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.