforts
and privileges, but steadily check those habits in them which
might render them nuisances in general society, or involve
them in scrapes at school. After all, Arnold was right as to
the prevention of crackers in the quadrangle, and you ought
to have stopped it; on this point you say nothing. As to the
investigation of the image matter: if you were not there at
the time, you may not be blameable for want of success, and if
they expected you to pump Tom, or employ any underhand means
in getting at the truth, they knew but little of your family
habits. Albeit, I wish the thing could have been traced. It
was mean and cowardly, and, if it happened often, ruinous to
the character of the school, inasmuch as the fellows did not
step forward at once in a manly way and say, ‘We were certainly
wrong, and ready to pay for the cock-shy; but the parrots and
Napoleons were irresistible.’ The Doctor would have laughed,
and approved. I do not wonder he was sore on the subject,
feeling like a gentleman for the character of his school, as
Lord B—— would have done for the character of his own parish,
had a stranger had his pocket picked in it. Nor do I want you
to adopt all his views or partialities. Only suppose yourself
in his place: fancy what you would have a right to expect,
and remember that it cannot be done without the help of the
præposters. This you seem inclined to do, and you may do it on
your own independent footing, looking as coldly as you please
on any clique whose motives may be different from your own.
You have no need to court anybody’s favour if you cultivate
the means of making yourself independent; and if you only fear
God in the true sense, you may snap your fingers at everything
else,—which ends all I have to say on this point. ‘Upright and
downright’ is the true motto.”

I believe that no boy was ever more regretted. Since he had been in the sixth, and especially in his last year, when he was the Captain of Big-side Football and third in the Eleven, bullying had disappeared from the school-house, and house fagging had lost its irksomeness. The House had regained its position, having beaten the School at football. He had kicked the last goal from “a place” nearly sixty yards from the post. The tradition of that kick was handed down for many years, and, I remarked, was always getting back some few yards; so that, by the time it expired, I have no doubt it had reached 100 yards, and become as fabulous as many other traditions. His rule was perhaps rather too easy. The loafers, who are always too numerous, had a much better time than they deserved; and I doubt whether the school-house first lessons were done so well as at other times; for, instead of each boy going off to his own study after supper, and stern silence reigning in the passages till bed-time, groups of bigger boys would collect round the fires, and three or four fags in one study, and thus much time which should have been given to themes and verses was spent in talking over football and cricket matches, and the Barby and Crick runs at hare and hounds. I know that George himself regretted very much what had occurred, and I believe, had he had a second chance, would have dealt vigorously with the big boys at once. But he had to learn by the loss of his exhibition, as you will all have to learn in one way or another, that neither boys nor men _do_ get second chances in this world. We all get new chances till the end of our lives, but not second chances in the same set of circumstances; and the great difference between one boy and another is, how he takes hold of, and uses, his first chance, and how he takes his fall if it is scored against him.

At the end of the half, Dr. Arnold, with his usual kindness, and with a view I believe to mark his approval of my brother’s character and general conduct at the school, invited him to spend part of his holidays at the Lakes. His visit to Foxhow, and Yorkshire, at Christmas 1839, before he went up to Oxford, delighted him greatly. He had never seen a mountain before, and the fact of seeing them for the first time from his old master’s house, with schoolfellows to whom he was warmly attached, doubled his pleasure. I have only room, however, for one of his letters:—

“FOXHOW, _Jan. 6th, 1840_.

“MY DEAR FATHER AND MOTHER,

“I will now give you a more lengthened account of my
proceedings than I did in my last.

“Last Saturday week I reached Ambleside, as you know. As I was
following my luggage to Foxhow I met Mrs. Arnold, and visited
Stockgill force.

“_Sunday._—I did nothing particular, although it was a splendid
day, and we saw the mountains beautifully.

“_Monday._—Hard frost. We went up Lufrigg, the mountain close
by Foxhow, to try if we could get any skating, but it would not
bear my weight. I and Matt Arnold then went down to a swampy
sort of lake to shoot snipes: we found a good number, but it
came on to rain, and before we got back from Elterwater (the
name of the lake) we were well wet through.

“_Tuesday—Wednesday._—Rain—rain!

“_Thursday._—We were determined to do something, so Matt,
Tom, and I took horse and rode to Keswick, and we had a most
beautiful ride. We left Lady Fleming’s on the right, went along
the shores of Rydale Lake, then from Rydale to Grasmere, then
through the pass called High Rocae (I don’t know if that is
rightly spelt), leaving a remarkable mountain called the Lion
and the Lamb on the right—then to Thurlmere, leaving Helvellyn
on the right. Thurlmere is a beautiful little lake: there
is a very fine rock on the left bank called Ravenscrag, and
on the right Helvellyn rises to an immense height. Then the
view of Keswick was most beautiful: Keswick straight before
us—Bassenthwaite beyond Keswick in the distance; Derwentwater
on our left—Saddleback and Skiddaw on the right, one 2,780 and
the other 3,000 feet high, and Helvellyn (3,070 feet) behind
us. It was a rainy, misty day, so that we did not see so much
as we might have done, and it was only at odd moments that we
caught a glimpse of Helvellyn free from clouds, but we were
lucky in seeing it at all; they gave us such a dinner at the
inn (without our requiring anything grand) as would have made
a Southern stare—all the delicacies of the season, potted char
among the rest—and charging us only 2_s._ apiece.

“_Friday._—Rainy. Walked into Ambleside to see Mr. Cotton off
by the mail, and afterwards as the weather cleared up we went
out on Windermere, and had a very pleasant afternoon.

“_Saturday._—A fine day. Tom and I determined to do something
‘gordgeous,’ and so we set out to walk up Helvellyn, and we had
some precious good walking before we got up. We started from
the foot at a quarter past eleven, and reached the summit at
a quarter to one. One hour and a half,—pretty good walking,
considering three-quarters or more was as steep or steeper
than the side of Beacon Hill[8] which we slide down. Although
quite warm in the valley, the top of the mountain was a sheet
of ice, and the wind blew quite a gale. It did not, however,
prevent us from enjoying a view of nearly fifty miles on all
sides. We saw Windermere, Coniston, and the sea towards the
south, as far as Lancaster. Ulswater close on the north-east;
Skiddaw and Saddleback and Bassenthwaite Lake on the north; on
the west the range of mountains in which is Scawfell, 3,160
feet, the highest mountain in England. We saw into Scotland,
Cumberland, Cheshire, Lancashire, and Yorkshire. It was a most
splendid day, but there was a sort of mist in the very far
distance which prevented our seeing quite as much as we should
otherwise. Helvellyn on the side towards Ulswater descends in
a precipice 1,000 feet, and a long narrow ridge, called, I
think, Straddle Edge, from its narrowness, stretches out at
right angles from the mountain, on the same side. There are
innumerable places in which a person might break his neck, or
be frozen to death without help, as few go up the mountain at
this time of the year, it being a continual frost up there.
We made ourselves very comfortable under the lee of a cairn,
or heap of stones, which had been raised on the very highest
point, round a tall upright pole. I got up, and put a stone
at the top, and we put a newspaper which contained our grub
into the middle of the heap, having first taken out a quantity
of stones; how long it will stay there I don’t know. We then
proceeded to grub with uncommon appetite,—some hard ‘unleavened
bread,’ some tolerable cheese, and a lot of the common oat-cake
they make in the country. We had some good fun, loosening and
rolling masses of rock down the precipitous side into the ‘Red
Tarn,’ a largish bit of water, and into the table-land below.
We then came home by Gresdale Tarn and Grasmere, after a good
long walk. This was last Saturday.

“Dr. and Mrs. Arnold are very kind, and I have spent a very
pleasant week here. I go away on Tuesday to Escrick Park. Next
Wednesday week, or about that time, I shall start for London
again, and shall be with you about the 20th; till which time

“I remain, your affectionate son,

“G. E. HUGHES.

“Love to all.”

[8] A hill in Lord Carnarvon’s park at Highclere, near Newbury.

The ride to Keswick, mentioned in this letter, is alluded to also in one which I received in this last sad month of May from one of his companions, who has allowed me to use it for your benefit. Its natural place would perhaps be at the end of this memoir, but I prefer to insert it here:—

“HARROW, _May 23rd, 1872_.

“MY DEAR HUGHES,

“I had seen so little of your brother George of late years
that I seemed at first to have no business to write about his
death; but now, as the days go on, I cannot resist the desire
of saying a word about him, and of asking after his wife and
children. Not two years ago I had a delightful day at Offley
with him—the only time I ever was there; and all I saw of him
then, and on the very rare occasions when we met by accident,
confirmed my old remembrance of him—that he was one of the most
delightful persons to be with I ever met, and that he had,
more than almost anybody one met, the qualities which will
stand wear. Everything about him seemed so sound; his bodily
health and address were so felicitous that one thought of his
moral and intellectual soundness as a kind of reflex from
them; and now it is his bodily health which has given way! His
death carries me back to old times, and the glory and exploits
(which are now so often presented so as to bore one) of youth,
and strength, and coolness, have their ideal for me in what I
remember of him, and his era. His taking the easy lead at golf
latterly, as he did in his old days at football and rowing,
seemed to me quite affecting. Tell me about his poor wife; and
what children has he left, and what are they doing?

“It will be a great loss to you too. Do you remember our ride
together to Keswick some thirty-two years ago? We have all a
common ground in the past. I have told Macmillan to send you
a little book, of which the chief recommendation is that
I believe it is the sort of book my father would have been
impelled to make if he had had to do with schools for the poor.
My kind regards to your wife.

“Affectionately yours,

“MATTHEW ARNOLD.”

From Foxhow George went to visit another of his most intimate school friends. During that visit he gave another proof of coolness and courage of a rare kind, and also of his singular modesty. We at home only heard of what had happened through the newspapers, and never could get him to do anything more than pooh-pooh the whole affair. In fact, the first accurate description of the occurrence came to me after his death, in the letter to his sister which follows. It is written by the schoolfellow just referred to:—

“DUSSELDORF, _June 4th, 1872_.

“MY DEAR MRS. SENIOR,

“Your very kind letter of the 20th May has just reached me
here: and I cannot express in writing one tithe of what I feel.
I had no idea of the news it had in store for me; for, having
been travelling about lately, I had missed the announcement of
the sad loss which we have all had; and so your letter fell on
me as a thunderbolt. Poor dear old George! old in the language
of affection, ever since we were all at Rugby. Oh! how much I
regret now that I never found time in these last few idle years
of my life to pay him a visit. And yet, to the brightness and
pleasure of my recollections of him, nothing could be added.
To the very last he was what he was at the very first: a
giant, with a giant’s gentleness and firmness. You may perhaps
none of you know that he always felt sure boating was too
violent an exercise for anyone. I remember well (and now how
sorrowfully) one conversation in which he told me how many of
the best oars had fallen in the midst of apparent health and
strength. How little did I then think he was to go! and yet I
recollect I carried away with me from that conversation an idea
that he suspected he had heart-complaint. Was this the case?

“But I will not trouble you to write out to me abroad; for I
trust I may soon return to England, and then I shall take the
liberty of writing to ask you to see me at Lavender Hill.

“You ask about his stopping the horses at Escrick. It was in
1840 or 1841. He had been left with my two eldest brothers to
come home last; and whilst these two brothers were calling at
our York Club, George was left sitting alone in the carriage.
Suddenly the driver fell off the box in a fit, upon the horses,
and they started off. George remembered that in the six-mile
drive home there are two right-angled turns; so he determined
to get out, run along the pole, and stop the horses. The first
time he tried was in vain: steadying himself with his hand
on the horses’ quarters, he only frightened them more; so he
coolly returned into the carriage again and waited till they
had lost some of their speed. He then crept through the window
again; ran quicker along the pole, caught their bearing reins,
turned them round, and brought back the carriage in triumph to
my brothers, who were anxious enough by that time! And then
the gentle modest look he had when we all praised him the next
morning, I never can forget. Oh, he charmed all: a better
creature never lived.

“Tell his boys from me he never could have dreamt even of any
divergence from truth. As all men of power, he seemed silent
and receptive rather than busy; and where you left him, you
picked him up; though the interval might have been ever so long
a one.

“I remain, your most sincerely,

“STEPHEN W. LAWLEY.”