M
^^m
^^^^1
k'
^-
A BOOK
ABOUT DOMINIES
BEING
THE REFLECTIONS AND RECOLLECTIONS
OF A MEMBER OF THE PROFESSION
BY
ASCOTT R. HOPE,
AUTHOR OF ' A BOOK ABOUT BOYS,' ' STORIES OF SCHOOL LIFE,' KTC.
Turba, fere censu fraudata, maglstri.*
FO URTH' Et>tTIi)N.
EDINBURGH:
WILLIAM P. NIMMO.
1871.
MURRAY AND GIBB, EDINBURGH,
TRINTBRS TO HER MLiOXftTV's STATIONERY OPFICB.
PREFACE TO THE SECOND EDITION.
N issuing a second edition of this Book
about Dominies, I think it right to say —
what I would have said before, if I had
not trusted more confidently than the result has
justified to preserving my incognito — that it is more
of a work of fiction than may have been supposed.
I should be sorry to discourage any one who may
take an interest in identifying the dominie, whose
life, opinions, school, pupils, and acquaintances are
sketched in these pages ; but I feel it imperative on
me to warn such investigators that their search is
extremely unlikely to meet with much success, un-
less, indeed, Dr. Cumming be singularly far wrong
in his views as to the duration of our mundane
existence. For similar reasons, I should strongly
advise all parents who may be pleased with my
speculations, not to delay the education of thpir
darlings till they can send them to my school to
be placed under my charge.
248164
iv PREFACE,
I don't choose to let the public too far behind my
scenes ; but if any curious spectator should look
through the curtain, and have a peep at me trying
on my cocked hat and feathers, he must not go
away with the idea that I am a conceited individual
in private life. As for the story that the appear-
ance of this edition has been delayed by my printer's
running short of capital /'j, it is a pure fabrication.
I wish to take this opportunity of answering cer-
tain objections which have been made to this book.
For instance, a friend of mine, who did not know
that he was speaking to its author, informed me
that it contained a great deal of very silly nonsense
not at all necessary to the subject. But this gentle-
man did not remember, to fulfil its purpose, my
book should be read by other and less hard-headed
people than dominies, and that these people might
be tickled into agreement with my views by the
very passages stigmatized by him as * silly.* I have
been accused, too, of being a very old-fashioned
dominie, and of making little mention of a large
and influential class of schoolmasters of another
type ; to which I would answer, that my book was
about real dominies, and not about the clerical or
other amateurs who, in certain parts of the country.
PREFACE. V
frequently undertake the temporary performance of
scholastic duties.
It has also been objected that I am satirical
and ill-natured, too fond of thinking and calling
other people fools ; and in this way I understand
that I have procured for myself a good deal of ill-
will and reviling. It is on record that certain
inferior members of the brute creation objected
strongly to the means taken for their destruction,
and found their objections disregarded. I have
certainly tried to speak what I believe to be the
truth, without fear or favour ; and, of course, some
people don't like having the truth told of them, and
are prone to recalcitrate to the best of their ability.
* Ah me, what perils do environ
The man that meddles with cold iron' —
in the shape of a pen ! But, after all, the world
little knows where the satirist gets his models —
who sits for his blackest pictures — what lay figure
it is that is always in the studio.
The general meaning of these criticisms is, that I
should have put my views about scholastic matters
into a series of quiet, logical, and unpretentious
essays, which no one could have objected to, and
almost no one would have read. I foresaw this,
vi PREFACE.
and resolved to secure my object in another way,
which the reflective reader will perceive, and the
partial success of which has been proved by the
result. This object was the furtherance of a, cause
that I have at heart, and have before endeavoured
to serve in this and other ways without much suc-
^ cess. But, civis Romamis stimy — I am a Scotchman,
and not easily discouraged.
It is the cause of the schoolmaster, too often, as
Carlyle calls him, a * down-bent, broken-hearted,
underfoot martyr,' of which I would fain be an
unworthy champion. Many schoolmasters are hire-
clings, caring not for their sheep ; but there are many
others who, at this moment, are wisely and bravely
doing the most noble and useful work that can be
done on earth, and getting little thanks for it. Is
it vain labour to try to make people respect school-
masters more, and to make schoolmasters more
deserving of respect }
Long time have I kept vigil over my armour in
the cold halls of publishers. At length the sun has
risen, and I have received the knightly honours of
publication. Mounted on my Rosinante, I come
forth on what may seem to some the Quixotic
adventure of fighting for dominies against the wind-
mills, giants, and enchanters of this cruel world.
CONTENTS.
PACK
CHAP. I. THE DOMINIE, ..... I
II. HOW I BECAME A DOMINIE, . . .II
III. SCHOOLBOYS, ..... 27
IV. YOUNG GENTLEMEN, .... 43
V. MY BOYS, ...... 57
VI. MY PARENTS, ..... 75
VII. *LION,' . . , , . .87
VIII. THE TWO GREAT SORROWS OF THE DOMINIE, . I OS
IX. DIFFICULTIES AND VEXATIONS OF THE DOMINIE, . II5
X. DANGERS OF THE DOMINIE, . . .135
XI. THE WORK OF THE DOMINIE, . , .145
XII. DAY-DREAMS OF THE DOMINIE, . . • '55
XIII. THE HOLIDAYS, ..... 164
XIV. SATURDAY — ^WITH SOMETHING ABOUT FOOLS, . 1 74
XV. OUR SCHOOLS, . . . . . 188
XVI. ON OTHER DOMINIES, . . . • 204
XVII. RECOLLECTIONS OF A DOMINIE, . • .225
CHAPTER I.
THE DOMINIE.
Is mihi vivere atque frui animi videtur, qui, alicui negotio intentus,
prseclari facinoris aut artis bonse famam quserit. ' — Sallust.
AM a dominie. I have spent my life in
teaching boys, and it is to give my
reader some insight into the joys and
sorrows of such a life that I sit down to write
these pages, first craving his indulgence if with an
old man's garrulity I digress sometimes into my
joys and sorrows as a man, not as a dominie.
For I have found this Pegasus of mine so hard
to catch, that I must be excused for having a
good scamper, now that I am mounted. In youth,
indeed, that fiery animal runs neighing to meet
his master, and readily allows himself to be spurred
A
THE DOMINIE,
on to the music of jingling rhyme, or not less
poetical prose. But in age he grows lazy and
wary, and the would-be author has to approach
him slowly and cautiously, alluring him with tempt-
ing offers from publishers, shaken in his ear like
a sieve of oats ; and when caught he has surely
a right to perform the journey at his own pace
and in his own way.
I am aware that a dominie's life is often looked
down upon by men who are not of nearly so much
use in the world. It is supposed to be laborious,
unremunerative, ungentlemanly. I don't wish to
dispute all this, and I confess that there are but
few prizes in the profession to tempt ambitious
men to enter it. But I hope that before the reader
lays down my work, he will admit the dominie's
to be not altogether such an unenviable life, both
in a worldly and in a higher point of view.
Messrs. Brown, Jones, and Robinson, who send
their sons to be educated by me with about as
much consideration as they send to Mr. Smith for
their groceries, little think what a great man I am.
Not only think myself to be, gentlemen, but am.
THE DOMINIE.
— in the eyes of your sons, at least, who are to
be the Browns,- and Joneses, and Robinsons of the
next generation. My authority over them is enor-
mous. It is a despotism tempered only by epi-
grams uttered behind my back, and unlimited by
Parliaments and the want of supplies. Not even
the Emperor of France nor the Queen of Spain
can execute with impunity such coups d'etat as
those by which I crush out the first spark of
disaffection among my subjects. The King of
Dahomey's power of tyranny is as that of a parish
beadle compared to mine. The Czar of all the
Russias is not treated by his people with more
profound respect. True, when my boys verge
towards hobble -de -hoy hood, they often become
somewhat affected by the Radical tendencies of
the present age, and even among the younger
ones there may occasionally be found a juvenile
Mazzini or Felix Holt ; but up to a certain age
my pupils in general are thoroughly deferential
and submissive. How could they be otherwise,
when I am sovereign, law-maker, judge, police, and
executioner all in one.^ But I think I am speak-
THE DOMINIE.
ing the truth when I say that this authority of
mine is more deeply grounded than in mere fear.
Boys have a great deal of natural faith; and it
requires but little effort on my part to make them
believe in my wisdom and justice and dignity.
Sometimes passion may get the better of this faith,
and they may call me hard names — always behind
my back ; but on the whole they believe that they
^ are far more likely to be in the wrong than I ;
and it is this belief which is the greatest power I
have over them.
I remember when I was a boy, that one of my
own masters was, like too many other dominies,
harsh, capricious, unrelenting. He made no allow-
ances ; he punished without discrimination — as
often unjustly as justly. Well, we did not exactly
love this man ; but we reverenced him. We took
all his harshness as a matter of course, and fed
with thankfulness upon the rare crumbs of human
kindness which from time to time he flung us.
We believed in him then ; and such is the force of
custom that some of us believe in him to this day.
Since we grew up, I have heard my old school-
r
THE DOMINIE.
fellows talking of this man, and pronouncing him
a most excellent man, and a most judicious master.
I know better ; but then I have been all through
the temple ; I have myself been hidden in the
statue and delivered the oracles.
This absolute faith of boyhood, in even a cruel
and unjust master, may seem to some ridiculous ;
to me it is touching, and even beautiful. And
it gives us so much power, that pace the Record
and the Guardian^ I consider myself as useful a
man as my neighbour, the Rev. Mr. Johnson, the
eminent preacher. His calling is nominally more
sacred and honourable than mine ; but I firmly
believe that I have as many, if not more, oppor-
tunities of doing good than he. He teaches men ; I
teach boys. But not many of his pupils have such
faith in him as mine have in me. His are not teach-
able ; my pupils are. So I maintain that I am
more truly a teacher than he, though his office is
held in more respect and honour than mine by
himself and the world. Messrs. Brown, Jones, and
Robinson ask him to dinner, but they do not ask
me, though they would perhaps do so if I put on
THE DOMINIE.
a white necktie, and added the semblance of his
profession to the reality of my own. And he pats
their boys on the head and tells them 'to be good ;'
and they listen in awed acquiescence, believing his
kind of goodness to be something above their reach,
— something mysteriously connected with a black
coat and white necktie. This impression is deep-
ened when they see him in the pulpit, and hear him
promising incomprehensible blessings to those who
think and feel as he does, and vaguely hinting at
an end of unutterable misery for those who do not.
They do not listen much to his sermons ; but they
listen to and learn from mine, which I preach when
I praise the boy who has done what is lovely and
of good report, and blame the one who has shown
himself base and mean.
Here I may be censured for overstepping the
boundaries of my proper profession. But I do not
think I do so. I cannot even teach Latin and
\ Greek without preaching against the sin of ignor-
ance. And I try to teach more than Latin and
Greek. I believe it to be my duty to train my
pupils to be wise and good men, and to set before
THE DOMINIE,
them, so far as I can, an example of the worthy
manhood to which they should strive to attain.
*You teach morality, and quite right,' the or-
thodox reader will say ; * but it would be absurd
and foolish of you to profess to teach them reli-
gion. These are different things.' Alas ! yes ; in
these days they are. We have many religions and
many moralities, which are truly different things,
yet all more or less based upon the same thing. I
i believe that there is one religion and one morality,
which are one and indivisible ; and that, or as
much of it as has been revealed to my mortal
sight, I strive to teach, leaving it to my boys or
their parents to choose the set of dogmas upon
which they may think it necessary to pin their faith.
Presumptuous on my part, no doubt, even if not
heterodox ! But do you ever think, reader, that
we teachers of mankind do not do enough, be-
cause we do not try enough } I know it is so
with boys, who are more teachable than men. You
can teach them almost anything if you only will.
Did not the Spartans teach their boys to be brave
and hardy and cunning, and did they not learn
8 THE DOMINIE.
the lesson ? Do not we teach our boys to be
respectable and gentlemanly, and to go to church
and say that they love God ; and do they not
learn the lesson readily enough in most cases? And
could we not teach them that to love God is
to be pure and wise, and brave and kind ? Yes,
if we all, parents and teachers, were pure and wise
ourselves. For preaching and teaching are different
things, as some of the Rev. Mr. Johnson's flock
must have found out by this time.
One word to the unthinking and strongly ortho-
dox reader. God forbid that I should sneer at
men of Mr. Johnson's profession. I believe that
many of them — most of them — are earnest, well-
meaning men, who do their best to serve not only
the Church of Rome, or the Church of England,
or the Church of Scotland, but the Church of God
that liveth for ever. But I think, and cannot help
saying, that my profession is as useful and sacred
as theirs. The time of their power has gone by
— the time when all mankind were children and
they were the teachers. Their pupils have grown
beyond them, and their true occupation is gone;
THE DOMINIE,
we dominies are stepping into their place. God
grant us to know, and love, and teach His truth.
Yes, I have no mean part in the battle of Time.
Not, indeed, to go forth into the thick of the
fight, but to stay by the tents, equipping and
encouraging the young knights, polishing the
armour and sharpening the weapons which their
Lord and King hath given them, reminding them
of His power and greatness, and His servants'
prowess. I have watched many of these knights
ride forth, full of pride and hope. And some have
fled basely before the first charge of the foe,
deserting their standards and dishonouring their
Leader. And some have struggled for a time,
and then fainted and fallen by the wayside, their
breastplates soiled, and their swords blunted. But
more than one has pressed on through all the
darts of the Evil One, in fierce joy and godly
sorrow, trampling down him and his works, and has
never ceased to strike till he fell in the thick of
the battle, with the shout of victory ringing in his
ears, and the welcome of the angels' song ; * Well
done, good and faithful servant'
lo THE DOMINIE.
No, no, my fellow-teachers, our calling is no
ordinary one. In after years, when our boys are
men, some of them, not the best, will talk of us
with ridicule, or even malice. But if we have done
our duty, some will look back to our tyranny
with love and gratitude, remembering sins that we
helped them to conquer, and blessings that we
urged them to attain. And I for one would not
think my life wasted, if I hoped that I had saved
one young soul from the curse of selfishness and
deceit — brought one young scholar to learn dili-
gently in the school of God.
CHAPTER II.
HOW I BECAME A DOMINIE.
* The strong hand that kindly led
Me to the gates of manhood's strife,
That first enticed my infant feet
To paddle in the surf of life,
Is gone, and in the deeper sea
I stand, no more a trustful child.
But shivering as the waves close round.
So cold, and dark, and wild.'
A. R. H.
lOW did I become a dominie ? The ques-
tion may well be asked of all members
of my profession. For while men are
destined and trained from their youth to church,
law, or physic, they generally become teachers
\ from chance or necessity ; and as soon as, or
before, they have passed through an apprentice-
ship, in which they may or may not learn what
11
12 HOW I BECAME A DOMINIE.
they are doing, and how to do it, they too
often exchange this for some less laborious or
more profitable calling. I became a dominie
from necessity ; I remained one from choice.
Let me for one moment draw aside the cur-
tain of the Past, and reveal to you a scene
which is as vividly impressed on my memory as
if it took place yesterday, though it was many
and long years ago.
A sick-chamber, in which two weeping women
and a young man hang over the dying gasps of
him who is dearest on earth to them all. No
sound is heard but their stifled sobs and the
fearfully distinct ticking of the clock on the
mantelpiece, till a wild hysterical cry tells that
all is over; and in the grey, sickly light of a
spring dawn the young man is closing the dull
eyes that will never more brighten with a father's
love and pride.
A common and a sad story; the sadder be-
cause it is so common. The hope and stay of
a household removed in the prime of life ; an
orphan son and daughters sent forth to fight
HOW I BECAME A DOMINIE. 13
feebly for themselves that battle through which
his strong arm had hitherto borne them careless
and secure.
He had loved us not wisely but too well. Dur-
ing his lifetime all the comforts and luxuries of
our station had been ours ; but, in the pride
and strength of his manhood, he had neglected
to provide adequately for us in the case of an
event which he rashly trusted was far distant.
So after his death we found that we must not
only give up our home, but would have a hard
struggle to live in anything like respectability.
My sisters could do little ; but then they would
cost little. It was I who was at once the bur-
den and the hope of our bereaved family. What
could I do.^ I was twenty -one years of age.
I had had an expensive education, which I had
expected soon to end in the honours and emolu-
ments of a learned profession. But now that I
wished to realize my intellectual acquirements,
I found that Latin and Greek would command
but little sale in the ready -money market. I
was too old for a mercantile office, even if I
14 HO IV I BECAME A DOMINIE.
had not been a very poor hand at figures, and
altogether unaccustomed to business habits. There
was but one resource open to me. I looked out
for a situation as under - master or usher at a
private school, and obtained one with little diffi-
culty.
I have read many touching tales of the suffer-
ings of ushers, of the slights put on them by
their employers, of the insults they are accus-
tomed to receive from their pupils. I am bound
to say that, on the whole, my experience has
been to the contrary. I have been in several
such situations, and was generally treated like
a gentleman, or at least as much like a gentle-
man as a young man on sixty pounds a year
can expect. But then I fancy I was lucky.
From the boys I met often enough with annoy-
ances caused by thoughtlessness, seldom or never
with malicious insults. It is a mistake to sup-
pose that boys generally look down on their
teachers. It is far oftener their parents who do
so. Even an under-master may generally make
himself well enough respected by his pupils, if
HOW I BECAME A DOMINIE. 15
he likes, and can get on well enough at a board-
ing-school, where the parents are not at hand
to snub him.
Then I cannot say that I ever found the
'drudgery,' 'monotony,' 'pettiness,' and so forth,
in a schoolmaster's life, which so many people
seem to think it is composed of. The work
was certainly hard ; so is most useful work. True,
it seemed at first very discouraging to hammer
musa, muscF, and amo, amas, into one ear of
little heads which straightway let it out at
the other; but there were daily crumbs of in-
telligence and interest from more hopeful pupils,
which I took and was thankful. And it was a
terrible thing at first to assume a magisterial
frown and pass impromptu sentences which would
confine little curly-haired urchins in dull school-
rooms, toiling painfully, and perhaps tearfully,
with the shouts of their luckier companions ring-
ing in their ears from the playground. And it
seemed hard at first to have to hurt the little
hands when I would rather have borne the punish-
ment myself, to see tearful eyes looking up at
i6 HOW I BECAME A DOMINIE.
my face, not in rage but entreaty. But on the
whole I liked the work, and its very mono-
tony was far from irksome, even enjoyable, to
me. Till then I had been a purposeless dreamer,
and I felt, for the first time since I had left
school, what a good and happy thing it is to
have hard and regular work to do, work which
comes to be in itself a pleasure, and makes
well-earned hours of rest doubly sweet
In one way the change in our circumstances little
affected me. I had never been a dandy nor a Syba-
rite, I had never cared for the pleasures of riches.
So it was no trial to me to have to wear my coats
till they were shabby, and to live on constant roast
mutton, suet-dumplings, bread and scrape, and the
other dainties of boarding-schools. If it had not
been for my sisters, I would rather have rejoiced
than otherwise in the- state of comparative poverty
in which I now found myself. And soon all care
for their welfare was useless ; for they died two
years after my father — died almost on the same
day, of an infectious fever, which the one had taken
at the bedside of the other — died, and left me alone
HOW I BECAME A DOMINIE, 17
in the world, alone but for dim memories of their
gentle voices and loving smiles, which still come
and go in my heart like a strange, incredible
dream.
It was indeed well for me, in these days of un-
utterable sorrow, that I had work to do which
could occupy my thoughts. If they had not been
so occupied I might have gone mad, or written
spasmodic poetry. But the kindly stream of fresh
young human life around me, soothed the wounds
of my heart, and prevented me from brooding over
my grief From the day that I returned to the
school in a new suit of black, and was stared at
by the boys with a mixed feeling of curiosity and
sympathy, I gave myself up more completely to
them, seeking from them the love of which death
had so cruelly bereft me.
I wonder if these thoughtless urchins ever guessed
why I tried to be so patient and gentle with them !
Did they think it strange of me that I stroked their
shaggy heads, and wound my arm round their necks
in quiet corners of the playground, inviting them
to confide to me their troubles and their pleasures ?
i8 HOW I BECAME A DOMINIE,
Did they think me weak because I spent so much
time in remonstrating with naughty boys, who ought
to have been soundly whipped, and who, in fact,
used to wink at their companions while I was ap-
pealing to their good feelings, and exhorting them
to penitence ? Most likely they thought and called
me a soft, easy-going fellow, and rejoiced in my
being so, after the manner of boys. They never
could have known how eagerly I was yearning for
them to love me, and to let me love them.
The death of my sisters made it no longer neces-
sary for me to be a schoolmaster. I had now
means of continuing my studies long enough to
enter some learned profession. My friends strongly
urged me to this, and took much trouble to point
out to me the disadvantages of my position, and
describe in glowing colours the prizes I might attain
to in the Church or the law. My ambition was
roused ; but mine is one of those natures which,
having once come to run in any fixed rut of life,
cannot, without a great effort, tear themselves out
of it, and begin to wear away another. For some
little time I hesitated, uncertain which path to
HOW I BECAME A DOMINIE. 19
choose, though rather inclined to the one which
was beginning to grow familiar to me.
In this doubtful state of mind I went up to
London in the Christmas holidays on business,
which detained me there some days. I remember
the visit well. I remember it, because then for the
first time I passed Christmas eve, not at the friendly
fireside of a kindly home, but wandering restlessly
and sadly through the cold, busy streets of the
great city, in which I had not a friend. And I
remember how, at midnight, as I crossed Trafalgar
Square, the bells of St. Martin's pealed forth a
joyful strain, loudly proclaiming the peace and
good-will of Heaven to all mankind. The sound
swelled into my troubled heart, and filled it with
a blessed happiness akin to sorrow, so that I went
home to my humble lodging lonely, yet not alone,
and gave thanks to God for telling me that He,
at least, is love.
Next day I made my way through the sloppy
streets to an old-fashioned church in the city. It
was a dark, dingy church, very sparely attended,
and the clergyman was a worthy, dull man, and
ao HOW I BECAME A DOMINIE,
the charity children who formed the choir might
have sung much better ; but there \vas a reason
>why I should prefer that old church to the more
fiishkmable temples, which were no farther distant
from my lodgings. For there, one Sunday, when
we were staying at a neighbouring hotel, I had
gone with him whom I thought \\nsest, and kindest,
and bravest on earth; and I \\nshed to sit once
more in the moth-eaten pews, and to fancy that I
sat by his side and looked up into his face.
Sitting in that dingy church that Christmas mom-
ing« and many, many times besides, I have felt how
true are the words of a great song of sorrow—
* *TSs better to hate loured and lost,
Tlian oeTor to have lored at alL*
For there is no joy of life so sweet as to feel the
memories of the dead hox^ering round us like angels*
wings, guarding us from the po\%*ers of e\*il, soften-
ing and cleansing our hard hearts.
Tbe sormon preached on that Christmas mom-
vug was» I have no doubt, excellent in its way;
sound, pointed, and appropriate. But I heard little
of it While the preacher was reading his care-
HOW I BECAME A DOMINIE. 21
fully'writteii pagesy I
yoo wilL I though of tiie lappy
ago, and the familiar little com i tiy dnndi, gi|r
witli evetgreens, wbere I sat by tibe side of oiEir
father, joining my drildi^h voice in tlie joyful strain
of tlie herald ai^iel^ and guiwdy irprating the
m3rsteries of the Athanasian CiecdL Ithoag^ho«r
beantifal that Christmas hymn was^ and widied it
were soi^ evoy day in the hearts of all men. I
tiioag^ with wonder, not mmiixfd with sonow, of
that creed in which my fefl o w-ip inaliitums had just
dedared^ with much satisfaction, that they bciievcd
in certain subtle, metaphysical definitintis of their
God; and furthermore, tiiat whosoever did not so
believe, ' without doubt should perish everiastii^^iy/
I thought of streets I had passed throi^ that
morning, where there was but little joy for the
peace and good-will of Heaven ; little but poverty,
misery, widcedness. I thought of another street I
had passed by, where the devil dares to show his
face in the shop-windows^ idiere I had seen im-
mortal men bojring and sellii^ that idiidi I could
not but blush to look at I diought of the grim
22 HOW I BECAME A DOMINIE.
prison hard by, teeming with iniquity and godless-
ness. I thought of the rich mansions of the great
city, so many of them inhabited by men and women
who forget their God, or alas ! remembering Him,
yet bow down to the Rimmons of this heathen
world. And then a great yearning rose suddenly
in my heart, a strong eagerness to go forth and
do battle with this mighty devil, to save not only
myself, but my brethren, from their sins ; to do
something to make God's kingdom come, not to a
few, but into the hearts of all His children.
Should I become a clergyman, sign the Thirty-
nine Articles, wear black, and devote myself to
reading essays upon Justification by Faith, and the
wisdom of the Church of England } No ; even if I
had wished to enter this respectable profession, I
felt that I could not do so without lying to my own
heart. I could not take my stand by any one of
the little heap of dogmas which various * churches '
have gathered together and proclaimed to be the
infinite sum of God's truth.
Should I go forth, like the Master I would follow,
into the lanes and byways of the land, to comfort
HOW I BECAME A DOMINIE. 23
and succour and teach the poor ? I might try to do
good, as He did, without the stamp and the pay of
any church. But, alas ! I felt how unequal I was to
such a task. I had been brought up as a ' gentle-
man ; ' I had never associated with my fellow-men
of lower rank, so as to know their wants and trials.
I saw and heard that men suffered hunger and cold
and nakedness on every side of me, yet I knew not
what I could do to help them.
And yet was I to do nothing for God, — for God,
who was daily so good to me, who had not made
me ignorant and wicked and miserable as others
are ? Was I to enjoy His countless blessings with-
out lifting a hand to fight in His battle ? Was I to
sing hymns about His goodness and glory — and
nothing more ?
A trivial circumstance changed the course of my
thoughts just then. Right opposite me was a gal-
lery in which sat three or four* rows of boys, sadly
inattentive, like me, to the sermon, and not so
decorously quiet as I was. A familiar sound made
me look up, and I saw that the beadle had struck
one of them with a little cane whigh he carried to
24 HOW I BECAME A DOMINIE,
maintain some show of order. The man in autho-
rity turned away, and the little culprit rubbed his
hand across his eyes, and indulged in a few sub-
missive tears. But there was another boy, a little
black-eyed fellow, doubtless a Cockney fidtis Achates
of the first, who shook his fist behind the beadle's
back with a look of intense indignation which I
shall never forget, and then turned to comfort his
friend.
I could not help being pleased with the vehe-
mence of the little fellow's friendship. No doubt
they were both naughty boys, and richly deserved
all they got from the much-enduring beadle. But
was this altogether a wicked feeling which was
sparkling out of those black eyes } Was there not
in it something of the divine flame of love which is
the essence of all virtue ? He never reasoned as to
whether his friend was justly punished or not, but
he loved him, and was angry because he had been
hurt. At an earlier part of the service, I had seen
the same boy get a sharper cut across the knuckles,
which he bore with great equanimity, and presently
winked derisively for the benefit of his companions.
HOW I BECAME A DOMINIE. 25
And this set me thinking that there is no boy so
wicked and stupid and disrespectable, but lurks in
his heart some desire to love and to be loved, some
feeling which teaches him that he cannot hope to
find happiness in himself alone, but must look for it
in being just and kind to his neighbours. And thus,
in the midst of sin and sorrow, we have love and
kindness springing up in spite of thorns and weeds.
Some call this our own righteousness, and speak of
it with great contempt as filthy rags ; but I believe
it to be a little ray of the Spirit of God, ever shin-
ing, faintly or brightly, in the hearts of His children,
to remind them that its full glory is their destined
end and inheritance.
And to tend and foster this ray in the hearts of
the young — for God has ordained that it may be
fostered by human means — would this not be a
worthy and useful work for a man who was eager
to do his Lord's work ?
This was the very work I was doing. The
thought came to me suddenly, and yet so plainly,
that I wondered I had not perceived it before. As
a teacher I had daily opportunities of doing what I
26 HOW I BECAME A DOMINIE.
longed to do, something to make my fellow-men
better and wiser and happier.
The clergyman had pronounced the blessing, and
the congregation were dispersing; but I lingered
behind in the pew to make a silent vow, which I
had resolved upon in a moment — that all my life I
would be a schoolmaster, and would devote myself
to teaching wisdom to boys, not only the wisdom
which is for colleges and libraries, not that which is
for Sundays and controversial pamphlets, but the
pure Wisdom which is one with Goodness and
Happiness, and is for every day and hour of life.
Thus I became and remained a schoolmaster.
CHAPTER III.
SCHOOLBOYS.
* Oh ! sweet were these untutored years,
Their joys and pains, their hopes and fears,
There was a freshness in them all.
Which we may taste but not recall.'
Praed.
DO not think it will be considered out
of place if I devote a portion of this
book to the raw material upon which
dominies have to work — boys. I am going to
speak up for boys ; but let the reader under-
stand that I use this word here, and nearly
everywhere throughout my book, in a limited
sense, that will be sufficiently apparent to all
having patience to peruse the next two chapters,
which shall be devoted to considering the nature,
opinions, and habits of the rising generation.
27
28 SCHOOLBOYS.
I hereby indignantly declare that I believe boys
to be a much maligned and much misunderstood
class of the community. They are the Ishmaelites
of polite society ; every one's hand and voice being
against them. * Expensive/ complains paterfami-
lias, spectacles on nose, mournfully turning over
the leaves of his ledger ; * noisy, careless,' moans
mamma, gazing in despair upon a pile of torn
trousers and worn socks ; * idle, disgracefully idle,'
declares Dr. Birch from the depths of his experi-
ence ; ' vulgar,' pronounces Lady Clara Vere de
Vere, with the languid contempt so becoming to
that sweet female ; * irreverent,' squeaks the old
dotard Mrs. Grundy, looking down ruefully at her
despised apron-strings ; * troublesome, meddlesome,
mischievous, restless,' responds a chorus of tutors,
governesses, nurserymaids, old bachelors, dandies,
flunkeys, and such like. To which, add the wise
judgment of a certain ancient lady, much approved
of by other old women of both sexes — ^viz. that
all male animals between the ages of ten and
twenty-one should be shut up and carefully pre-
served in glass cases, where they might only be
SCHOOLBOYS, 29
seen and not heard, and not required to be
whipped nor scolded, nor give any other trouble
to their elders.
What a world this would be, then, with so much
of its small share of innocence and happiness and
health taken away ! Perhaps it would be as cala-
mitous to shut up all the girls, though some sages
have thought otherwise ; but for the present I
have nothing to do with them. I have under-
taken to stand up simply for boys, who, in my
opinion, do not get their full share of credit from
the general public, and still less from the literary
public.
So much being asserted concerning my views
about boys, I shall proceed to lay down three
propositions to assist the logical consideration of
my subject.
First, that boys are not wicked ; that is, not
more wicked than other people, but rather the
reverse.
Second^ that boys are not unhappy ; that is, not
more unhappy than other people, but quite the
reverse.
30 SCHOOLBOYS.
Third, that boys are not members of the Social
Science Association, but distinctly the reverse.
In the discussion of these assertions, it must be
understood that I claim to speak authoritatively
in the name of boyhood, reminding scoffers that
I have studied the habits and thoughts and feel-
ings of boys with the deepest interest ever since
I was a boy myself. Let no one contradict me
who has taken less pains to master the subject
In the first place, then, I deny that boys are
more disposed to evil than their elders. That
they have many peculiar faults arising from
thoughtlessness and want of self-control I admit;
but, on the whole, I maintain their superior
virtue, if it is to be estimated by amount of
real moral depravity, and not by the mere effect
of what I will call latent energy. This is, in
every physically and mentally healthy boy, a part
of his nature, and irresistibly drives him to run,
jump, laugh, break, tear, make a noise, and
otherwise give occasion to unsympathizing guar-
dians to scold and punish. I admit the value
of gradually teaching the young thoughtfulness
SCHOOLBOYS. 31
and self-control, but I cannot for one moment
place this against the great danger of confound-
ing in the youthful mind such faults with the
fruits of moral depravity ; nor the equal risk of
bottling up such energies, to burst forth at length
with more force, but in some less harmless direc-
tion. The truly wise educator will take care to
let this latent energy of youth have some natural
vent, or, if it becomes inconvenient in any par-
ticular form, will distinctly prohibit it in that
form, and repress it under the head of disobedi-
ence, but will never forget that to treat it as
real sin will only dim a boy's moral perceptions,
lessening his respect for virtue and abhorrence of
crime.
Having had this rap at many of their elders, who
won't make allowance for the effervescence of young
blood, I deny that boys are merely restless animals
without moral sense or reflection. On the contrary,
I believe them to be full of generous emotions, which
too often grow colder and fewer as they approach
the tainted atmosphere of manhood. Have you
never known a boy share his last penny with a
32 SCHOOLBOYS.
friend, and perhaps grow up to be a money-grub,
who dabbles greedily in filthy lucre, speculates rashly
with other people's money, fails for ten shillings in
the pound, begins again with funds secured to his
wife, and then retiring from business, lives leisurely
and respectably all the rest of his life ? Or have
you never seen a boy, flushed with honest rage, fling
down his cap, and rush, with his hair streaming in
the wind, to fierce combat with the bigger boy who
is bullying the small one, whence arise many wounds
and more than one darkened organ of vision ; and
could you believe that such a boy would afterwards
become a steady, industrious lawyer, with no sense
of right and wrong except such as can be retained
by a certain number of guineas ? Look on these
pictures and on those, and say if you can recognise
the smooth cheeks and frank eyes of the boy in the
furrowed features of the man.
I maintain that boys are eminently more honest
than their elders ; and honesty is something in this
age of falsehood. They shuffle with their feet and
yawn in church, while well-behaved people only
think what a long sermon Dr. Orthodox is giving
SCHOOLBOYS. 33
them, or wonder how on earth Mrs. Fastman has
managed to get another new bonnet. They, when
they have conceived a low opinion of any of their
companions, are accustomed to tell him so openly
and forcibly, and do not understand the art of
being polite to a person before his face, while they
slander him behind his back. In fact, boys gene-
rally have a strong prejudice in favour of outspoken-
ness and calling things by their right names. Cer-
tain eminent divines might possibly be considered
hypocrites by these irreverent young persons ; and
I know of several highly respectable and affluent lay-
men who in youthful society would be denominated
swindlers.
Now, a word upon one of the greatest sins ascribed
to boys — their delight in inflicting pain upon others.
I do not deny that there is much evil in what is
popularly called * bullying ;' but I do not believe
that it is so great as mammas and sisters seem to
think. It must be remembered that boys are to a
certain extent fond of pain, both to give and to
suffer it ; and therefore we must not judge them by
our standard in this respect, nor by the wailings of
C
34 SCHOOLBOYS.
certain little darlings who have apparently mistaken
their sex, and ought to have been put into petticoats
and sent to a lady's boarding-school to learn crochet
and deportment. I am convinced that what is often
called cruelty in a boy is a mere love of pain for its
own sake, not for the purpose of making miserable
the victim, who, for his part, is generally not alto-
gether an unwilling sufferer. I remember that, when
an urchin, newly fledged at a public school, I looked
rather with respect and esteem than otherwise upon
a big boy — how very big he seemed then! — ^who
recreated himself nightly by thrashing me and my
fellows, varying the amusement by putting us to
stand in a corner with our faces to the wall, to medi-
tate upon a pleasant promise, that if we turned
round he would throw a slate at us. And yet this
monitor was a good-hearted enough fellow, who
never meant to make us miserable, and would doubt-
less have stopped his tortures at once if he saw
them producing that effect. And Alexander was
not prouder of his conquests than we were of these
experiences, the memory of which we treasured up
for years, and proudly narrated to new generations
SCHOOLBOYS. 35^
of boys, as traditions of a golden age that was to
come no more to our schoolboy world.
The fact is, that there is a line between real and
apparent bullying which it is not easy to draw,
especially in print. But, indignant reader, if you
can catch any heartless wretch playing on your
darling's moral sensibilities, and poisoning his in-
nocent imagination with falsehoods, and terrors,
and filthiness, we give him up to your unsparing
vengeance, and with a hearty goodwill too, for we
should like to wash our fingers of the beast. There
are such boys, who deserve to lose all their boyhood,
and becom_e men at once.
I assert, in the second place, that the lot of boys
is not so unhappy as some people seem to think, —
people who can't imagine it possible to live without
feather-beds, cunning cooks, eau -de -cologne, kid
gloves, and so forth, and who talk compassionately
of * poor Dick,' or * poor Willy,' or * poor Charley,*
as the case may be ; Dick, Willy, and Charley being
perhaps at that moment quite cheerful and contented
inmates of some scholastic establishment, where
Virgil, cricket, cane, mutton, rice pudding, bread and
36 SCHOOLBOYS.
butter, and pillow fights, form the great part of the
routine of what is to them a very enjoyable life —
not that holidays and an occasional dip into home
luxuries are despised by them. I remember many
of my boyish sorrows ; I know that there were still
more which I have long forgotten — distance lending
enchantment rather than gloom to the retrospective
view of youth. I remember the bully who took such
a delight in twisting my arms in the playground
and pinching me in school ; and I have an equally
vivid recollection of the offended big boy, whose
vague threat to 'kick' me formed for a week the
chief terror of my juvenile existence ; and of another
considerate young gentleman who laid wait for me
every day after school, and appointed me to the
honourable but onerous duty of carrying home his
books, therewith conferring on me the title of * bag-
gage-mule !' I remember the frown and — infandwn
re7iovare dolorem I — the cane of a certain master,
who then seemed to be without pity, but whom I
now know to have been cruel only to be kind. And
oh ! I remember how slowly that provoking school
clock used to go, when in an hour I expected to be
SCHOOLBOYS. 37
locked in kind arms that will embrace son or daughter
no more on earth. But I can scarcely remember
one sorrow which left more than a passing cloud
on my heart, to be dispelled by the next of those
happy sunbeams abounding on the path of boyhood.
And even when the greatest sorrow of all came —
the sorrow of looking tremblingly on a white face
that once was sweet with smiles, and kissing cold
lips that were never more to speak lovingly and
cheerfully, — even that sorrow, by God's mercy, was
not allowed to rest too long nor too heavily on the
fresh young heart.
And whatever were the sorrows of youth, they
were amply made up for by the joys — the joy of
health and innocence ; the joy of a pure fresh life,
welling up in careless mirth and buoyant activity ;
the joy of boyish dangers, and labours, and suffer-
ings ; the joy of boyish friendships, precarious but
sincere; the joy of leaning on a father's arm or
playing with a mother's curls, and believing them
to be the best and wisest and kindest of men and
women. Ah ! that such pure joys should come no
more to the hard heart of mankind, toiling, panting,
38 SCHOOLBOYS.
wearying for alluring pleasures which but crumble
to bitter ashes in the hand of their possessor ! I
believe firmly that the very restraint placed upon
youth is half the cause of its happiness, for by far
the greater part of our misery in this world arises
from our following the guiding of our own weak
wills. And, in sober earnest, I declare that I could,
if it were God's will, give up all the rest of my life
to enjoy once more the happiness of a pure and
healthy boyh(5od.
In the third place, I have asserted that boys are
not members of the Social Science Association, with
which I may state two kindred dogmas.
Also —
That they are not students of Proverbial Philo-
sophy.
Moreover —
Neither do they habitually cultivate the acquaint-
ancy of Mrs. Grundy.
In brief —
That they have a natural aversion to humbug in
(general, and to theoretical palavering in particular.
, I believe that on no subject has more nonsense
SCHOOLBOYS, g$
been talked during the last few years than about
boys. Some wise philosophers have discovered, foi*
instance, that they are 'overworked ;' and this idea
being taken up by fond mammas, has created some
sensation. Now, among all the hundreds of boys
whom I have known, I have never met with one who
voluntarily injured himself with hard work, and
only with one or two who allowed themselves to be
thus injured by foolish mammas or cramming tutors,
though I have noticed several cases where the reverse
statement might hold true. Six hours' work a day,
or even a little more, can never hurt any healthy
boy, and it is simply nonsense to say that it will.
Certainly, however, in these learned days, when so
many and so great premiums are offered for cram-
ming and intellectual mummyism, it may be as well
to remind us of the danger of all work and no play ;
so I don't quarrel very bitterly with the Social
Science Association for this. But the reader must
sympathize with my sufferings for six months after
the meeting of the above-mentioned body in the
town I inhabit, when I was driven to despair by the
mammas of half my scholars, who insisted on pro-
40 SCHOOLBOYS.
pounding and explaining to me their theories of
education.
Boys have no nonsensical ideas of this kind. They
don't like their lessons, perhaps, but it is on prac-
tical, not theoretical grounds. They have a dim,
but sound and healthy perception of what is good
for them, so they work on at their tasks, with only a
natural amount of grumbling. And if they do wrong,
and get flogged, they take it as a matter of course,
with more or less contrition, and do not raise a cry
about punishment being 'degrading' and 'brutaliz-
ing,* and so forth, as certain of their elders do.
Therefore say I, that boys have more common sense
than some older people ; and to that common sense
I should like to refer some of the proposed reforms
in school management, which we hear so much about
now-a-days.
And oh! what a blessed mutual estrangement
there is between the healthy mind of honest youth
and that personified embodiment of conventionality,
yclept by satiric moralists Mrs. Grundy ! Boys
don't value one another by any number of flunkeys,
nor by proximity to the West End, nor by the
\
SCHOOLBOYS. 41
standard of a fashionable tailor, but by powers at
cricket or Virgil, football or Homer, by courage
and strength and prudence, by endurance of pain,
and, most of all, by readiness to be kind, genial,
unselfish. Oh happy beings, among whom patched
trousers are signs of honour, and high hats objects
of detestation, and into whose simple hearts the
lessons of fashion and gentility have yet to be in-
stilled by discreet parents and ambitious com-
panions !
I have proved, much to my own satisfaction at
least, that boys have more goodness, more happi-
ness, and less humbug than their elders. But it
is with sorrow and alarm that I confess that there
are but few boys now-a-days, — among the young
people whom I am acquainted with, at least. The
sons of our gentry speedily scorn the chrysalis
state of boyhood, and soar forth as genteel youths
with kid gloves, and canes, and sham jewellery,
who drink bad beer, smoke vile cigars, swear
foully, and do all they can to make themselves
into small men. No compliment this to their
elders, that getting into bad habits should be so
42 SCHOOLBOYS.
often the first stage of that process. A true boy
is to me so pure and holy, that it fills me with
the bitterest grief to see him thus corrupted. Oh
boys, boys, you don't know what you are throw-
ing away with these healthy, happy years of boy-
hood ! Run, play, laugh, and be merry while you
can, for the toils and anxieties of manhood are
coming upon you but too soon and too surely,
with their weary weight of care, and their restless
craving for honour and wealth. And blessed will
he be who can carry into and through them the
simple, trustful heart of a boy, yea even to the
everlasting gates of the Eternal City, which all who
have such hearts may enter into, there for ever to
rest peacefully and joyfully on the bosom of their
Father.
CHAPTER IV.
YOUNG GENTLEMEN.
* Sir, we be young gentlemen.' — AsCHAM.
* In cute curanda plus aequo operata juventus.' — Horace.
lEFORE I am half through my last chap-
ter, there rings in my ears a scornful
cry of blame and derision from fathers,
mothers, uncles, sisters, and other much-enduring
individuals intrusted with the care of young animals
of the male sex. * Is this stupid fellow mad, that
he talks to us of the innocence and simplicity and
faith of boyhood ? Are we not daily pestered and
plagued by boys who are unruly and disrespectful,
who will not obey our orders, nor listen to our
good advice, who fraternize with bad companions,
and learn to smoke and swear, whose heads are
43
44 YOUNG GENTLEMEN.
always running on fine clothes and dancing-parties,
and who seem to require three times as much money
as we did at their age ? Where are your innocence
and simplicity here ? Be silent, dreamer, and don't
talk to practical people.'
Pardon me, ladies and gentlemen. I have been
praising boys. The animals you have been de-
scribing are not called boys at all in my vocabu-
lary, but young gentlemeUy a very different race.
And, though I love boys, I hate young gentlemen.
Yes, it is a sad fact that about the age of fourteen,
sooner or later, many of my boys undergo a fatal
transformation. The external symptoms are unmis-
takeable, and the disease, when once it has got a
firm hold, is almost incurable. First, they begin to
neglect their boyish sports, and to lounge about the
playground talking nonsense, or worse. No hockey
nor * tig,* alias * dab,' for our young gentlemen, to
crush their collars or dirty their boots. They often,
however, show great zeal for cricket, fencing, or any
other kind of amusement which gives them an
excuse for investing themselves in gorgeous flannel
raiment But more likely they devote themselves
YOUNG GENTLEMEN, 45
to playing on the piano. Then they take to walking
about the streets, got up in what they fondly con-
ceive to be the first style of the fashion. They wear
gloves and carry canes. When I was at school, any
boy who appeared with a ring on his finger would
have been teased out of his mind ; and we know
that even the great Mr. Toots only ventured to put
his on in the holidays ; but all the young gentlemen
of the present day are unblushingly thus adorned.
I saw a boy of fourteen to-day who wore an enor-
mous battered old ring which had apparently
belonged to his grandmother. I noticed this with
inward laughter while I was engaged in ornament-
ing his hand in another manner, through the same
agency as Jacob employed for the same purpose
upon Laban's cattle. Then while, consule Planco, as
Horace and the author of Tom Brown would say,
we used to have a pair of corduroys for school
wear, and a pair of cloth trousers for Sundays, our
modern young gentlemen go to a wild excess in the
matter of peg-tops, some of them possessing as
many as four pairs. It will be well for their afflicted
friends and relatives if they do not adorn themselves
46 YOUNG GENTLEMEN.
in enormous paper collars, with broad, coloured
stripes. They begin to look with an envious eye
upon their papa's jewellery, and regard a gold watch-
chain as the summum boiitim of life. They mani-
fest great eagerness to go out to dancing-parties,
and profess to like the society of young ladies,
before whom, however, they are generally dumb.
They make up for this silence, though, by talking
about them behind their backs in a way that is very
ridiculous, and certainly not edifying. God forgive
them ! they often pretend to take a pride in foul
thoughts and words which it is to be hoped they
scarcely understand. They make furtive attempts
to smoke cigars, whence arise unutterable woes.
They take wine now when it is offered to them, and
try hard to like it. They turn up their noses at
bread and butter and early dinners. They are
made miserable by thinking that their jackets are
too short, or by not being allowed to have stand-up
collars. Poor creatures I Well were it for them if
the author of Sartor Resartus could be brought to
bear upon their benighted understandings.
This is the terrible disease which cornipts the
YOUNG GENTLEMEN. 47
healthy happiness of boyhood. It steals on silently
and insidiously, often breaking out in boys whom
you would never suspect of being infected. I
remember a bright, merry boy of thirteen, who
gloried in noise, and mud, and running and climbing
and jumping, and who always looked happy and
untidy. I remember how certain circumstances
led him to say to me, with boyish sincerity, * I
hope I shall never be a swell!' and thereupon I
rejoiced over him as over one saved from destruc-
tion. Alas ! within a year the infection had seized
him. He broke out into all the unhealthy bloom of
a boyish dandy, and exhibited even more dangerous
symptoms.
The malady has sometimes a sharp tussle, though,
with the naturally strong constitution of boyhood.
Long after the main body of the fortress is taken,
some out-of-the-way corner of the boyish heart will
continue to hold out against Mrs. Grundy. I heard
lately a very touching tale about a young gentle-
man who had not altogether lost his boyishness, and
among other signs and tokens thereof, delighted to
wear a belt round his trousers instead of braces.
48 YOUNG GENTLEMEN,
His parents — blind votaries of Mrs. Grundy ! —
wished to persuade him out of this habit, and pro-
pounded unto him this dilemma, that if he did not
give up his belt he should not go to a ball at which
he hoped to make his d^but in the fashionable world.
It was a hard struggle between the belt and the
ball, between the old boy and the new man ; but I
grieve to say that Mrs. Grundy conquered. He gave
up the belt and went to the ball ; and I don't think
he made the best choice.
Not only does young -gentlemanliness display
itself in outward appearance, but in preternatural
wisdom. As Solomon in all his glory was never
in his own estimation anything like one of our boy
dandies got up for an occasion, so those who have
hitherto cherished the delusion that Solomon was
the wisest man on earth would have to confess
themselves grievously mistaken if they knew many
of our young gentlemen. They know everything;
they don't require to be taught. They have no
faith in those who are older and more experienced :
they believe in themselves — a most heathenish
belief. You may tell them what is truly good and
YOUNG GENTLEMEN, 49
what is truly evil : they will not believe you. You
may tell them that to be manly is to be brave and
sensible, and honourable and unselfish ; but you will
speak to the winds if their measure of manliness lies
in fashionable trousers and attempts at dissipation.
I was not quite right in saying that they believe
only in themselves ; they believe in one another,
which is much the same thing. They are slaves to
Mrs. Grundy, bound with a heavier chain than
even diligent votaries of the handbook of etiquette.
Your weighty words they neglect, but they dare
not set themselves against the sneers of their com-
panions, Dick, Tom, and Harry. And though they
do not listen to those of their elders who speak
truth, they listen readily and obediently enough to
those who speak falsehood. They drink in the
poisonous words of those who put good for evil,
and evil for good— who call sweet bitter, and bitter
sweet. They are but too eager to learn the lessons
of those who teach that we are sent into this world,
not to be good and wise and happy, but to eat and
drink, and take our thoughtless pleasure like the
brutes that perish. We are all teaching something
D
50 YOUNG GENTLEMEN,
in this world of ours, and this is the cursed lesson
men learn from us, if we set ourselves to teach no
other. Ah ! when we have reformed all our old
gentlemen, we shall have more hope of the young
generation.
Young gentlemen, being so wise in their own
conceit, are not easily controllable. They won't
obey rules ; they don't like being scolded. This
might be well enough ; I know some boys who hate
being scolded, though they have no objection to be
honestly flogged if they do wrong. But our young
gentleman has a great abhorrence of punishment,
and especially of what Radical orators and cheap
school advertisements call 'corporal punishment'
He can't bear to be struck ; it lowers his dignity.
Plautus understood the nature of the animal when
he wrote —
* Cum librum legeres, si unam peccavisses syllabam,
Fieret corium tarn maculosum, quam est nutricis pallium.
At nunc, priusquam septuennis est, si attingas eum manu,
Extemplo puer psedagogo tabuli dirumpit caput.*
This is what we are coming to. In our youth the
age of tail coats and stuck-up collars was longer
YOUNG GENTLEMEN. 5r
deferred, and no boy below that age would ever
have dreamt of complaining of being flogged,
though that operation was performed upon us far
oftener and upon far slighter grounds than at pre-
sent. But now you will see a brat of fourteen set
himself up to be disobedient and impertinent to
you, and then sulk and fume if you are obliged to
give him a well-deserved thrashing. I was once
acquainted with a school — I beg pardon, an estab-
lishment ; our young gentlemen don't like the word
school — for the education solely of young gentle-
men, not boys. There was no playground at that
school, no noise, no canes — nothing so vulgar. The
pupils, or students if you will call them so, came to
school with dainty walking-sticks and dirty lavender
kid gloves. They were a most genteel set of
youths, and some people thought very highly of
that school. I did not. Well, there was a master
at that school who used to go by the name of
* Snuffy,' on account, I suppose, of the seediness of
his apparel. Poor fellow ! he could afford no better,
for he was not a petted schoolboy, but only an assist-
ant master, working hard, very likely, for the sup-
52 YOUNG GENTLEMEN,
port of a wife or mother. And there was a boy at
that school whom we will call Smith. He is now
an officer and a gentleman, and I dare say he would
be ashamed of himself if he were reminded of what
I am going to tell ; and I believe officers and
gentlemen don't like to feel ashamed of themselves.
Because this Mr. Snuffy was poor and ill-dressed,
and only an under-master. Master Smith and his
genteel companions took great delight in being rude
to him, and often sorely tried his patience, — under-
masters, be it known, having feelings like other men.
One day Master Smith carried his presumption so
far that wicked Mr. Snuffy lost his temper and gave
the boy a cuff. Master Smith's ears weren't much
hurt, but his dignity was. When I was at Dr.
Birch's, how a boy would have been laughed at who
made any fuss about such a trifle ! But our young
gentlemen hold more enlightened views. Master
Smith, with the approbation of his companions,
went to the principal of the establishment and
made an indignant complaint, and the end of the
matter was that Mr. Snuffy had to leave the school.
And if I had had my way with Master Smith, I
I
YOUNG GENTLEMEN, 53
should have taken him to the place of business of
the nearest spirit medium, and there delivered him
over, bound hand and foot, to the shade of Dr.
Busby. We can guess the result of the interview.
It may easily be imagined that such young
gentlemen are a source of much tribulation to
all who exercise authority over them, especially
if these forget that they bear not the rod in
vain. The difficulties of dominies of the present
day may be imagined, not understood, by lay-
men. I was lately speaking despairingly of a
young gentleman's conduct to a very worthy man
who is not a dominie. *0h,* he said, kindly wish-
ing to give me a hint, 'there is just one thing
you must do — appeal to his common sense.'
Good advice ; but what if, for obvious reasons,
it be impossible to follow?
Young gentlemen do not love the truth, which
I cannot be surprised at, believing, as I do, that
young-gentlemanliness comes from the Father of
Lies. Their pride, indeed, generally forbids them
to utter open falsehoods, but they think no
shame of equivocations, and evasions, and petty
54 YOUNG GENTLEMEN.
trickeries, which an honest little schoolboy often
would feel disgraced by and be soundly whipped
for. Then they strongly object to be rebuked,
in fitting terms, if detected in deceit. I have
more than once got into serious disfavour on
this account with young gentlemen under my
charge. Unfortunately I am one of those who
hold that every man, either as a Christian or a
gentleman, is bound to take notice of falsehood
only in words of the utmost contempt and abhor-
rence. But to call a spade a spade, and a lie a
lie, is an abomination unto the young gentleman.
You will understand now why it pains me to
see a boy transformed into a young gentleman.
A boy is to me such a pure and happy being,
that it is very sad to see his healthy, honest
nature polluted by bumptiousness, silliness, and
foppery. I hate slavishness in boys or men, but
I hate false independence also. I like courtesy ;
I think we can never begin too early to teach
boys to be pitiful and courteous. I know of
worthy men who do harm to themselves and the
good doctrines they teach by neglecting to be
YOUNG GENTLEMEN, 55
courteous in little things. But true courtesy is
the service of God ; the superficial politeness of
our young gentlemen is only an attempt at the
service of Mrs. Grundy. Then as to dress, I do
not wish all boys to be attired in a Quaker uni-
form. I love beauty — real, natural beauty. I like
to look at a daisy because it is pure and fresh
and simple. And I like to see an untidy boy, if
he look brave and happy and frank — in a word,
boyish. But I hate to see a young gentleman
destroying his boyish comeliness by making him-
self into a caricature of a dandy.
And the saddest thing about young-gentleman-
liness is, that the effects of it are so often per-
manent. In some, indeed, they pass off in an
eruption of boyish vanity, and the patients turn
out good and sensible men. It would be well
if it were so with all. Too often the poison sinks
deeply and darkly into the heart. Too many men,
looking back on the milestones of a life-road of
ruin and misery, think with bitter sorrow of the
day when they sold their boyish birthright for a
deadly draught of folly that seemed then so sweet,
56 YOUNG GENTLEMEN.
the day when they began to trust in their own
weak strength, and walk in the light of their own
blinded eyes, and in the ways of their own foolish
hearts. And now they know — !
I may seem to think too seriously of the evil
which I speak of thus lightly. We all speak lightly
of folly, but we should think of it seriously as
the handmaid of crime. And therefore I think
we should set ourselves resolutely to keep down
the folly of the rising generation, to keep them
boys till the legitimate period of hobble-de-hoy-
hood arrive. Much of the evil of young-gentle-
manliness is due to our own fault. The worst
effects of it are remediable, if the symptoms be
observed and treated in time. I venture to sub-
join a prescription which I believe to be very
efficacious in such cases, and which has been
highly approved of by the most eminent physi-
cians. It is short and simple: —
Lignum canncE, 3 //.
To be applied externally. The dose to be repeated^ i/ neces-
sary.
CHAPTER V.
MY BOYS.
* Their welfare pleased him, and their cares distress'd,
To them his heart, his love, his griefs were given.'
Goldsmith.
ALWAYS call them my boys. I love
them all as if they were my own sons.
It seems to me that all dominies should
be single men, that, not having any children of
their own, they may learn better to love other
people's.
I have had a great many boys under my
charge at the different schools in which I have
held situations. Many highly respectable middle-
aged gentlemen, some of them six feet high,
and with long, fierce beards, were my boys once,
though they wouldn't know me in the street
now, nor, probably, even remember my name.
r*7
58 MY BOYS,
But I was a great man once in their little world.
They called me perhaps by a nickname, not a
very complimentary one. They noticed with much
interest when I got a new coat. They obeyed
my orders without question. You have all heard
of Mr. Goldleaf, partner in the rich banking
firm of Goldleaf and Sons. You have seen his
benevolent countenance ornamented with spectacles
and high collars on the platform of Exeter Hall ;
you have heard the cheers which followed the
announcement of his munificent subscription to
the funds of the Indigent Organ-grinders* Society.
Well, I remember Johnny Goldleaf thinking him-
self highly honoured because I asked him to run
back to the schoolroom for my hat ; but my
readers may suppose that I couldn't ask him to
do so now. Tempera mutaiitiir. Then there's Mr.
Newlight, whose congregation have found it neces-
sary to build such a large church for him. I
remember giving him a most satisfactory caning
for — well, never mind. He is not the first good
man who has been a naughty boy. And the
other day, as I was taking my afternoon walk,
MY BOYS. 59
I found myself seized from behind by a huge
individual in nautical costume, who wrung my
hand with a grip that left it tingling for five
minutes, and bluntly intimated that he recognised
me as his old master.
* I'm not afraid of you now, sir,' said the honest
sailor with a great guffaw. * Lord ! what a plague
I used to be to you ! * He was right there.
But those whom at present I consider myself
entitled to call *my boys,' are the members of a
certain class, in a certain school in a certain city,
the name of which it neither pleases me to tell nor
concerns my reader to know. Enough that it is a
renowned city, which is celebrated for learning, and
boasts of many dominies, some of them wise, some
of them foolish.
I have now held my situation in this school for
many years — so many, that all the other years of
my life seem but a dream. For my life has grown
into this school, and has woven itself hke ivy round
its old buildings and familiar customs. It is a
good school, partly a public and partly a private
institution, uniting many of the advantages and
60 MV BOYS,
disadvantages of both. The school is divided into
six classes, one of which it is my duty to conduct
through the mysteries of Latin, Greek, and English,
to the gates of the university. Once in every six
years I part there from the companions of my
march, and return hopefully to begin with a fresh
band of awed urchins that journey through the
valley of the shadow of learning, to which musa,
mus(B is the portal. Not altogether unprepared
do these little ones tremblingly approach to join
my caravan. Some childish rags cover the naked-
ness of their ignorance. They have mastered the
spelling of cat and dog ; they have toiled through,
and trustingly acquiesced in the scientific lessons
of their Course of Reading ; they have learned
and forgotten the long names of the mountains of
Asia. So off we start, thus lightly burdened, on
our long journey over the desert ; and soon the
mules and asses begin to stumble and lag behind
the quicker-paced dromedaries, while I, with shouts
and entreaties, and sometimes with threats and
prods, do my best to keep them together, and to
guard them from the perils of the wilderness.
MY BOYS. 6i
I may here explain, for the benefit of the aristo-
cratic Mr. Jenkins, that my pupils are most gen-
teelly connected. Not indeed the cream of society,
such as is whipt at Eton, but sons of highly respec-
table lawyers, doctors, clergymen, officers, country
gentlemen, and so forth, with but a very slight
admixture of aspiring tradesmen's offspring. For
the people of this city, that is, the lawyers, doctors,
etc., thereof, are very exclusive, and bring up their
children strictly in the ways of Mrs. Grundy. And
have they not another great school, where the
grocer's boy may have his vulgar little brain stuffed
with learning by a separate, though not inferior,
apparatus of grammars and dominies ?
These boys, whose lord and master I am for
some hours every day, grow to be very dear and
familiar to me. They seem like a part of myself ;
and when they leave me for business or for the
care of some worthier dominie, I feel a pang at
parting with them. For, while some men perceive
in a class of boys only a restless row of heads, or
a bespattered line of trousers and knickerbockers,
I see little human hearts to be moulded for good
62 MY BOYS.
or evil, and rejoice that such precious workmanship
is committed to me — rejoice tremblingly, lest I
labour not well.
I love to watch them at their sports, to fancy
myself one of them, to study their characters, to
wonder what will be their future, what my influence
on them will be, whether they will grow up good
or evil, happy or miserable. Shall I introduce you,
reader, to one or two of my favourites ?
John White is one of the boys who will do my
tuition most credit. Clever, diligent, and honour-
able, he is sure as a man to command respect and
esteem. His disposition, as you may see by his
face, is gentle and kind. In his character, though,
there is a shade of what is half selfishness and half
refinement, which leads him to shrink i'rom the
society of his companions, and makes me fear that
he will not be a useful man. His father is a rich
man, who will most likely send him to Oxford,
where he is sure to become a fellow of some col-
lege ; and if the Puseyite party be still extant
there, I think — I don't know why — but I think he
will join it I never have to speak an angry word
MY BOYS, 6s
to him ; but I am sorry to say the other boys don't
like him. He is too quiet and reserved to sympa-
thize with their noisy joys and sorrows.
Sauntering by White's side (and I wish both of
them would play a little more with the others), is
Tommy Grey, his rival this year for the highest
place in the class. Tommy is a good fellow, but
he is being spoiled by too much learning. His
mother is an awful woman, with spectacles and
theories of education, who, being deprived of op-
portunities of displaying her own talents, is re-
solved that she will shine in the reflected light
of her son. So, though Tommy's intellect is not
of the highest order, he is crammed to an extent
perfectly alarming. Every day, as soon as that
unfortunate youth returns from school, I have
reason to believe that he is seized and imprisoned
in a back parlour, where he not only is obliged
to get up his school lessons to his mother's satis-
faction, but has his flabby brain distended with a
most useless mass of useful knowledge. None of
the sweets of schoolboy life are for poor Tommy.
No exercise to strengthen these long skinny legs
64 MY BOYS.
of his, and open that narrow chest No thought-
less mirth to brighten up these dull eyes, that
blink at me so sorrowfully and anxiously when
I ask him a question. No excitement, except that
of hiding from one of those bullies whose natural
prey he is, and who fasten on him like vultures.
Nothing but weary lessons, and his mother, who
must be nearly as bad. She is truly an awful
woman that Mrs. Grey, and I should not mind
telling her so. Twice a week, on the days when
the school is open to visits from the public, does
she come and sit in my class-room for two hours
at a time, looking severely at the boys, and criti-
cally at me. She waylays me when the class is
over. She explains to me her theories of educa-
tion. She is constantly propounding the original
doctrine that knowledge is a good thing. She
lectures Tommy on the evils of idleness, which
the poor boy knows only by name. She amuses
herself in holiday time by setting him exercises.
I believe he is fond of her, and I dare say she
loves him, and means all this for his benefit ; but
I do think she is doing him a great deal of
MY BOYS.
harm. She may succeed in making him a very
learned and a very stupid man. It is more likely,
however, that his health will break down under the
process, and that his head will, by evident tokens,
refuse to hold any more. I hope so, for Tommy is
a good fellow, harmless as a dove, if not exactly
as wise as a serpent or strong as a lion.
Charley Bernard is a different kind of boy.
There he is at the head of that band of boys
who are furiously bent on driving that ball through
the ranks of their no less eager opponents. His
sturdy limbs, his good-natured face, his bright,
ready eyes, and his lips clenched in earnest pur-
pose to win the game, tell you at a glance why
he is always chosen as the leader on his side.
But in a few minutes he will be showing in the
schoolroom the same qualities as distinguish him
in the playground. You will see him with his
fingers run through his shaggy hair as if to col-
lect his thoughts, and his eyes fixed alternately
on his book and on my face. He is always
awake and ready ; except when he does take a
fit of naughtiness, when he starts off into the
E
66 MY BOYS.
boldest and wildest kinds of schoolboy naughti-
ness, and does not allow himself to be yoked and
harnessed into diligence again till he has had a
sound thrashing. It does one good to see him
either playing or working, he is so earnest about
whatever he does. I am sure Mr. Carlyle would
have a high opinion of him. I can see that his
companions have. And depend on it, if he lives,
he will make a mark in the world, like every
other man who sets himself to do with all his
might whatsoever his hand findeth to do.
I wish Bernard could lend some of his strength
of purpose to Harry Anderson. Such a light-
hearted, thoughtless, idle fellow as Harry never
was known, and yet everybody likes him, even I,
grim old dominie as I am. My love for him has
to manifest itself in a peculiar form. Very fre-
quently I have to call him from the foot of the
class, and hurt his hand with an instrument kept
for the purpose, and threaten him sternly with
severer punishment. And every day, when this
ceremony is over, he looks up into my face peni-
tently and even gratefully, and seems to make a
MY BOYS. 67
i
mute promise that he will learn his lessons for
the future. And I have no doubt he really means
it, though next time they are no better learned,
and the same performance has to be gone through
da capo, till I begin to doubt whether Harry's
school fees are not received by us under false pre-
tences, inasmuch as an able-bodied porter, who
would contract for a certain quantity of flogging
daily, would come cheaper and be just as effi-
cient. He has got quite used to flogging ; it
seems to agree with him. He takes it all as a
matter of course ; and though his blue eyes some-
times fill with tears, he is laughing again next
moment. I know a punishment, however, which
has more terror for him, though I doubt if any
terror would be sufficient to make Harry learn
his lessons. It is to keep him in at the play-
hour. Hitherto I have not done this often, be-
cause I have not the heart to bottle up so much
happiness. But I must really steel my heart and
knit my brows towards good-natured, thoughtless
Master Harry, or he will grow up hopelessly igno-
rant and idle.
6S MY BOYS.
Another of my favourites, who does not seem
likely to do me much credit, is Corsack. He is
a colonial boy, and a half-caste. His father has
sent him here for a year or two, to be hall-marked
with the stamp of an English education ; but he
might as well have stayed at home. Poor fellow,
he is very stupid. It is quite a sight to watch the
patient resignation with which he allows himself
to be taken down by boys not half his size, and
then to see him sitting in state at the bottom of his
class, with such an edifying look of stolid gravity
on his copper-coloured face that sometimes the
whole class begin to titter. I am afraid they tease
him ; but he is very good-natured, though at times
he can get into a passion, and then it ts 2l passion.
He is of course sensitive about his colour; but I
gave the other boys a hint about this, and I hope
nearly all of them have too much good taste to
allude to it. But they couldn't help nicknaming
him * The Last of the Mohicans ; * and certainly his
grave, stupid face reminds one a little of a Red
Indian. Lately we were reading Othello^ and in
order to avoid odious comparisons, I sent Corsack
MY BOYS, 69
out of the room for a glass of water so often that
my constant thirst became a general object of re-
mark. He seldom can say his lessons ; but then
he makes such tremendous efforts to do so, that
one hasn't the heart to punish him. After all,
Corsack, you are an honest fellow, and your father
is a rich man. So you may sit peacefully at the
foot of your class, and ruminate on the few scraps
of knowledge which I can manage from time to
time to supply you with. And in a year you
will go home to your father's plantation, and in
time, I hope, marry a wife who will have brains
enough to make up for your deficiency. And I
have no doubt you will pass through life peace-
fully and sleepily and harmlessly, your slow, dull
mind neutralized by your honest, good-natured
heart.
We have all read in the story-books of the frank,
merry boy who never tells a lie, gives away every-
thing that belongs to him, sticks to his friends
through thick and thin, almost likes to get punished,
and has his liking frequently gratified. This cha-
racter, more or less modified, is commoner among
70 MY BOYS.
boys than the critical readers of these story-books
suppose. Many dominies don't appreciate him at
all ; but I have always cherished such a sympathy
with the joys and sorrows of boyhood, that he is
rather a favourite of mine. I have him in my
class just now ; his name is Harold Douglas. A
curly-haired, brown-faced, bright-eyed fellow he is,
always laughing. When he gets a thrashing —
which is often — he comes up laughing ; and though
for a moment after the infliction he may look a
little sobered, as he clenches his hands inside his
trouser-pockets to deaden the pain, as soon as
he catches the eye of one of his cronies, his face
breaks into a smile, and when I next look at him
he is grinning more merrily than ever. He never
looks grave except when he is asked a question ;
and then he stands up, and stretching out his arm
like a pump-handle, with his eyes bent on the
floor, gives himself up to profound reflection, the
result of which generally is a sensible answer. He
is diligent enough at his lessons, and would keep
a good place in his class if he were not so con-
stantly taken up by a friendly interest in other
MY BOYS. 71
people's affairs. For, if he is examining Wilson's
knife, or admiring the caricature which Harris is
drawing of me, or telegraphing across the room
to Campion a laughing condolence with him on
the occasion of his being detected in some mis-
chief, and forthwith rewarded with summary pun-
ishment, — it is not to be expected that he can
always know what was the last sentence read, or
the exact tense of possum, potuiy posse, which we
have just been going over. And thus Harold goes
up and down in his class, and sometimes wins
praise, and sometimes palmies. But it is always
a pleasure to me to be his master, because I know
that I shall never have to punish him for mean-
ness, cruelty, or deceit, and because his happy,
healthy face, and his clear, boyish voice, are like
sunshine and sweet music to my heart.
Then comes Billy Thompson, the last but not
the least of my favourites.. He is an ungainly,
vulgar-looking boy, whom not many people would
see anything lovable in ; but I love him because
I know him, and because I have done him good.
When he first came to my class he was idle and
^2 MY BOYS.
cowardly ; the other boys laughed at him as a
muff, and I set him down as a hopeless case, judg-
ing hastily, as I fear I am prone to do. But I
soon discovered the spring by which to move him.
He had been brought up by stern Puritan parents
in the ways of their religion, and already, strange
as it may seem to some, this slow, awkward boy
— a boy in size and intellect, though almost a man
in years — had learned dimly and imperfectly to
love God and goodness. And when I showed
him how God wishes us to be brave and wise, as
well as pure and kind, he thanked me sincerely,
and in his slow, stupid way, set about trying to
master his lessons, and to conquer the timidity
which made him shrink from the amusements of
the other boys. It was a hard task, but not too
hard for the motive which was urging him ; and so
for the last year I have had the great joy of see-
ing him steadily overcoming his faults, acquiring
industrious habits, winning more and more the
respect and friendship of the best of his class-
fellow^s.
These are some of my favourite boys. I hope
MY BOYS, 73
I never show partiality to them ; but in my heart
of hearts I know that I love some of my pupils
more than others. And some I not only love,
but respect. I can well understand the feeling
which prompted a certain great and good dominie
to say of one of his pupils, * I could stand before
that boy hat in hand.' I, too, have had boys to
whom I could pay honour and reverence, knowing
how much purer and kinder they were, and how
much wiser they would be than I am.
Yes, we must often feel ourselves humble and
base-minded in the light of the pure and generous
thoughts of boyhood. I know that my Father has
prepared for me a blessed home, through the gates
of which I trust one day to enter into everlasting
rest, and there to dwell by the river of the water of
life, and beneath the shade of the tree of life, whose
leaves are for the healing of the nations of earth ;
but I believe that many of those boys, whom I
have taught and scolded and flogged, shall press
in before me through these golden gates, and shall
stand nearer the right hand of Him that sitteth on
the throne, their garments shining eternally with
74
MY BOYS.
the unspeakable glory of righteousness, and on their
fair brows, in letters of living fire —
* Blessed are the pure in heart, for they
shall see god.'
I
CHAPTER VI.
MY PARENTS.
• Where yet was ever found a mother
Who'd give her booby for another ?'
Gay.
JT grieves me to say that we dominies have
not only the hard task of managing
boys, or even young gentlemen — a harder
task, but we have also our 'parents' — too often
hardest of all. This word is our generic name for
that troublesome class, the legal guardians of our
pupils, doubly troublesome to us, because the order
is generally represented, so far as bodily presence
in our class-rooms goes, by inquisitive and garru-
lous mammas, who, by an erratic dispensation of
nature, have as much more time than the papas to
keep a watchful and censorious eye over the educa-
tion of their darlings, as they have less common
76
76 MY PARENTS.
sense and knowledge of the subject. And, if we
can be despotic to our boys, we must be servile to
our parents.
They are such a plague to us, that, taking a
strictly professional view of the subject, I am some-
times led seriously to think that boys would be
much better without parents, after a certain age at
least. It is a relief to me to say this in these pages.
I dare not promulgate my views on the subject
among my parents themselves, for my habits have
altogether unfitted me to dig, and I should be
ashamed to beg or to become a penny-a-liner.
And I wouldn't for the world whisper such a thing
to my boys, so great a respect have I for the tender
bond of love that unites them to those that are
nearest and dearest to them on earth. I know well
what a strong and sacred bond that is ; I ought to
know at least. My mother died when I was very
young, and I remember her but as a doubtful
dream ; but my boyish steps were watched and
guided by a father whom I used to and still love to
believe, the best man that ever lived. I remember
how sad were my partings from him, and how
MY PARENTS. 77
joyful our meetings. I remember how excited I
would get when ' I expected him to come and see
me at school, or when the blessed day on which
the holidays were to begin was drawing near.
How slow the time went on such occasions, and
how little I cared for lessons and punishments ! I
remember how, when I thought myself bullied by a
stern and brutal dominie, I used to comfort myself
by a day-dream, in which my father appeared to my
rescue with loving wrath flashing in his eyes, and
like a second St. George, vanquished and trampled
on my oppressor. I am glad now to think that my
father had too much sense to interfere with school
discipline, and that I had too much boyishness to
grieve over my fancied injuries more than a few
hours. I am glad now that he sent me away from
home, but it used to seem so cruel. I do not
despise these memories of my youth like some men.
I cherish them as part of my stock-in-trade as a
dominie, for they teach me to sympathize with the
poor boys who have been turned out from all the
ease and comforts of a warm, familiar fireside, and
are left shivering on the /fons asinoriiifty and
7S MY PARENTS.
trembling before melas^ melaitta, melan. I know of
no greater trouble on earth than t*hat of the timid
boy sent for the first time to school. But not on
account of the pain would I shrink from putting a
boy through the ordeal. This life is not our home,
but a great school, wherein there are many and
hard lessons which must be learned, with tears and
stripes measured out to us by a wise and just
Teacher. For boy and man there is alike a journey
to be travelled over, a bleak and hilly country
abounding in dangers and difficulties ; and well is it
for him who in youth has known to endure the
wind and snows, and to face the perils of the moun-
tain path. Therefore, mothers, tear your sons from
the loving bosoms in which they may not always
nestle, and send them forth betimes into the battle,
fearingly and tearfully. The struggle will be bitter,
but the bitterness will turn to sweetness after many
days. And God is good who has made the young
plant so hardy, that, transplanted to a strange and
sterile soil, it may droop for a day, but soon begins
to raise its head and to flourish anew, basking and
glowing in whatever clime, drawing to itself the
MY PARENTS. 79
sunbeams of life through the dullest sky. Yes,
youth is naturally happy ; and though at first we
little exiled urchins may cry in quiet corners of the
playground, and think mournfully of our darling
mamma and the flesh-pots of papa's kitchen, yet we
soon brighten up, and come to look upon canes and
bread and scrape as matters of course, and make up
our minds to get all the enjoyment we can out of
our new life. Anathema Maranatha be the dominie
who makes that enjoyment less than cruel necessity
compels !
But, speaking seriously, I believe that many, if
not most, parents can't train their own children
properly. Some have not time. We all have
heard of Parliamentary orators, celebrated barris-
ters, fashionable doctors, noted philanthropists and
others, whose time is completely taken up by more
important matters than the ruling of their own
houses. I was told lately that a certain popular
author, whose stories of home affection we have
all read and admired, had taken a country house
for two months, and proposed to retire thereto
for the purpose of making the acquaintance of his
8o MY PARENTS.
own children ! And even if all parents had time
to train their families, they have not all ability
for it. Dominie nascitiir^ non fit. If few are equal
to the hard task of ruling men, how many can
perform the harder task of ruling boys ? And,
granting the ability to rule, the weakness of human
nature often prevents parents from being strictly
just to their own boys. What says Horace?
* Strabonem
Appellat Patum pater ; et Pulluniy male parvus
Si cui filius est.'
How many parents have I not seen blind to the
faults of bad children with whom they had been
cursed ! How difficult to open their eyes ! And
even when undeceived, the average parent of the
present day seldom acts with due severity, either
because he has not courage to do so, or because
he is imbued with the new-fashioned * rule-of-love '
principles. It is certainly hard for a parent to
punish his own child justly; it is not given to
every man to be a Brutus. Thus I have observed
that dominies who have sons of their own among
their other pupils, either treat them with uncon-
MY PARENTS. Si
scious favour, or more likely take refuge from
their natural instincts in over severity. I know I
should not like to be the unlucky offspring of
some dominies of my acquaintance, who are by
no means Draconian in their rule over other boys.
But if parents are unable or unwilling to manage
their own children, they might do more to coun-
tenance and assist the dominie, upon whom the
task falls. I suppose I shall seem hard to please
if I say that some of our parents err by taking
too little interest in the education of their sons,
others by taking too much. There are some who
send their sons to school with as little thought
as they send their foals to grass, and, the thing
once done, seem much more concerned for the
welfare of the latter than for the former. They
know that the foal's market value depends on
whether or not he is made sleek, and stout, and
strong ; but, curiously enough, they never seem to
connect the school and the schoolmaster with their
children's future weal or woe. If the faces are
bright and the appetites good, it matters little
to them that the minds are growing up crippled
F
82 MY PARENTS.
and stunted ; nor will their eyes be opened to
their mistake till Mammon and Mrs. Grundy step
in and astonish them with the new code of laws
which these august deities have of late years been
promulgating, to the disgust of their votaries, who
are thereby informed that without learning there
shall be no more riches and honour, nor high
places at their courts.
But just as likely the parents, represented by
the mamma, take too much interest in our work.
They keep a jealous eye over what we are teach-
ing, which they of course know more about than
we do. They haunt our class-rooms. They waste
our time, seizing us by figurative button-holes, in
season and out of season, to discuss the precocity
of darling Johnny or the backwardness of darling
Bobby. They offer us suggestions — heaven save
the mark ! They object, before our faces and be-
hind our backs, to our * method.' They discover
that Johnny and Bobby are not getting on fast
enough, and remove them to the care of some
other dominie, whom we heartily wish joy of them.
They interfere with our discipline and question
MY PARENTS. 83
our infallibility. If Master Smith has told a down-
right falsehood, and I give him a due flogging
therefor, the chances are that I have Mrs. Smith
down on me next day. Her boy never told a
lie ; I must be mistaken ; he must have been
cruelly slandered ; in fact, I have been acting like
a brute and a tyrant. These doctrines find favour
with the young gentleman himself, and, of course,
my authority over him is to a great extent gone.
Some parents I know of might treat us with a
little more civility. Too many highly respectable
matrons in this part of the country look upon
the family dominie in scarcely a higher light than
the family grocer. I occasionally have to en-
counter a fine lady who makes inquiry as to the
quality and quantity of the education I have to
dispose of in the same complacent and conde-
scending tone as she would examine the best
black tea at four and sixpence, or the latest
fashion in bonnets. I can't particularize the rude-
ness, but there is a something about their inter-
course with the dominie which shows that they
do not regard him as a being of like passions
84 MY PARENTS.
and manners as themselves. Ladies are generally
adepts at showing or hiding this feeling, and I
think they might hide it in their intercourse with
us. I speak of some, not of all. Then there is
another matter on which I should like to have
a few words of expostulation with some of my
parents. Occasionally they have to send us notes,
excusing the absence of their sons, or to some
such effect. These notes are not unfrequently
such as they would not send to any other pro-
fessional men. They are sometimes written on
half sheets or other odd slips of paper. I think
some ladies keep all the blank pages of their
letters — if ladies' letters ever have blank pages —
to write washing-bills and notes to dominies on.
They don't always use the ordinary forms of
address in our case, and very often don't even
take the trouble to sign their communications.
They write *Mr.' So-and-so on the outside, not
'Esq.,' and thereby cause many weak-minded
brethren of the craft to be offended. I have
seen a dominie publicly tear up a note brought
by one of his boys which did not give him his
MY PARENTS, 85
full style and title ; but all men are not so cour-
ageous — nor so touchy. I intend to take a more
dignified revenge on the authors of these notes.
They are afraid of Mrs. Grundy, and would not,
write such notes if they thought she would see
them. But I warn all whom it may concern that
in the tenth edition of this work I intend to
print, for the information of that Argus-eyed
divinity, a few of the communications which I
daily receive from my parents, unless they turn
over a new leaf and write in a more polite style.
And the name of the lady who sent me a note
upon a piece of her husband's shaving-paper shall
be printed at the head of the list in large capitals.
Have I said enough to prove that our parents are
a great plague to us ? Two days in the week, for
my sins, my class-room is open to their visits. How
I nerve myself to go through the work of those days
I scarcely know. It is a terrible ordeal. If Dante
had been a dominie, he might have added another
circle to his Inferno. Tired out the other day by a
lady whose time was of no value, and who thought
that therefore mine must be equally worthless, I at
Se MY PARENTS.
length obtained five minutes* peace, and fell into a
trance. I dreamed that, for striking a boy while in
a passion, I had been conveyed to the lower regions,
and in a quiet corner, from which I could see the
stone of Sisyphus and the pool of Tantalus, had been
given up to the tender mercies of a shadowy band of
parents, * making inquiries,* complaining, suggesting,
chattering — a new and unutterable torture ! But I
awoke, and found it was not a dream, for Mesdames
Smith, Brown, and Robinson were all waiting to see
me, each indignantly clamorous to know why her
darling was not at the head of the class. Truly a
dominie's life has its sorrows as well as its joys !
It is good, however, to believe that our troubles
are all for the best. I dare say these good, stupid
ladies, whom we dominies anathematize so much in
unknown tongues, are appointed, by a wise ordinance
of Providence, to perform the same salutary duty
towards us as the consul's slave in the old Roman
triumphs, sitting behind the desks whereon we are
enthroned in the pride and pomp of our power, and
ever whispering in our ears that we are but men !
CHAPTER VII.
'LION/
* Ye who instruct the youth of various nations,
Of France and England, Portugal and Spain,
I pray you flog them upon all occasions ;
It mends their morals— never mind the pain.'
Byron.
lESIDES myself and my boys, there is a
very important member of our little so-
ciety, without whose ever-ready help some
of us would not get along very fast on the road to
learning. He has qualities which make him much
feared and respected ; though, curiously enough, the
most worthless boys in my class are often on the
most familiar terms with him. In social conversa-
tion he is generally spoken of as Lion, but his official
title is the tawse. By this the enlightened reader
will discover that my dominieship lies within a cer-
87
88 'Lion:
tain portion of the British empire, which is more
than a hundred miles from Eton and Rugby.
But, for the benefit of those who have lived and
learned in a land of canes and birch, I may describe
the appearance of Lion, from which no one would
guess him to be so formidable as his victims find
him on experience. He is simply a strap of stout
leather, divided at one end into strips, which are
hardened at the points by a mysterious process,
revealed to dominies on their entering the profession,
under a solemn oath of secrecy, and practised by
them in subterranean vaults, dimly lit by one kitchen
candle. These strips are technically called tails ;
and when I remind readers that a certain cat, which
would seem to have nine lives, so long has it sur-
vived the attacks of Radical reformers, also enjoys
the dignity of as many tails, I will give them some
hint as to the place which my Lion and his tails
hold in the political economy of my little empire.
My boys take a great interest in Lion ; so great,
that the first inquiry to which, on entering my class,
they direct their youthful judgment, is as to whether
he be * buttery' or ' sappy.* I would be hard-hearted
lion: 89
indeed to balk this innocent curiosity; so I soon
give them cause to come to the latter conclusion, and
thereafter they respect Lion exceedingly, and boast
to their companions of his prowess as compared
with the Lions of other dominies, and proudly relate
their encounters with and escapes from him. They
love who come off well in such encounters ; and
often, dipping their hands in a tanpool or anointing
them with mystic drugs, they invoke the goddess
Diana, and strive to emulate the fortitude of the
Spartan boys.
The method in which Lion acts upon the sensi-
bilities of my boys is simple and effective. The
doomed young gentleman who has broken our Medo-
Persic laws, stands forth and extends his little hand,
sometimes doubtfully, sometimes defiantly. It is
immediately and warmly embraced by the claws of
our trusty monitor ; and this operation is repeated
a greater or less number of times, according to the
heinousness of the offence which has been committed.
The subject of the operation then returns to his
seat, thrusting his hands into his pockets, and tries
to look pleased, but generally doesn't It is a point
90 'Liom
of honour, though, not to cry or flinch ; and thus,
if in no other way. Lion would do good to boys
by preparing them to bear manfully the whips
and scorns that time has hereafter in store for
them.
There is nothing I like better than to see a boy
trying to bear a flogging • well. And I love, too,
a sight which I sometimes see in our playground, —
two sturdy little fellows thrashing away at each other
with knotted straps, laughing at the pain, unwilling
to give in first. Very vulgar, and barbarian, and
brutal, no doubt, but much better for them than
lounging about the streets or reading novels, which
seem to be the amusements of too many of the
youth of the present day.
My Lion is still alive and vigorous, and will, I
hope, remain so as long as I am numbered among
dominies. But I observe signs that his race is
fast dying out, a result of modern refinement much
to be deplored. * No corporal punishment* now
figures among the prominent attractions of those
wonderful establishments, where, as we see from
the advertisement-sheet of the Times, young gentle-
'LION! 91
men are provided with board, education, washing,
books, gentlemanly manners, and the comforts of
a home, for twenty guineas per annum. And
certain wise professors and learned ladies have
lately been lecturing me and the other ignorant
dominies, who believe in the wisdom of Solomon
rather than that of social science sermonizers,
severely rebuking us for our brutality, and point-
ing out that we are unfit to manage our classes if
we ever have to resort to the rod. Some day
there will be arising among us an equally enlight-
ened set of philosophers, who will hold a Home
Secretary unfit for his duties if any pickpocket
is sent to jail during his tenure of office ! Oh ye
philosophers! common sense is an element sadly
wanting in some of your social sciences.
I am afraid, if weighed in these balances, I
should be found considerably wanting. Yes, Pro-
fessor Smith, and that solid and spectacled essayist,
Miss Brown, aticioribtis, I am not fit to manage a
class. Without Lion I should feel in a class of
boys like a hunter turned out among a troop of
grizzly bears without his trusty rifle and bowie. I
92 'LION!
can't rule them by the law of love. If they were
angels or professors, I might ; but as they are only
boys, I find it necessary to make them fear me
first, and then take my chance of their love after-
wards. By this plan I find that I generally get
both ; by reversing the process I should in most
cases get neither.
I hope, however, to manage boys without punish-
ment when punishment is altogether abolished in
the world — when children of a larger growth are
no longer scourged, surely and sorely, by their own
consciences and their own sins. I fear, though,
that my views are becoming old-fashioned, and
that the new race of dominies are adopting less
sound systems for coaxing a child in the way he
should go. For we are a humane and a merciful
generation. Do we not pet and pamper our bur-
glars and pickpockets, so as to make them admire
our tender-heartedness, and disabuse their minds
of the old fallacy that dishonesty is a very bad
policy? And if our Colonial Governor allow half
of us to be murdered by black savages, and then
save the other half by promptitude and severity,
lion: 93
we praise him ; but if he carry his promptitude
so far as to save nearly the whole of us, we pro-
secute him.
I lately read in the newspapers that a certain
wise legislator, wiser than Solomon, while under
examination by his constituents, by way of self-
recommendation, gave utterance to the silly senti-
ment that he highly disapproved of flogging, and
would never send his children to a school where
it was allowed. So that we may soon expect a
Royal Commission to inquire into the iniquities of
the cane and the enormities of the birch, and a
stringent Act of Parliament prohibiting corporal
punishment in any form.
It is a wonder to me how these agitators, sane
men in other respects, can be brought to talk such
nonsense. Were they ever boys themselves, real
boys? Surely not. I can fancy them sneaking
about the playground in large woollen comforters,
and running off to mamma with a doleful complaint
about every little hurt ; but I can't fancy that
they were ever real boys. If they were, have
they forgotten the memorable day in the begin-
94 'LION J
ning of their school life, when they rubbed the
palms of their hands with rosin, and looked for-
ward with delightful dread to that first caning
which was to seal their undisputed title to the
name of schoolboy ? And do they now prate
about this being 'degrading' and * brutalizing?'
The question of to flog or not to flog may seem
a small matter ; but I am devoting so much space
to it because I believe it to be a great one. The
public mind is being gradually prejudiced with
regard to it by a certain class of loud talkers;
and if we dominies, who are workers, be silent,
we shall, step by step, yield our empire to the
people who talk, and find ourselves hurried along
by the current of theory which is sapping our
oldest institutions. I for one will ever lift up my
voice over the waste of waters, and protest, so long
as I can find a single floating plank to cling to.
I am a thorough Radical, indeed, in some educa-
tional questions ; but in others I am a rank Con-
servative. Facts are as stubborn as theories are
plastic. So, as theology, common sense, and ex-
perience alike teach me that boys will not do right
'LION: 95
without punishment, I punish them in spite of all
theories to the contrary.
'But/ cry the chorus of pundit professors and
socially scientific ladies, * if you must punish, have
you not some punishment less brutalizing than the
lash?* (Observe how they give my homely Lion
fine high-sounding names, 'corporal punishment,'
*the lash,' and so forth.) Yes, ladies and gentle-
men, we have other punishments, more cruel and
less effective. If a boy does not learn a hard
lesson, I can give him a harder. If he is thought-
less and mischievous, I can shut him in from happy
hours of play to scribble hastily and painfully, or
learn by heart — sorely unwilling heart — the works
of the immortal bards. But I think they like Lion
better, and he does them more good. The pain of
him is gone in a minute, but the fear remains. As
for the disgrace, it exists only in socially scientific
imaginations. For this blessing is given to boy-
hood, that it is not ashamed to be punished and
repent for its faults. A flogging seems to the
unreasoning schoolboy mind a sort of repentance,
so far a real one that it is not unfruitful j certainly
96 'LION:
more so than much of that penitence which is
performed weekly in our churches and chapels. I
must take care ; I am getting into the regions of
moral philosophy, which are mysterious and un-
familiar to me. But to elucidate my meaning, I
may here explain that in punishing, I act upon the
assumption that my boys mean to do well. If
they are well trained, they will wish to please their
parents and teachers; and if they fail, it will be
nearly always from thoughtlessness or weakness of
purpose. Then Lion steps in as a stimulant, and
all goes well — till the next time. They know they
have done wrong, and take the consequences as a
matter of course. Oh happy age ! when a boy's
anger and a boy's sorrow pass away like clouds
on a summer morning, leaving the sky purer and
fairer than before.
At all events, I mean confidently to assert that
my boys, though they may fear Lion, don't hate
him. Behind his back they speak of him laugh-
ingly, and with playful irreverence travesty his per-
formances in the nurseries of their wondering baby
brothers. They consider him as an honourable and
*lion: 97
worthy enemy. They like him better than other
punishments, because he suits their disposition
better. He is not always scolding and teasing;
but what he has to say he says at once and
has done with it, and his sayings are not easily
forgotten.
I like Lion, too, for certain reasons. I like him
because he saves me and all of us time and trouble,
and much unpleasant feeling. If I set a boy a
hundred lines to write, he very likely is thinking
what a horrid beast I am all the time he is writing
them ; but if I give him a thrashing, he looks upon
me as a machine appointed for the purpose, and
feels no more spite against me than against the
slide on which he has fallen and bumped his little
head. I can't explain this, but it is true. Even if
there should be any bad blood between us, Lion
brings it into the surface, and it quickly evaporates
into space. He is a v/holesome medicine. Then
he is of great service in enabling me to regulate my
punishments. Thoughts of a present cricket match,
or anticipations of a future pantomime, may treble
the annoyance of a written or learned imposition ;
G
98 'Lion:
but by a deep study of the laws of force and
motion, imparted to neophytes at the College of
Preceptors, I am enabled on the spot to adapt
Lion's rebukes to the magnitude of the fault, and
the capacity of endurance of the culprit.
I value Lion also because his operations follow
close upon detection, and are seen and manifest of
all boys. Justice that comes with slow though sure
step, does not much intimidate boys, who cannot
readily connect crime with punishment If a boy
hears that his friend Smith has so many lines to
write, he will not so surely take example by Smith's
sad fate, as if that delinquent be summarily and
solemnly flogged before his companions in a way
which leaves no doubt in their unreasoning minds
of the power and vigilance of Nemesis. It is all
very well for Smith to wink and smile, and pretend
he doesn't care, as soon as my eye is off him, but
his companions know by experience that he does
care, and unconsciously apply to themselves the
adage, feliciter is sapity qui periado alieno sapit, as
Mr. Disraeli and the Conservative Reformers have
lately done with such singular sagacity.
'lion: 99
Under most circumstances, it is, of course, a dis-
agreeable thing for me to have to call in Lion's aid
But sometimes it is a positive delight. How I have
enjoyed making a cowardly bully or a selfish liar
howl with rage and pain before his half-pleased,
half-awed companions ! And it is not altogether
unpleasing to see the grateful look which a plucky
little chap sometimes gives you after he has bravely
borne his flogging. It says as plainly as possible,
what he would never express in words — * Thank
you, sir ; I am sorry, and I won't do it again.' This
will not happen unless you can get your boys to
believe that you never punish them without cause.
If, as too many dominies do, you indulge in pro-
miscuous striking from thoughtlessness or passion,
they will not have such faith in your justice. To
this end I try to rule myself — a harder task than to
rule boys. There is a dark little room in our school
which is to me a sacred spot. For there is a legend
that one of my predecessors, a man of violent tem-
per, used to shut himself up there when he got into
a passion, and dared not trust himself among his
boys till he had fought and conquered the devil
100 'Lion:
who was tormenting him. I admire that good man,
and try to imitate him. And I think I have so far
succeeded, that my boys know that I punish them
from calm deliberation and settled purpose. At
least I try to do so always, though the flesh is
weak. I have a great safeguard against unjust
severity, however, in my sympathy with the culprits
whom I must doom to stripes and tribulation. We
have all heard of the pedagogue in the old story-
books, who feelingly informs Master Badboy that
he would rather bear the punishment himself than
inflict it on him, and then commences operations
secundein artem. I dare say Master Badboy was
faithless, and so are many cynical dominies of the
present day ; but I believe in the sincerity of that
wielder of the birch. I know, and I wonder if my
pupils ever guess, that I often wish I could change
places with the idle urchin who is looking fearingly
into my frowning face, and nervously twitching his
fingers. I know very well what I am wishing for.
1 know what the temptation is that he has yielded
to, and what the suspense is that he is suffering, and
what the sting is that he will soon be biting his lips
lion: ioi
and nerving himself to bear. But for all that, I
wish I were the naughty boy, and he the spectacled
dominie. I should wish him joy of my authority,
with its care and responsibilities, and I would take
all the smart of his wrong-doings on myself, so that
I might have his simplicity and light-heartedness.
My Lion seems to bear a charmed life. I have
possessed, since I came to this school many years
ago, but one other instrument of the kind. That
one's claws were too sharp ; so, at the prayer of
afflicted mammas, I publicly sacrificed him on the
altar of tender-heartedness, and cut him up into
little pieces, which were carefully and reverently
preserved by his victims, and may be preserved
till this day, for all that I know. I then manu-
factured my present instrument, dubbing him Lion ;
and he has ever since led a long, useful, and, as
I said, charmed life. From his responsible posi-
tion, he has been exposed to peculiar dangers,
but he has had miraculous escapes. Twice has
he been stolen by very naughty boys bent upon
his destruction. But each time their trembling
hearts failed them, and their hands shrunk from
102 *lion:
the impious deed ; and at this day he enjoys a
hale and vigorous, though rusty, old age.
No wonder that I have such a respect for my
trusty old servant. New-fashioned dominies may
despise him, but I believe in him. I consider him
to be a sound and simple system of theology,
adapted to the comprehension of the boyish mind.
I can't argue logically in the defence of my opinion.
I know that the spirit of the age is said to be
against me, and that spirit is hard to strive against.
But there are some matters on which I hold the
instinct of the child-world to be better than the
logical theories of this hobble-de-hoy age, and that
instinct seems to me to place a truer value on the
merits of Lion, et id gemts oinne. So I hope that
he will long continue to exercise a strictly limited
and constitutional monarchy in our English schools.
Nay more, if I had my way, I would sharpen his
claws and send him forth to devour among bad men
as well as naughty boys. I would flog and spare
not garotters, pickpockets, fraudulent bankrupts,
dishonest railway directors, adulterating grocers,
and all other ruffians and swindlers. This is strong
lion: 103
language to apply to respectable people, but mix-
ing so much with boys, I have got into their bad
habit of calling things by their right names.
I dare say that, after perusing these opinions of
mine, some tender-hearted people will set me down
as a second Dr. Busby, and look upon me as a
cruel monster. And if these prudent readers knew
what school I teach in, they would be doubtless
very skittish of sending their sons there. But I
know a brother dominie who declaims loudly against
flogging, and flogs notwithstanding, as his boys
have cause to know. In the same way, only vice
versa, my precepts might be found not to corre-
spond very accurately with my practice. For
there are some precepts which, if you act up to,
you are spared the necessity of much disagreeable
practice. Let the socially scientific philosophers
ruminate over this axiom, and let them under-
stand that unless they are prepared to abolish the
peculiar characteristics of human nature, it is idle
to talk of abolishing punishment from our schools
I will end this chapter with the words of a wiser
man than myself: 'Doubtless flogging is the best
104 'lion:
of all punishments, being not only the shortest,
but also a mere bodily and animal, and not, like
most of our new-fangled " humane punishments," a
spiritual and fiendish torture.'
CHAPTER VIII.
THE TWO GREAT SORROWS OF THE DOMINIE.
The boy was taken from his mates and died
In childhood, ere he was full twelve years old.*
Wordsworth.
;HE two great sorrows of all mankind are
Death and Sin. Ever near, these awful
shadows beset the path of each of us ;
but no heart do they pierce oftener with their keen
darts than that of the dominie.
I do not fear death on my own account. To
me he is a friendly sorrow, a pain more pleasant
than half the joys of life ; for I have learned how
to clothe his grim form in hope and peace, and
to make him a companion and comforter rather
than a foe. And I speak not of my own sins,
though they are sorrow enough, and more than
105
io6 THE TWO GREAT SORROWS
enough to me, and to all whose eyes God has
opened. But my heart yearns for my flock with
a love which is not bargained for in the school
fees ; and when Death and Sin make ravage among
the tender lambs, the true dominie feels his bitterest
sorrows.
They seem so young and happy, these boys,
that one cannot believe that death has any power
over them. But God often rebukes us for our
unbelief, sending His angel among them, at the
touch of whose breath the bright warm lives wither
and grow cold, and the happy smiles and the light
of young eyes are gone in a moment, and for
ever. And we are left looking up after them into
Infinity with wonder and grief, pouring forth use-
less tears that Time alone can dry. Fathers and
mothers know what the sorrow is. Think not the
dominie has no share in it.
Many a lonely tear have I shed for children
that were not mine — even since I began to write
these pages. You remember, reader, a happy and
merry boy whom I spoke of in a former chapter.
When I told you of his curly hair, and his bright,
OF THE DOMINIE, loy
laughing eyes, and his frank, unselfish heart, I
little thought what a sad story I should have to
tell of him now. He is lying in a new-made grave,
and those who have the right to do so are wear-
ing black for him.
He met with a severe accident while running
home from school one afternoon. I should like
to have been beside him as they lifted him up
and carried him home, to have held his hand and
comforted him in his pain, which he bore like a
hero, only opening his lips to whisper, * Don't tell
mamma.* She was lying on a sick-bed at the
time.
But they could not hide it from her. They
could not refuse to let her rise from her bed and
hasten to his, though by this time fever had set
in, and he did not recognise even that loving face.
His frame was strong and hardy, and Death and
Life had a sore battle over him. But all along my
trouble had no hope, and, strange to say, I felt
almost relieved when I heard he was dead. It
seemed natural for him to die, because I loved him
— none knew how much.
io8 THE TWO GREAT SORROWS
I called several times while he was ill, and his
father said, and I have no doubt spoke the truth,
that he was obliged to me for my attention. They
never asked me to see him — I could not have ex-
pected that ; but every moment of the day that
my duties left me free to dream, I saw the face
tossing restlessly about on the pillow, and the brown
eyes shining wildly — so wildly. His father had
described it all to me, little knowing how every
word sank into my heart.
I was asked, as a matter of courtesy, to the funeral,
but, being a stranger to the family, I did not go.
What right had I to intrude my grief amidst that
which was more sacred } But in the calm, sweet
evening I stole down to the graveyard, and finding
out the little mound of freshly-turned earth, bent
over it and wept like a child. God, and none other,
knew how I loved him. But he is dead, dead, dead,
and every day his little life and my great love grow
to me more like a dream.
Yet such sorrow is not all tears. Slowly we try
to believe, and God in His mercy helps our unbelief,
that it is well with the little soul that dwells no
OF THE DOMINIE. 109
more with us, but with his brother angels in heaven.
Far more bitter and hopeless a sorrow is it to see
the young heart poisoned by Sin, and thenceforth
live in death.
I speak not of boyish faults and slips, in which
there is often more of love and innocence than in
older people's respectable virtues. But of sin,
devilish, deadly sin, generated at the breath of
Satan in the selfishness and foulness and vanity of
a human heart.
We do not grieve to see the mischievous tricks
and wayward humours of children. They at least
believe in goodness, and do not rejoice in iniquity.
If the little one stumble on the path, God has or-
dained that by watchful hands he may be raised up
and kindly guided. But as age brings the corrup-
tion of manhood without its strength and wisdom,
our boys too often lose the faith of childhood, and
no human power can then hold their wilful steps.
In the life of every boy there is a time, a fear-
fully critical time, when his eyes begin to open
to a wider knowledge of good and evil. Well
for him if, strengthened by love and wisdom, he
no THE TWO GREAT SORROWS
can choose the good and refuse the evil. Well if
he take the right path, and shun the broad way
that to blind eyes seems strewed with flowers. If
he pause or hesitate, the foe is on him, and his arm
grows weaker to resist.
Not all at once do those over whom we mourn
become base. Gradually, not altogether fearlessly,
they grow to jest in curses, to talk coarsely and
lightly of women and the sacred flame of love, to
think it manly to be thoughtless and dissipated,
and weak to be earnest and pure, till, in spite of
the fair form and the smiling face, the young man
is, to eyes that see truly, little better than a talking
brute. Friends and parents may do their best to
warn him and win him to the wisdom of the just,
crying in his unwilling ears the truths we all know
so well and believe so little ; but their labour is too
often in vain. These ears listen more willingly to
the words of one foolish companion than to the
Heaven-sent precepts of all the sages. And thus
our pupils encourage each other from sin to sin,
while we their teachers must stand by, helpless and
voiceless, and bear the agony of seeing innocence
OF THE DOMINIE, iii
and purity slowly but surely done to death by
our enemy the devil.
They do not mean to be wicked. They sin only
from want of strength and knowledge, most likely.
Seldom do we see a man, young or old, standing
upright at the helm of his life, and steering sted-
fastly to the devil. They only lay down their oars
and let themselves drift. But it is that drifting
which is such a sad sight to those who have known
and seen whither the current carries these souls.
They drift on and on till the light of the sun of
youth dies away, and the soft breezes become cold
and boisterous, and the waves rise ; and then, ah !
then how hard it is to believe that the Lord is walk-
ing on the face of the waters, and still stretching
forth His hand to save and welcome !
I may seem to some to speak too gloomily of
youthful indiscretion. They are not very sinful, all
those sinners over whom I sorrow with fear. Cus-
tom, character, the not altogether forgotten teach-
ings of parents, the fear of punishment, and the
slender tie of 'gentlemanly* feeling, restrain many
from the excesses of recklessness, and keep most
112 THE TWO GREAT SORROWS
within the bounds of respectability. I know this,
but I know too how terribly hard it is to begin
and to make an end of forgetting God. Not only
the very wicked are to be wept for by those who
love them, but all who are not in the highest
sense of the word, good. If we are not serving
God, we are serving Satan, and we stand in deadly
danger, however little work we may seem to have
done for him.
It fills me with indignation to hear moralists
talk with levity, or even with approbation, of
young men * sowing their wild oats.* Can we sow
and expect no harvest } And should we thus sow
if the harvest is to be a dragon-brood of sins,
which must either be fought with and conquered
in long and sore battle, or shall surely devour our
lives.? Accursed be the doctrine that sin-bought
experience favours the growth of virtue. ' He
hazardeth sore,' said a certain wise man, *that
waxeth wise by experience. An unhappy master
is he that is made cunning by many shipwrecks ;
a miserable merchant that is neither rich nor wise,
but after some bankrupts.' And another sage
OF THE DOMINIE. 113
dryly remarks : * There are some who keep them-
selves from fire, and yet never are burned.' But
indeed no man can touch such fire as Erasmus
here means, and not be burned.
No, no ! Let other teachers teach as they will,
and answer for their teaching to the Lord who
has committed unto them many talents, but let
us dominies be earnest and careful to teach our
pupils, in all places and in all times, that it is no
light thing to sin, that the youngest as well as
the oldest must gird up his loins and set him-
self faithfully and bravely to serve God, who alone
can guard us from the cunning foe that would
rob us of our inheritance as the sons of heaven.
It is indeed a dangerous thing to sin, be it ever
so lightly. We may be saved, but the chance is
too terrible to be risked. Some indeed dip their
feet in these dark waves, and by God's grace are
able to draw back in time. Some, after many
days, and with many struggles, reach the bank,
and are safe. But too many will not or cannot
escape from the fate they have courted. And,
oh ! how heartrending it is to see the face of one
H
114 THE TWO GREAT SORROWS,
sinking at length, and taking his last despairing
look at the green and pleasant bank that he so
madly left, where now stand the friends who have
warned him and striven to succour him — in vain ;
too late !
At such sad sights angels weep ; and so may
dominies. But few know, and fewer believe, how
many and bitter are the tears of some of us.
Parents think that our affection and care for our
pupils is a mere matter of pounds, shillings, and
pence. Are they always wrong ?
CHAPTER IX.
DIFFICULTIES AND VEXATIONS OF THE DOMINIE.
* Est animus tibi, sunt mores, est lingua fidesque,
Sed quadringentis sex septem millia desint, •
Plebis eris.*
Horace.
lESIDES our greater sorrows, to some ex-
tent common to all men, we dominies,
like all men, meet with peculiar diffi-
culties and stumbling-blocks on our professional
path.
Perhaps the chief of these is the grievance to
which I think I have already alluded, about our
social position. Being great men in our school-
rooms, we naturally do not relish being little men
out of them. We are offended that the parents of
our pupils do not always treat us as their equals,
or even superiors, as in most cases we feel our-
115
ii6 DIFFICULTIES AND VEXATIONS
selves to be. Believing our profession to be a
noble and a sacred one, we object to being ranked
below the men who speak platitudes in the holy
name of religion, and those who hire themselves
out at so many guineas a brief to speak truth or
lies in the scarcely less holy name of justice. We
are offended because vulgar parents do not always
address us as ' Esquire.* We demand that a
Reform Bill on the lateral principle be introduced
into the social constitution of our nation, amend-
ing it after the model of that of Athens, where
the best and bravest and most honoured men of
the estate were not ashamed to become dominies,
and were honoured all the more by their country-
men because they could teach as well as fight
and harangue.
Some will deny that there is any necessity for
such a reform. They will instance in proof that
they have even asked the family dominie to dinner.
But did they ask his wife } And do their con-
sciences not tell them that they invited him and
received him with much the same feelings as Sir
John Bull invites his tenantry to dinner on rent-
OF THE DOMINIE, 117
day; or Lady Albion sends a card for her con-
versazione to Mr. Plebeian Genius, who is so clever,
and has written such an amusing book? They
do generally look upon us in the same light, un-
less we happen to be clergymen, as many of us
are ; and then, since religion has become more
fashionable than it was in the days of the apostles,
a white tie is found to be an Open Sesame to the
portals of every kind of society. And some of
them, too, make an exception in favour of rich
and prosperous dominies, who may be at the head
of large or well-known schools; while they look
down with great contempt on the tribe of tutors
and assistant masters. This is my aunt Tabitha's
view of the subject. My worthy aunt is more
noted for dignity and affection than for acute-
ness of mental power; and when I first became
a teacher, she remonstrated with me upon com-
promising the family name, and reminded me
that God had made me a gentleman, and would
expect me to lay out my talents in a more
genteel way. * If you were at the head of a good
school, it would be a different matter,* she ad-
ii8 DIFFICULTIES AND VEXATIONS
mitted; *but an assistant master!' I vainly en-
deavoured to persuade my good aunt of the truth
of the heathen sentiment Vires acquirit eundo, and
pointed out to her that though, if the Prince of
Wales thought fit to be an honorary teacher of
boys as well as an honorary slaughterer of men, he
would doubtless at once obtain the chief post in
a celebrated and well-endowed school, still I, not
being such a great personage, could not expect
to be so lucky, but must win my way to com-
mand by serving in the inferior grades of the
profession. But my aunt Tabitha was inexorable
and unreasonable ; and there are many people
who are no wiser than she on this matter, and
consider a teacher, however learned and well-bred,
as a being far lower in the scale of life than the
drawling, conceited puppy into whose thick head
he has crammed with great difficulty as much
knowledge as has enabled him to squeeze through
an army examination.
But in spite of what I have just said, and what
I have said before, I am not very bitter over
this grievance of our social position. I complain
OF THE DOMINIE. 119
because my profession complains, but personally
I have no great sympathy with those thin-skinned
dominies who invoke Mrs. Grundy with alternate
upbraidings and entreaties, demanding and be-
seeching of her to make them gentlemen, in the
most select sense of the word. I have no very
good will towards this divinity of the genteel
world, and object to recognising the principle
that she can issue letters - patent to this effect.
The fact is, that among dominies, as among men
of all other professions, there are some who never
could be made gentlemen by any ordinance of
Mrs. Grundy, and some who never could be, or
could be thought to be, except by fools and vulgar
persons, anything else. I think, then, that we
dominies should not concern ourselves about wait-
ing upon Mrs. Grundy, both because, like the shep-
herd in Virgil and Dr. Johnson, we may find her
at length to be a native of the rocks, and because,
knowing our calling to be a good and a godly
one, we can afford to do without the counte-
nance of all earthly and diabolical divinities. And,
oh ! my brother dominies, you have yet to learn
120 DIFFICULTIES AND VEXATIONS
an elementary lesson in the nature of human joys
and sorrows, if you do not know how sweet and
pleasant a thing it is to feel one's self ill - used
and injured, to nurse and cuddle in our hearts a
darling grievance, to be despised and to despise
a hundredfold in return ; to mount an invisible
height of moral grandeur, and thence survey with
complacent pity the crass and unappreciative mass
of mankind ! For practical and poetical illustra-
tions of which sentiment, see Byron and other
writers of the discontentedly spasmodic school.
While I am on this topic, I wish to say a word
upon a notable scheme which certain philosophers
have propounded for improving the social position
of our profession. To this end all dominies are to
band themselves together into a sort of union, and
to stamp themselves with a hall-mark of their own
approbation, which by a law, luckily not yet ob-
tained, it will be penal to counterfeit. If I under-
stand the scheme rightly, all present dominies of
influence are to be bribed into consent by being
stamped gratis, while all young dominies of the
present and unfledged dominies of the future are
OF THE DOMINIE. 121
to earn this stamp by undergoing an examination
into their acquirements. I doubt much if this plan
will exalt us more highly in the public esteem;
but I doubt more if it will fulfil the other end
of its advocates, in shutting for the future the gates
of the profession against all but good and fit men.
I never knew a dominie who had been a bank-
rupt tradesman ; but novelists and popular rumour
declare our profession to be largely composed of
such men, and I am willing to admit that the
thing is possible and lamentable. But I deny
that we could get good dominies by examination.
Such examinations are generally tests of nothing
but cramming. And the skill of a good dominie is
just such as cannot be crammed into or questioned
out of a man. I can quite understand that any
one ought to be examined as to his knowledge of
anatomy before he be allowed to tamper with the
human body ; but I do not believe that any ex-
amination, oral or written, can show whether he
be fit or unfit to deal with the minds of boys.
You may examine a man as to his knowledge of
the force of xara in composition, but you cannot
122 DIFFICULTIES AND VEXATIONS
by examining him find out whether he is firm
and kind and vigilant and persevering, and still
less whether he has the power of imparting his
knowledge of xara and other subjects to un-
willing and unretentive little minds that don't
want to know anything about xara. To know
and to teach are different matters ; and, unfortu-
nately, those who have the most knowledge are too
often the least able to impart it. For if a man
does his best to dry himself up into a Latin and
Greek mummy, he cannot be expected to have
preserved among his vast stores of irregular perfects
and aorists any very vivid remembrance of how
he felt and thought and loved and hated as a
boy ; and this is just the sort of knowledge which
above all others a dominie ought to have. The
fact is, that a man who knows nothing of Latin
but viiisa, muses, and in whose mind are still fresh'
his difficulties in getting to know it, will, ceteris
paribiiSy be better able to teach musa to boys, than
a man who has all the beauties of the language
at his finger-ends, and most likely will not so well
understand how to set his pupils on the long road.
OF THE DOMINIE, 123
the early steep and rocky places of which he has
forgotten, or perhaps scarcely ever known. So I
would not prohibit a man who knows nothing but
7niisa teaching that, always provided that he does
not presume to teach dominuSy which he does not
know. If he is a clever teacher, he can easily
learn and be able to teach dominus too, if neces-
sary ; and if he is a conscientious teacher, he will
not try to teach dominus unless he has learned
it. Now, you can by examination make sure of
learned, or at least of crammed teachers, but not
of clever or conscientious teachers*
But the age of universal competitive examina-
tion is coming upon us, — a golden age indeed
for dominies, if they have not to submit to ex-
amination themselves. I don't despair of seeing
the day when no poet shall be allowed to print
t^erses (what human power could restrain him from
writing them!) till he has shown a competent
knowledge of quadratic equations, and no street-
porter shall be suffered to carry for us the slightest
burden unless he has proved himself a proficient
in the art of making Greek hexameters.
124 DIFFICULTIES AND VEXATIONS.
I think a much more legitimate object of such
a union, as of other trades-unions, would be the
increasing of the salaries of dominies. Here again
I must be understood as grumbling not on my
own account, but on behalf of my brethren. For
myself, although Messrs. Goldleaf know the average
amount of my balance at their bank, and do not
treat me with any very profound deference in con-
sideration thereof, I may say that I am one of
the richest men I know, for I have always more
money than I want. But I can sympathize with
the difficulties of a dominie who has been brought
up as a gentleman, and has a family to bring up
in the same way upon the salary which he receives
for doing much harder and nobler and more use-
ful work than half of the rich people whose sons
he is educating. There are indeed prizes in the
profession ; fat headmasterships, with fair prospects
of deaneries and bishoprics, open to such of us
as are clergymen ; but most of us are wofully ill
paid. A tutor in a gentleman's family too often
receives the wages of a butler without his per-
quisites. And after many years of hard study
OF THE DOMINIE. 125
and labour, when he has fought his way to a
mastership in some good school, he still finds that
he is not half so well off as a fashionable tailor.
And yet you will hear parents moaning over the
expense of education ; while the fact is, that the
education of their children costs them less than
their clothes. This is but natural in days when
the outside is looked at more than the inside by
the Pharisaical disciples of Mrs. Grundy. But if
we were to return to the simplicity of the corduroys
of my boyish days, and were to increase the salaries
of dominies with the price of the foppish apparel
in which our modern youth delights to array itself,
I venture to say that it would be better both for
the dominies and for the next generation.
This is the real cause of the low estimation in
which dominies are held. We are apt to value a
thing not by the cost of its production so much
as by the price we pay for it. If people were to
pay their dominies better, I am certain they would
think more highly of them.
I have mentioned already the annoyance which
the parents of our pupils give us by their interfer-
126 DIFFICULTIES AND VEXATIONS
ence in the way of suggestion and remonstrance.
This annoyance takes its worst form when a
promising boy is removed from our care to that
of another dominie, because he is supposed *not
to be getting on.* We are all bigoted believers
in ourselves, and have no faith in the systems of
others; so it is natural in us to feel some real
concern, apart from pecuniary considerations, for a
boy who is thus deprived of the enormous advantage
of our teaching, and given over to be ruined, as
we think, by an inferior workman. So this is
one of the chief annoyances of a dominie ; and in
the present state of things, I fear we must just
bear it with as little complaint as possible. I
suppose parents must have some interest in the
education of their children, and must be allowed
to take whatever steps seem best to them to secure
their being brought up to be wise men ; only one
can't help wishing sometimes that the parents
were a little wiser themselves. Of course. Master
Bobby Somebody's mamma and papa have a right
to take him away from my class and send him to
Mr. So-and-so's; but as I think I am getting
OF THE DOMINIE, 127
Master Bobby's young ideas to shoot in a most
satisfactory way, and as I consider Mr. So-and-so
an ignorant and conceited puppy, and remember
the day when he was himself a pupil of mine,
and that for years he blundered at the vocative
of dominusy I can't help feeling annoyed by the
change. Philosophers would tell me that the an-
noyance comes from wounded vanity ; and perhaps
they are not altogether wrong, but it is an annoy-
ance for all that.
Perhaps I ought not to mention this as one of
the peculiar troubles of a dominie, for I suppose a
physician has the same feelings when a good ner-
vous patient deserts him for another practitioner
of novel, and therefore dangerous ideas; and a
clergyman, when a family who have ' sat under'
him for years, transfer their spiritual allegiance to
a place of worship where the gospel is preached
more strongly, or purely, or broadly, or milk-and-
watery, as the case may be. But I now come to
a great and special vexation to which we, of all
learned professions, are chiefly exposed — being
called nicknames. Our boys, from thoughtlessness
128 DIFFICULTIES AND VEXATIONS
oftener than from ill-feeling, give us soiihriqiicts
which sometimes stick to us all our lives, not much
to our satisfaction, inasmuch as they are generally
uncomplimentary to our personal appearance and
manners. Of however philosophical a disposition
he may be, it is not very pleasant for an old and
honourable schoolmaster to know that he is talked
of among two generations of boys and men by some
such appellation as * Old Clo * or * Grumphy.* We
soon learn what our nickname is, if we have one ;
and then we live in constant dread of it, and never
see our boys whispering laughingly together with-
out suspicion. We are taunted with it in anony-
mous letters and valentines, which we often receive
about the middle of the month of February, and
sometimes in audible words on the streets by bold
and rude boys, who of course are not our pupils,
but perhaps once were, or perhaps know us only by
fame. The other morning, while I was at break-
fast, I was shocked at the spectacle of a highly
respectable dominie, who, with irate countenance,
was rushing along the street in hot haste after a
naughty boy who had ventured to cry * Goggles' as
OF THE DOMINIE, 129
he was passing. My professional sympathies were
of course with the pursuer, and I was glad to see
the rash youth caught and soundly belaboured in
an effectual way which only dominies understand.
These nicknames are very varied in kind, and say
much for the versatility of boyish wit. Sometimes
they are opprobrious epithets derived from the un-
lucky name it may be a master's fate to bear.
Thus a dominie called Cowan will likely be unoffi-
cially known to his pupils as ' Cow ;' while a
French master of the name of Piquier would run
a great risk of being familiarly denominated
* Piggy.' Sometimes there is a most profound
philological secret in these names. I once knew
a master whom all his pupils called ' Rootey,' none
of them knowing why, though some were inclined
to attribute it to his voice resembling that of the
principal actor in a certain celebrated domestic
drama. I set myself to the study of this problem,
and succeeded in tracing the derivation of the word.
The master's initials were L. S. D. ; and some bright
boyish genius, stimulated probably by a recent
caning, having suggested that these letters repre-
I
130 DIFFICULTIES AND VEXATIONS
sented the root of all evil, this somewhat cumbrous
nickname was given him, and speedily corrupted,
by a sweeping process of phonetic decay, into the
familiar word whose origin was lost in mystery to
the boys of the next school generation.
A dominie's nickname is often simply his Chris-
tian name irreverently contracted or adorned with
an epithet. Thus ' Bobby,' or * Old Jack,' are
nicknames of the least offensive class. But boys
are not at all particular about the real names in this
case ; and if they think a master has not received
a sufficiently attractive appellation at his baptism,
will not hesitate to change it, and even to forget
the distinction of sex. I have known two dominies,
who were always called Peter, though they did not
sign themselves so ; and one who was known as
Molly, from a romantic attachment he was said to
cherish for a fabulous female of that name.
But perhaps the majority of nicknames are de-
rived from personal peculiarities of their owners.
The origin of such names as * Waxy,' ' Snuffy,'
* Snarleyow,' * Puggy,' must be evident to every
reflective mind. And though perhaps the bearers
OF THE DOMINIE. 131
of these names have at one time given cause for
them, still it is hard that no repentance or amend-
ment on their part can wipe out the stigma which a
flash of naughty young wit has cast upon them.
I know a very worthy and learned man who was
once a dominie, but has since risen on ecclesiastical
stepping-stones to higher things-; and he has told
me, with quiet and complacent glee, that he was
the only schoolmaster he ever knew who had not a
nickname. In some things it is not well to be wise.
He did not know, and I did not tell him, that he
had a nickname, by which he is known to this day
among those who do not reverence his grizzled locks
and kindly wisdom. Happy ignorance!
If our boys sometimes take a pleasure in torment-
ing us, they little know how difficult and vexatious
it often is for us to torment them, as I suppose they
think we take a pleasure in doing. They little know
how hard it sometimes is to frown and punish. They
little know how often we cloud our own happiness
in pronouncing sentence of boyish misery against
them. They little think, when we are doing a cer-
tain disagreeable part of our duty, that the smart
132 DIFFICULTIES AND VEXATIONS
sometimes lingers longer and sorer in our hearts
than on their skins. I am sure I have reproached
myself for thrashing a boy hours after the tears have
dried from his eyes, and he has forgotten all about
it in a hearty romp. And sometimes the pleasure
of many of my afternoon walks has been spoiled
by thoughts of the merry urchin whom I have left
locked up in school, to write out or learn some
dreary task. Nay, I have lain awake half the night,
thinking of the punishment which it would be my
duty to- inflict next morning. We can't expect our
boys to believe this, I suppose ; but surely older
and wiser people ought to grant that nature has not
given us less kindly hearts than other men, and to
appreciate the difficulty which we find in being cruel
that we may be kind.
It would be tedious to go over all the numerous
worries and vexations which a dominie has to endure
in the management of a large class of boys. Some-
times half your class will come to school without
having learned an important lesson. Sometimes
Master Charley, by whose open countenance and
frank blue eyes you thought you could have sworn,
OF THE DOMINIE, 133
will be detected telling you a downright lie. Some-
times, again, you will find that you have punished
Master Johnny unjustly. These things are sore
troubles to the good dominie, and many others
which a dominie will understand, though I could not
expect lay readers to do so.
I may say, then, that though a dominie's life has
many and great joys, it has also constant worries,
which weigh sorely upon such of us as have weak
digestion, and therefore get easily into low spirits.
If, however, you are one of the lucky men who have
— alas, how few have ! — mens sana in corpora sanOy
a sound stomach and a sunny temper, you may
despise these petty vexations, and console yourself
by thinking how wise and powerful and useful you
are, and how much more so many other people are,
and how all parents are not stupid, nor all pupils
naughty. The smaller joys and sorrows of a dominie's
life are very much as you take them. It might have
been of a dominie that Horace wrote :
« Dives,
Liber, honoratus, pulcher, rex denique regum j
Praecipue sanus, nisi cumpituita molesta est.^
134 DIFFICULTIES AND VEXATIONS.
But even if the bile be troublesome, you may
have, not pleasure, but a happiness and satisfaction
which are better than pleasure, in knowing that
bravely, diligently, and painfully, you are doing a
good thing in the service of God, bearing a share
in the holy duty of making His world more like
Himself. To this end may He give all dominies
strength to labour and suffer, ere the night cometh
when no man can longer work or weep!
CHAPTER X.
DANGERS OF THE DOMINIE.
* He treads a dangerous path that beareth rule ;
Who standeth in the forefront of the fight,
The darts fly thicker round. '— Old Play.
FEAR I am a careless writer. A literary
dominie is very apt to want precision and
arrangement, inasmuch as these qualities
are not much called into exercise in teaching boys,
who require to have a piece of knowledge drummed
into them by constant repetition. However, I do
not wish to insult my readers by instructing them
in this manner ; and if I am going to repeat to them
in this chapter some things which I have told them
already, my excuse must be that they deserve to be
repeated.
The fact is, that within four-and-twenty hours
after writing the last line of my chapter on the
185
136 DANGERS OF THE DOMINIE,
difficulties and vexations of a dominie, I read, with
much interest, and not a little self-reproach, a book,
by a Transatlantic authoress, called Little Foxes.
The title of this book shows its object, which is to
point out that there are some hurtful and insidious
sins, into which respectable people, who go to church
regularly and abhor all flagrant wickedness, are in
g^eat danger of falling. This reminded me that I
ought to devote a chapter to certain great dangers
to which dominies are peculiarly exposed, but which
I have as yet only hinted at
The first and chief of these is vanity. We are
all in danger of thinking more highly of ourselves
than we ought to think, but dominies especially
so. Consider how much power we wield for so
many hours a day, with what respect we are
addressed, with what deference we are listened to.
When I come down to my class-room in the
morning, I find half a dozen boys hanging about
the door, waiting for a word and a smile, and
eager to do the slightest service for me. When
I begin to teach, half a dozen of them will almost
fight to have the honour of lending me a book.
DANGERS OF THE DOMINIE, 137
I fancy that most of us receive the like flattery,
if we are not exceedingly grim and grumpy. How
hard, then, is it for us not to consider ourselves
Sir Oracle, and to expect that men will defer to
our wisdom as well as boys ! Therefore is it, as
I have said, that we are an unsocial and unfriendly
profession ; for in proportion as we think highly of
ourselves, so we think lowly of one another. Half
a dozen dominies in company, trying to snub one
another, would be as interesting and instructive a
sight as half a dozen kings of Dahomey shut up
in a cage. There is indeed great danger of our
failing in that humility which does not rank very
high among the virtues blessed by the approval of
Mrs. Grundy, but which is very necessary for the
right service of God.
There is danger, too, of our not only being dic-
tatorial, but cruel and cross. Remember that we
are judge, jury, prosecutor, and executioner in our
single persons. How difficult will it be then for
us to keep the milk of human kindness from sour-
ing in out hearts! The habit of fault-finding is
dangerous to any man's sweetness of temper and
138 DANGERS OF THE DOMINIE,
peace of mind, and it is a great part of our profes-
sional duty to find out and correct faults. Daily
and hourly we are not only tempted but com-
pelled to rebuke, and scold, and punish ; and we
should be more than mortal if we always exer-
cised our functions with love and wisdom.
There are some lucky dominies whose temper
and health are always sound, and who, therefore,
are never snappish, or impatient, or sarcastic. If
they ever get angry, it blows off in a minute.
They can laugh good-naturedly at everything, and
sweeten even their punishments with a joke. But
we are not all so fortunate. Some of us, alas !
have stomachs and nerves like other men, and
work more wearing to these than that of other
men, and therefore we are even more prone than
other men to get into unhappy irritable states of
mind and body. You know what I mean, dys-
peptic reader. You know how cranky and jarringly
the world sometimes seems to you to go. You
can sympathize with me in the gloomy moments
when I feel inclined to desert my post here, and
fly from this murky, foggy, hateful country, to the
DANGERS OF THE DOMINIE. 139
dim shores of Italy, to seek rest and peace in the
cool olive -groves that fringe the glorious Medi-
terranean, and lie at the foot of the snow -clad
Alps. My banker's book, if not my conscience,
forbids me, but I often long to betake myself to
that blessed land, and there to bathe my wearied
mind in a Lethe of light and beauty, and forget
that there are boys on the earth, and that I ever
was a schoolmaster.
Such unhappy and discontented thoughts come
generally from over-indulgence in meat or drink,
or work or excitement. And if such over-indul-
gence be wrong in all men, much more is it so in
dominies. For our sins in this respect will be
visited on our boys. If, while we are in this state
of mind, we find that Master ThickskuU is hard to
be convinced of the truth that an adjective agrees
with its substantive, we will be too apt to snap
and snarl at poor Master ThickskuU, venting upon
him the vials of wrath which are more justly due
to our own indiscretion.
It is a mistake to hold that the dominie should
be a man of a very mild temper. I would rather
140 DANGERS OF THE DOMINIE.
he had a hot-spirited temper, provided he can
command and regulate it. But it is bad for a
dominie to have an irritable temper, which makes
him cross and severe to little faults of thought-
lessness and carelessness. How many even of the
best and wisest of schoolmasters must feel guilty
as they read these words of the little book which I
have mentioned at the beginning of this chapter!
*We have been on our knees, confessing humbly
that we are as awkward in heavenly things, as
unfit for the Heavenly Jerusalem, as Biddy and
Mike, and the little beggar-girl on our door-steps,
are for our parlours. We have deplored our errors
daily, hourly, and confessed "that the remem-
brance of them is grievous unto us, the burden of
them is intolerable," and then we draw near in
the Sacrament to that Incarnate Divinity whose
infinite love covers all our imperfections with the
mantle of His perfections. But when we return, do
we take our servants and children by the throat
because they are as untrained and awkward and
careless in earthly things as we have been in
heavenly } Does no remembrance of Christ's in-
DANGERS OF THE DOMINIE. 141
finite patience temper our impatience, when we
have spoken seventy times seven, and our words
have been disregarded ?'
It is indeed well for dominies and for all men
to be angry with the thief and the liar and the
bully. But it is not well that we should be cross
and sharp with little boys who are not so perfect
and wise as we are. They take it all in faith, as
a matter of course, perhaps consoling themselves
by thinking that, when they get whiskers and tail-
coats, they too will be able to scold and bully
those who may be set under them. This is what
they learn from our needless anger. Ah ! better
for these little ones that they never in their lives
made an adjective agree with its substantive, than
that they learned that lesson.
Let us then, my brother dominies, strive bravely
and perseveringly against this our besetting sin.
Let us wrestle with the devil, in this matter a more
homely conflict than some may imagine. For it is
well known that, considering it necessary to keep
pace with the spirit of the age, the infernal poten-
tate has studied physiology ; and I believe it to be
142 DANGERS OF THE DOMINIE.
true, that he most surely and sorely assails our
tempers through our stomachs. So, if we would be
kind and patient to our pupils, we must avoid the
familiar temptations of the flesh, by which being
bound, so many well-meaning but dyspeptic people
are for a time delivered over to the power of
Satan.
Above all, let us avoid drinking. This is one of
the greatest dangers to which a dominie is exposed.
We get into low spirits, and cannot bravely face the
wear and tear of our work ; and then comes the
craving for some stimulant, something which for a
moment may give us strength and vivacity, or may
drown our gloomy thoughts in a false joy that gives
place too soon to a darker and more hopeless
melancholy. But the temptation is indeed power-
ful, and thus have many of us foundered on this
rock, who began their career with a fair breeze and
a smiling sky. Therefore, though when I am ill I
take wine or castor-oil, or whatever will be good for
me, when I am well I no more touch strong drink
than I do castor-oil. God has given us stimulants
from which there is no reaction, — light, air, and
DANGERS OF THE DOMINIE. 143
water ; and these I freely make use of. But as for
wine and spirits, I am a Rechabite ; and I would
have all healthy men, and especially all boys, to do
likewise. Is it not sad to see even children fed with
poison by foolishly indulgent parents } But I say
no more on this subject, lest this work be mistaken
for the prize tale of a temperance society.
The sum, then, of my chapter is, that we have all
peculiar dangers which make the gate of heaven to
us as it were the eye of a needle, and that as it is
hard for a rich man not to love riches, so it is hard
for a dominie not to be proud and self-willed and
harsh and unjust. Let us not conceal it, my brother
dominies, least of all from ourselves. Let us learn
the great lesson of wisdom — to know ourselves, and
do the great deed of virtue, to amend ourselves.
And let us not be discouraged by the failure which
must ever meet our bravest struggles to be better,
but let us strive for the measure of success which is
denied to none who seek it truly and faithfully.
The flesh indeed may be weak, but let the spirit be
willing. For one hour only we must watch and pray ;
and thereafter the Lord giveth His beloved sleep.
144 DANGERS OF THE DOMINIE,
Yes, it is the lesson of Gethsemane that every
dominie should diligently learn from the great
Teacher. To watch and pray is our armour against
all the dangers of the world, the flesh, and the
devil; which armour, if we use aright, pride and
anger and intemperance will have little power to
wound us.
CHAPTER XI.
THE WORK OF THE DOMINIE.
*His heaven commences ere the world be past.*
Goldsmith.
AM afraid that the chapters immediately
preceding this do not represent my
profession in the favourable light in
which I wish to put it. I have made the life of
dominies to appear very unenviable. We would
seem to be indeed unhappy men, social Ishmael-
ites, with every hand against us, snubbed and
vexed by parents, worried by pupils. But it would
be far from my purpose if these dark colours are to
be taken for a fair painting of the life of a dominie.
I have dwelt upon the shadows, not because there
is no sunshine, but, I suppose, because it is always
easier to grumble than to rejoice. And by way of
antidote to the last few chapters, I devote this to
K
146 THE WORK OF THE DOMINIE,
the special and unq^ualified laudation of the work
of the dominie.
It is a most important work, for the character of
the next generation will to a great extent depend
upon the dominies of this. And it is a work far
from being so commonplace and ignoble as some
people think ; on the contrary, it is one which calls
into exercise every nerve and sinew of mental power,
and requires the use of the peculiar talents of nearly
every other honourable profession.
The profession of preaching in a white necktie
may be more highly esteemed than ours ; but we
too, as I have already said, are daily called upon to
preach and exhort, to stimulate virtue and to re-
prove sin. Our discourses must, for the most part,
be extemporary, and our divinity must be sound, or
we will work greater harm, I venture to say with
the leave of the Record^ than all the latitudinarian
Essayists and ritualistic Bishops. Only we have
this enormous advantage over our brethren of the
pews and pulpit, that we need not waste our ener-
gies in the study and exposition of controversial
theology. We have the tortures and imprisonments
THE WORK OF THE DOMINIE. 147
of an inquisition to enforce our dogmas and crush
scepticism. Woe to the presumptuous youth who
dared say that the earth moved round the sun if I
choose to affirm that it didn't. I should soon make
an aiUo-da-fe of him !
Then we must be practical statesmen. We must
be able to organize and legislate. We must make
constitutions for our little empires, and laws which
shall not only protect the weak against the strong,
but shall regulate and encourage labour, and punish
idleness, thus solving the highest problems of poli-
tical economy. Though again it must be borne in
mind, that we are not troubled by factious opposi-
tion to our measures. With Lion as my standing
army, I should like to see any young Radical
attempting to limit my prerogative.
And the mention of Lion reminds me that we
must have many of the distinctive qualities of sol-
diers and lawyers. We must be able to drill and
discipline our Lilliputian armies, to give the word
of command with decision and promptitude, to say
' Go ' to a boy in such a manner that he goeth with-
out further question. If we rise to a generalship in
148 THE WORK OF THE DOMINIE.
the profession, we will require skill and knowledge
to handle our columns, and to know the enemy's
strength and resources. We must take care that
our officers obey our orders — that our divisions move
to the attack in due regularity — that the enemy's
works be not assailed before his outposts are carried
— that too strong a force be not sent out against the
Greek aorists, nor too weak a one against the pons
asinorum — that raw soldiers be not too recklessly
exposed to a fire of irregular verbs, nor old veterans
cooped up too long in propria qucB maribus. There
are many celebrated schools in England which have
suffered, and are suffering, because their command-
ers are ignorant of the true principles of scholastic
strategy, and carry on their war against ignorance
according to old-fashioned rules which have been ex-
ploded by the prowess of young Napoleons of the rod,
and the invention of new fire-arms destined to super-
sede the old Brown Besses of their own school-days.
We must be lawyers too, and possess the judicial
faculty in a high degree. We are daily called upon
to preside at criminal trials in which we conduct the
prosecution, agree upon the verdict, and pronounce
f
THE WORK OF THE DOMINIE, 149
the sentence. And this we have to do upon evi-
dence which can never be quite relied upon, and
often upon no evidence at ail ; for, except in very-
heinous cases, the right-minded dominie will en-
courage his boys not to allow themselves to be sub-
pcenaed against one another, and will, above all,
discountenance the practice of laying informations.
Our consciences would be like flint if we could use
this tremendous power hastily or unjustly, and not
feel remorse. Some dominies there are, I grieve to
say, who are not fit to sit in judgment, since they
hold every suspect guilty, unless he can prove his
innocence after the manner of French courts of law.
I have known a schoolmaster flog a boy into falsely
accusing himself of theft, upon mere suspicion ; and
when the truth was discovered, severely blame the
innocent offender for deceiving him. Doubtless the
boy forgot all about it very soon ; but let us hope that
the dominie's sleep was restless for many nights after.
It is a good rule for us to cherish a reluctance to con-
demn, and to uphold the good old maxim that an
accused person is innocent till he be proved guilty.
But to know proof from suspicion is sometimes hard.
150 THE WORK OF THE DOMINIE.
Your dominie should be also somewhat of a doc-
tor, at least if he keeps boarders. Boys are troubled
with a variety of strange diseases; and it will be well
for the dominie to know when to call in the real
doctor, and when to administer tar-and-water on his
own responsibility. This is an excellent medicine.
I have had some experience in its use, and I should
like to doctor with it some young Oxford and Cam-
bridge gentlemen who are so often ceger. Besides
this sovereign remedy and disinfectant, he, or his
wife, should know when and how to apply a limited
pharmacopoeia, that by the timely exhibition of
gruel or senna-tea in Master Smith's case, he may
spare that young gentleman's parents the necessity
of rendering tribute to the physician and apothecary.
And I need not point out that the nature of a cer-
tain branch of the dominie's duties renders necessary
for him an empirical knowledge of the elements of
anatomy and the structure of the human frame,
without which knowledge he will not be able to per-
form that branch of his duties with due efficiency.
I do not lay much stress on this knowledge, how-
ever, as I believe it is often acquired and put into
THE WORK OF THE DOMINIE. 151
practical use with a rope's end, or otherwise, by-
captains of small vessels and other intelligent lay-
men who may have to do with boys.
Besides, the good dominie must be able to read
human nature, and to read it, too, from imperfect
characters, in various kinds of type. He must
know the mystery of the human passions, and be
skilful to work with them as with precious ore.
And not a few other talents and accomplishments
he must have, which many men who are better paid
and more highly thought of for their work may
never attain to, and yet make names and fortunes.
I don't dwell much upon his stock-in-trade of
Latin, and Greek, and mathematics, and history,
and geography, and so forth, because his success as
a teacher will not depend so much on his learning,
as on the way in which he makes use of it. The
man with the largest capital is not the most suc-
cessful in business, but he who is most active and
prudent and painstaking in laying it out. But
people, in choosing an instructor for their sons,
seldom think of this, and generally prefer one with
the most imposing array of letters after his name.
152 THE WORK OF THE DOMINIE,
Thus it will be seen that our work is a noble
and a worthy one. But more, it is a happy work :
it has pleasures that far outweigh its vexations,
though hitherto I have dwelt more upon these
latter. Ought not a life to be happy and healthy
which is spent among happy and healthy boys t
There is a Paradise upon earth, from the gates of
which the hard, proud, worldly heart is repelled
by the words burning in letters of fire, * Except ye
be as one of these.* Near these gates do we dwell,
and many a glad glimpse we catch of the fair land
within. Many a ray of sunlight is thrown across
our path by the pure thoughts and the kindly
words and the honest joys of boyhood.
This very day, as I was going to punish a timid,
shrinking boy who had committed a grievous offence
against my Medo-Persic laws, his classmates begged
him off, and by a large majority agreed to learn an
extra lesson if he were not punished. And lately,
when I was going to punish a boy for an injury
done to a companion, that companion came to me
privately, and entreated me to let him take the
punishment instead. I and other dominies could
THE WORK OF THE DOMINIE, 153
tell many such stories. Are these things not sun-
shine to our hearts?
And when a boy has been naughty and is sorry,
and bears his punishment manfully and meekly, and
listens to my reproof, and does not sulk nor spite
me, and tells me that he will not do it again, and
I know that he is speaking sincerely, is this not
good and gladdening?
And sometimes a father or mother comes to talk
with me about one of my pupils, and is not super-
cilious nor prejudiced nor blindly affectionate, but
treats me with respect and consideration, and be-
lieves that I am doing my best for the boy, and is
grateful to me for it, and enters into my difficulties,
and shows readiness to aid my efforts. Will this
not comfort and strengthen me in my work ?
Or when men, who were once my boys, and
worried and vexed me, and were whipped and re-
buked by me, come back to thank me for what I
have done for them, will that not make me happy ?
It is a pleasant thing to know that, even if they
do not appreciate your interest in them as. boys,
there are very few men who have other than a
154 THE WORK OF THE DOMINIE.
kindly feeling towards their old tyrants. I believe
that only bad men look back with hate upon the
strictest of schoolmasters. I have met once — and,
thank Heaven, only once — ^with a man who spoke
bitterly and spitefully of a highly respected extant
dominie, who had given him a well-deserved thrash-
ing many years before. I did not seek that in-
dividual's further acquaintance.
And it is sweet and joyful for us at all times
to be able to rejoice over boys who are gradually
improving, taking an interest in their studies, com-
ing even to love them, overcoming bad habits,
trying to do right. This is what we may see
daily, if we open our eyes ; and if we see other
boys doing ill, we should not grieve overmuch, but
hope and pray that God in His own good time,
and by other lips than ours, may teach them those
lessons which we cannot make them learn.
The life of the faithful and wise dominie should
indeed be a happy one. For — I say it at the risk
of seeming tedious and commonplace — the happiest
life is that which is spent in doing good.
CHAPTER XII.
DAY-DREAMS OF THE DOMINIE.
* Fecisti nos, Domine, ad te ; et inquietum est cor nostrum donee
requiescat in te.' — Augustine.
HAVE read a book called The Day-
dreams of a Schoolmastery which seems
to me the pleasantest book ever written
about dominies. This dry work of mine does not
aim at presenting the reader with dreams, but with
hard facts which I have seen and would speak of;
nevertheless, it will not be out of place if I try to
paint some of the dreams which come to me when
my day's work is done, and my tired thoughts
leave the stern lessons of this world, and fly to
the kindly sports of fancy-land.
I like to imagine myself retired from the cares
of dominieship, ending my days in peace and leisure.
155
156 DAY-DREAMS OF THE DOMINIE.
I shut my eyes on work and care, and a vision
arises before me of a cottage, at the porch of which,
covered with gay roses and gentle jasmine, I am
sitting on a summer evening, watching the red glory
of the sunset change into the solemnly beautiful
hues of twilight. Behind my cottage is a little
wood, sweet with violets, and before it a grassy
bank, sloping down to a sparkling brook. And
near me is the sea, and around me are the grand
blue hills among which I spent my boyhood. And
as I sit and hear the babbling of the brook, and
the singing of the birds, and the lowing of the
cattle, and the cheery talk of men and women
returning from their daily toil, I know that I am
far from the bustle of cities, and the hard hearts
of men hastening to be rich. But the chief charms
of my visions are the lady who sits by my side,
and the children who cling to our knees, or toddle
gravely about us, or sport merrily around the cot-
tage, never going so far away that we cannot hear
their clear voices and happy laughter. She is
young and fair, and loves me more than all the
world. And Latin grammar is a mystery to her,
DA Y-DREAMS OF THE DOMINIE. 157
and she would tremble at the very idea of reading
a paper before the Social Science Association. But
she knows how to rule over our domestic economy
with care and prudence, and how to teach our chil-
dren those things which they learn better from her
loving instinct than by all the systems of the most
learned dominies in the world. She knows, too,
how to spread a happy sunshine of love through
our home, which makes it a little temple on earth,
and scares away the evil spirits begot of darkness
and moody solitude. Thus, gently and carelessly,
I pass away the summer evening of my life, her
fair hand clasped in mine, her silken tresses rest-
ing softly on my shoulders, her sweet face looking
trustfully into my eyes. I am contented and at
leisure ; my wife is kind and beautiful, and my
children are honest and healthy, and God has
blessed us : what can I desire more .? But I open
my eyes, and lo ! it is all a dream, for I am sitting
in my cheerless study, the table untidily littered
with papers, and the grim volumes in the library
covered with dust. And then comes upon me,
with double force, the unutterable sadness of being
158 DAY-DREAMS OF THE DOMINIE.
alone. This is why I would be willing to ex-
change places with that naughty little boy whom
I had to punish so severely this afternoon. His
tears have doubtless dried long ago, for he has a
mother and brothers and sisters to whom he can
tell all his troubles, and in their mirth and kind-
ness forget them ; while I — I must bear my share
of work and woe alone.
Once I thought that this dream of mine about
a home, or part of it, would become more than a
dream. While young and full of hope, I met at a
seaside town, where I was passing my holidays, a
woman whom I loved, and fain would have made
my wife. I saw her to be fair, and thought she
was true. And she said that she loved me, and
would ever love me ; but she lied. For when it was
told her that I was only a dominie — that the work
of my life was to worry and be worried by boys
— she killed the young love in her heart. Ah !
that she could have bid mine die as easily ! And
then she married a subaltern officer, about whose
gentility Mrs. Grundy made no question. It is
too commonplace a story to interest the reader.
DAY-DREAMS OF THE DOMINIE. 159
and I will not dwell upon it. I have tried to for-
give and forget her ; but when I take from its hid-
ing-place the crumbling skeleton of a rose which
she gave me as we walked by the side of a quiet
river many, many years ago, a fierce bitter long-
ing rises in my heart, and I pray God to let me
wet the withered flower with tears.
Thus is it that I have lived unmarried all my
life, and that, if my visionary cottage be ever built
elsewhere than in my mind's eye, its only tenant
will be a cynical, grumbling old bachelor. So this
dream of mine begins in pleasure and ends in
pain. Away with it, and call up another which
will soothe and comfort me without re-opening old
wounds.
The other day, when bothered and worried and
wearied by the thoughtlessness of boys and the
foolishness of parents, I sat down in my easy-
chair, and had a dream of a school in a far-off
Utopia, of which I was head-master. In that
school all the boys were good and happy and
healthy, and all the teachers were wise and kind
and earnest. And the boys, moreover, had all
i6o DA Y-DREAMS OF THE DOMINIE.
frank eyes and patched jackets, and spent their
play-hours not in lounging about streets or smok-
ing cigars in secret corners, but in running and
leaping and shouting and laughing, and suchlike
vulgar enjoyments. But they all learned their les-
sons, and attended to what they were taught ; and
if any of them ever were punished, it afterwards
turned out that he had suffered not for his own
fault, but heroically screening a companion. And
now and then a boy did a naughty thing, and
was sorry for it ; and oh ! how sweet was that
repentance — just to relieve the monotony of per-
fect virtue. And so I could be familiar and yet
strict with all the boys ; and they loved me, and
made me their friend and comforter in every
little trouble. And their parents respected me,
and took an interest in my work, but did not
worry me by being meddlesome overmuch. And
I was kind and patient and cheerful, and lived
long to see the seed given me to sow on earth
sprout up to bear goodly and manifold fruit. And
alas ! this, too, was a dream.
Then I try to dream that I am a boy once more.
DA Y-DREAMS OF THE DOMINIE, i6i
to realize what it is to be ruled, that I may learn
how to rule. I dream of the buoyant spirit which
I once felt and rejoiced in, but which, alas ! comes
no more. I dream of the zest with which I would
share boyish sports, and the blessed tears in which
I would drown boyish griefs. I dream that I am
loved by boyish friends with a true and pure love
which I have never found in man. I dream of
myself rising up in honest wrath to avenge the
oppressed, or bearing torture without a murmur,
rather than betray my companion. I dream of the
pleasure that one kind word from one I loved and
looked up to would give me, and the pride with
which I would serve and obey such a one. But,
ah ! of all dreams, these are the most unreal. They
come but to mock me, and fade away when they
have filled me with a bitter yearning. I cannot
make them my own, these glimpses of youth.
* Sudden strays of recollection, glimmering from the depths of tune,
Fleeting into misty darkness from the feeble grasp of rhyme.'
They have gone from me for ever, like the com-
panions with whom I try to dream that I am sport-
ing once more, but whose hearts and hands are no
i62 DA Y-DREAMS OF THE DOMINIE,
longer mine, since their ways in life have taken
them apart from me. Some I still know, but they
are not the same as once I knew them. Some I
have lost sight of or forgottea Some are dead to
me, their hearts being seared by the red-hot iron
of sin ; and some, more happily dead, sleep in the
quiet of English churchyards, beneath the vine-
yards or the palms of other lands, below the waves
of the cruel sea. So this dream, too, brings sorrow
rather than joy.
I often indulge in another dream which is better
than all these, not only because it is sweet to the
mind and healing to the heart, but because it must
one day come true. It is a dream which is familiar
to me, and comes to me at all times and in all
places, chiefly in hours of thoughtful solitude, but
often in crowded parlours and scenes of so-called
gaiety. Call me not sentimentally melancholy, that
I love to dream calmly and fearlessly of the day
when I shall be lying beneath the green grass and
the gentle daisies, at peace with myself and the
world. The storms and sunbeams of life will
struggle over and around that quiet spot, but nought
DA Y-DREAMS OF THE DOMINIE. 163
will hurt or harm me, for I shall be at rest ; and
my Father shall have folded me in His arms, and
for ever wiped all tears from off my face. But I
dare not be proud or angry now, when I think how
little men will esteem me then, and how little there
will be to vex me there. I think, too, with anxious
care, that some will live to curse that humble grave
of mine, for words spoken hastily and bitterly —
words that may bear evil seed for all time, till the
Lord come and destroy the tares from the face 01
the earth. And I think with joy and hope, that if
I lay up such treasures in my life, some may come
to bless me, and to drop a tear of remembrance
on the flowers that grow above my head.
CHAPTER XIII.
THE HOLIDAYS.
* Jam pastor umbras cum grege languido
' Rivumque fessus quserit, et horridi
Dumeta Silvani.' HORACE.
NCE a year there comes a time when our
pace on the road to Helicon manifestly
slackens. The best boys grow restless
and inattentive ; and even the most zealous
dominie relaxes his stern sway, and begins to dis-
cover that he is * boy-rid, sick of perpetual boy.*
Through the open windows of our dusty school-
rooms steal the balmy airs and the pleasant sun-
beams of June ; welcome intruders, bringing with
them tempting memories of green meadows, and
bright, breezy hill-sides, and making the musty
rules of grammar and the wise precepts of the
THE HOLIDA YS. 165
Latin Delectus doubly dry and distasteful. Cus-
tom and inclination for once agree that this is no
time for parsing and translating ; nature calls us
to sweeter studies. The holidays — not the dark,
cold idleness of Christmas, nor the shred of pur-
poseless vacuity grudgingly vouchsafed us in spring,
but the holidays — have come ; the summer vacation,
when the dusty dominie may throw off his gown,
and bathe in a Lethe of green leaves and wayside
flowers, and forget alike the past winter's work and
the autumn looming before him big with new toils.
For when such joys begin, neither schoolboy nor
schoolmaster believes that they can ever end.
The day arrives ; not too soon. The boys, mad
with excitement, are off to their dogs and ponies
and fishing-rods ; the dominies, with quieter though
not less true joy, lock up their books and instru-
ments of torture in a kind of dreamy incredulous-
ness. We can scarcely believe that we shall for
weeks look upon them no more ; scarcely realize
that we have escaped from the dull round of
precepts and punishments, which perhaps never
seemed insupportable till now. We are both
i'66 THE HOLlbA YS.
indeed free: they from our tyranny; we from
theirs.
But in a day or two, what is so delightfully
new and strange grows familiar to us. Doing
absolutely nothing is to the busy man more tire-
some than hard work. We look about for oc-
cupation and amusement for our leisure. We
have got our holiday, and the question for us is,
' What shall we do with it } '
If the dominie is a wise man, he will not stay
at home all the holidays. He will leave the hot
pavements of the city, and seek in other and purer
air to lay up a stock of health and freshness
against the next year's labour. If he is a steady,
middle-aged man with a family, he will probably
remove his Lares and Penates to a country house,
not far from town, and near some good trout-
stream, and there spend the holidays in fishing,
playing with his children, and writing papers for
the Quarterly Jotirnal of Education. If he is a
young man and a bachelor, he will perhaps set
forth on foot, rejoicing in his strength, through the
Welsh or the Scotch hills, or among the Lakes
THE HOLIDA YS. 167
that Wordsworth has made sacred to him. If he
is a rich man, he may cross the Channel, and
thereafter be seen sauntering, cigar in mouth, upon
the boulevards of Paris, or rushing over the great
Corniche road, or 'doing' German cathedrals and
castles, or panting up the rough sides of Vesuvius.
But if he is a man of my tastes, and of no larger
purse, he will betake himself to a cottage or other
suitable abode in the Highlands of Scotland, and
there open his eyes and lift up his heart, and con-
fess that what God hath made is good. My
favourite holiday retreat is a spot in the West
Highlands, — a glen poor indeed to the commercial
eye, but rich in beauty and peace, and other price-
less blessings that cannot be bought or sold, — a
sanctuary for the soul wearied by work and care.
There I can roam all day on noble hills untrodden
by the sacrilegious foot of Cockney tourist, and
lie on a royal couch of heather, and feel on my
face the fresh, cool mountain breeze, and watch
the ever-changing hues of sky and earth, and
gaze out on the wide Atlantic with something of
childish wonder, and listen to the merry roar of
1 68 THE HOLIDAYS,
the waterfall, that, like me, seems to rejoice in its
freedom. There, all day long, I can sing with
the poet, * Oh the great joy of living ! * For there,
the very breathing of the fresh, pure air, and the
very bounding from tuft to tuft of purple heather,
seem rapturously joyful.
There are other spots too which please me, and
which I can recommend to dominies who wish to
pass happy holidays. Shall I speak no word of
praise or gratitude for thee, oh quaint old city
by the eastern shore, to whose green downs and
far-reaching sands flock alike the seekers of health,
and pleasure, and learning? Shall I be silent
concerning that sun-loved county of the south,
through whose shady hedges, and deep, thick
meadow-grass, a man may saunter and dream of
eternal summer? Or can I despise the rich and
varied feast of beauty that I have enjoyed and
hope to enjoy again among the hills, and valleys,
and rivers, and forests of a certain inland district,
where the dwellers in the plains have overcome
the sentinels of the mountain land, and clothed
them with double loveliness?
THE HOLIDA YS. 169
Anywhere I can enjoy myself, provided I am
away from home. * Coelum non aniinum mutant
qui trans mare currunt* wrote the ancient poet.
But he spoke for himself. For my part, with
my abode I change my thoughts, and habits, and
sympathies. How could it be otherwise ? It is
only when I am not at home that I become my-
self. While at my post, I am conscious that
there are many eyes fixed upon me, and I can-
not set them at defiance. I become a hypocrite;
I deceive myself. My heart calls on me to worship
the God of nature, but my cowardice leads me to
bow down in the house of Mrs. Grundy. But
once let the dominie place two hundred miles
between himself and his sphere of duty, and he
becomes free ; he may hold up his head and feel
himself no longer a dominie, but a man. Clad in
his oldest shooting-jacket, he may lie on the sandy
sea-shore or the mossy hill-side, and smoke the
pipe of contemplation and thankfulness without
fear. And if he meets with any little boys, like
himself out on holiday, he can find a joy in their
ruddy cheeks, and their clear, happy voices, and
170 THE HOLIDA VS.
their patched knickerbockers, which all the rest
of the year is denied to him. For he can join
their sports, and win their confidence, and listen
to their frank prattle, and help them to build
castles on the sand, and run, and jump, and laugh
with them, till he almost fancy himself to be a
boy again. They do not shrink from him as if
he were an ogre or an archbishop ; and their
easily-gained and unsuspicious friendship is sweet
to the dominie incognito^ though sometimes his
conscience reproaches him with the guilty plea-
sure, and he whispers sadly to his heart, * If they
only knew — !* Reader, I remember making the
acquaintance of a boy under these circumstances,
and cultivating a friendship with him which came
to a sad and unexpected end. For these holiday
weeks we were constant companions, in spite of
the difference in our ages. We bathed, and boated,
and fished, and walked, and joked together. He
was a good-humoured, pleasant boy, and I dare
say he thought me not a bad fellow, more tolerable
than most old fogies. At all events, he never
suspected the truth. As for me, I came to love
r
THE HOLIDAYS. 171
him, and delighted in him with a joy too great
to last. A terrible fate indeed befell our friend-
ship. When the holidays were over, my young
friend chanced to be sent to the very school in
which I am a master. What were my feelings !
I could not look my companion of so many glad
hours in the face ; I stood before him a detected
dominie. Henceforth our intimacy was at an end.
Some modern dominies profess to be always on
the most friendly terms with their boys ; to be
brotherly counsellors, not dread rulers to them. This
may be well ; but I doubt I am an old-fashioned
dominie : I cling by old traditions. I am willing
to be a friend to my pupils, but with a distant and
lofty friendship. I must feel myself, and make them
feel, that I am exalted above them. I cannot play
cricket with them, lest they should mark my scores,
and suspect that I am a fallible being. So it is only
in the holidays that I can descend from my throne,
and wander through the city unknown, like Haroun
Alraschid.
Idleness is to me the least pleasure of the holidays.
True, it is sweet to the busy man to taste ol leisure ;
1/2 THE HOLIDAYS.
sweet to wake in the morning and know that I have
no lessons to hear, no exercises to correct, no pun-
ishments to inflict, no parents to propitiate. But
because the sweetness is so great, it soon palls upon
the taste. The energy gained by leisure begins to
throb within me, and urge me to fresh labours. The
dust of the battle once wiped off, like Alexander, I
am restless to conquer new worlds. And thus, before
the holidays are over, I am generally tired of them,
which I look upon as a bountiful dispensation of
nature.
So back we go to town, not altogether sorrowfully,
not altogether gladly. Perhaps we have insensibly
taken root in the spot of our holiday sojourn, and
only find, when we come to tear ourselves away,
how great an effort the transplanting requires. Per-
haps, as we hurry homewards, we see tender-hearted
boys taking tearful leave of their mothers, and, as
the inexorable train bears them away, casting rueful
glances at familiar spots and objects which they
shall not see again for many months. And if our
hearts are not seared by time and toil to kindly
sympathy, we cannot but be troubled to know that
THE HOLIDA YS. 173
we dominies are the autumn winds and the sharp
frosts that come to end their little summers.
But, gladly or sadly, the Fates must be obeyed.
Our caravans assemble ; we gird ourselves with the
robes of office ; and, taking up the staff of leader-
ship, give the order to march. The camels and
mules, after some preliminary gambols, submit to
be loaded with their burdens and driven into line,
and finally got into motion, non passibus cequis. So
with one last look at the oasis, with its cool wells,
and fresh dews, and grateful shade, off we set, under
the morning sun of hope, on another stage of our
desert journey.
CHAPTER XIV.
SATURDAY— WITH SOMETHING ABOUT FOOLS.
* I will bury myself in my books, and the devil may pipe to his own.'
Tennyson.
USTOM, if not convenience, in my part
of the country, gives dominies two en-
tire days of rest in the week — Saturday
and Sunday. It may not be amiss that the reader
should learn how we spend these days. I devote
this chapter to Saturday.
As for Sunday, I am sorry to say that it is not
always a very happy day with me ; chiefly because
I do not see other people happy on that day. The
town where I have lived most of my life is ruled by
a strict Sabbatarianism, the edicts of which are duly
countersigned by Mrs. Grundy, and almost univer-
sally respected among her disciples. And if one
174
SOMETHING ABOUT FOOLS. 175
good comes of these strict laws, that no man can buy
or steal another's day of rest, there are also many
evils, which prevent the rest of all from being so
pleasant or refreshing as God meant it to be. It
must be remembered, if I be thought to speak too
strongly, that there is one Sunday blessing which is
not for me. I have no bright faces and curly heads to
lie on my lap and stroke my furrowed face, and prattle
out their little joys and sorrows, and romp round my
chair till my heart forgets its cares, and catches some
ray of their sunny freshness. I have kind and con-
stant friends, and wise and good companions, but I
have none of those dear ones whose love and com-
panionship should make this day very holy.
I enjoy Saturday in a lazy, tired sort of way,
which is very pleasant, if not very stimulating.
Some dominies, I among them, are like cab-horses ;
we go as long as we are in harness, and drop as
soon as we are taken out of the shafts. So on
Saturday morning I awake, feeling weary, but very
thankful that there is no morning school at nine
o'clock, and then turn on my side for a succession
of delicious dozes, till the sun rebukes me through
176 SA TURD A Y— WITH
the open window, and I leisurely get up and begin
to dress.'
At breakfast I begin to revel in idleness. I dawdle
over my coffee, and read the newspaper through at
my ease, not skim over its pages as on other days.
In the afternoon, again, I luxuriate among the weekly
journals, keeping abreast of the literature of the day
by reading all the reviews, and speculating what the
critics had for supper the night before they wrote
them. Some Saturday afternoon, I may be reading
the verdicts passed upon this humble work, and
shall perhaps find, from the Weekly Scourge, that
' it is full of crude and commonplace thoughts, and
only deserving of our attention from the absurdity
of its pretensions ;' while the critic of the Metro-
politan Review may pronounce it to be *a work
which all thinking men will welcome, teeming as it
does with the fruit of a rare genius and experience.*
In the evening I like to go to the house of some
friend, where I may join in thoughtful and cheery
talk, and hear the gentle voice of women and the
pleasant laugh of children — sounds sweet to a bache-
lor's lonely soul. I hate the very name of parties,
SOMETHING ABOUT FOOLS. 177
the great meetings at which I am given to understand
that Mrs. Grundy assembles her votaries, to crush
and squeeze a little show of enjoyment out of each
other. But I dearly love a quiet dinner or supper
with two or three friends, not acquaintances, where
all of us are literally and figuratively in our shooting-
coats, and agreed to unbend and enjoy ourselves as
thoroughly as possible. And what might seem very
little enjoyment to idle people, goes a long way with
us who have hard work to do.
But the great characteristic of my Saturdays is a
walk, which I generally take in no other company
but my own. Sometimes I walk in the town, and
sometimes in the country, according to my mood.
I dwell in a city which one may walk through many
times and not be tired of its beauty, and which is,
moreover, surrounded by many kinds of beautiful
scenery. So, when I want to be cheerful, I go out
into the suburbs of that queen of cities, and stroll on
through pleasant fields and gardens, till perhaps I
come to a picturesque range of hills, and perhaps to
the shores of a noble river full of graceful ships and
rocky islands, or perhaps only wander on through a
M
178 SA TURD A V— WITH
long stretch of varied landscape, whose woods and
streams and meadows are not less fair than any in
the kingdom. And perhaps I lie down under the
fresh greenness of a lime tree, and dream lazily of
all the good and happy things and people in the
world ; of how many thousand pleasant fields and
cool woodland glades there are, speaking to millions
with silent voices, and telling of their Maker's good-
ness and greatness ; of how many happy songs there
are to sing on the earth, and how many cheerful and
thankful hearts to sing them ; of how many brave,
wise, true men there are, working with all their
might for the good of their fellow-creatures ; of how
many fortunate people there are who never eat nor
sleep nor work too much, and consequently always
have sound slumbers and healthy appetites ; of how
many errand-boys there are who can whistle at
their work, and how many dirty little children who
can find delight in mud-pies ; of how many labour-
ing lads who are looking forward to a half-holiday
and a walk with Jenny or Polly; of how many
schoolmasters who to-day are resting in their easy-
chairs and beginning to think that life is bearable
SOMETHING ABOUT FOOLS, 179
after all ; of how many schoolboys, equally glad to
be free, who are roaming about, chattering, laugh-
ing, quarrelling and forgiving again, climbing trees,
tearing trousers, getting knocks and bruises, and
glorying in the same, — bathing, cricketing, rowing,
and otherwise enjoying all the happiness of healthy
boyhood, untroubled as yet by glimpses of the
tyrant Mrs. Grundy and her satellite train, lying in
wait for them upon the dimly seen hills of manhood.
But, on the other hand, when I want to be ' sad
for very wantonness ' — there is no slight pleasure in
such sadness — I walk through a certain street,
which is the fashionable lounge of our city, and
which for the sake of definition I will call Princess
Street, and there become profoundly melancholy
at seeing how many fools there are in the world.
Come with me, reader, along this splendid street,
and observe a few of those we meet, and then judge
for yourself if they are not fools.
Here come two, young, ignorant, with folly
written on every line of their smooth faces. What
neat coats and neckties they have, and what slim
canes daintily carried I What large and abominable
1 80 SA TURD A F— WITH
cigars they are trying to smoke, and with what an
air are they twirling between lavender-gloved fingers
the gold watch-chains grandmamma gave them last
birthday! They are full-blown specimens of the
genus young gentleman, in its most ridiculous type.
They think that every one is looking at them, and
that the ladies are flattered by their puerile admira-
tion. And yet, perhaps, they are strong, healthy
fellows, who might be rowing or cricketing, or other-
wise spending their holiday without making fools of
themselves. Perhaps in ten years they will see the
folly of trying to become men too soon by imitating
the follies of their elders, and perhaps they may
long regretfully for one hour of the boyhood which
they are now so foolishly despising. I hope so.
That slim one with the light hair looks as if he
had a mother at home who is anxious lest her
Johnny should get into bad company ; and as for
his stout, good -humoured -looking companion, I
think he must have a papa who canes him when
he is caught smoking.
We have some compassion for you young fools,
for we hope that you will get sense with age,
SOME THING ABO UT FOOL S, 1 8 1
that the present attack of folly is one which will
wear off when the eruption is over. But what shall
we say to you fools of ten years' more experience,
who are idling along, affectedly pulling your
whiskers, and ogling the pretty women with un-
chaste thoughts and whispers. They — the whiskers
— are long and imposing, and your coats are works
of genius, and your gloves irreproachable ; but you
have mistaken the world if you believe it to be
simply a stage for the display of these articles.
What shall we say of you who have slowly poi-
soned your moral lives by dissipation and foppery
and idleness ? We will not call you men, nor even
gentlemen, as you so fondly pride yourselves upon
being. You are only an inferior species of animal
with fine whiskers and trousers, inhabitants of Prin-
cess Street, but with little share in the world at
large, save in the awful responsibilities attached to
every one of God's wisely fashioned and largely
endowed human creatures.
And here drive past two fools of the same kind,
but of the other sex. They, too, have bartered the
simple comeliness and the innocent pleasures of
1 82 SA TURD A Y— WITH
nature for the shallow gilding of art and the tire-
some excitement of fashion. They look very beau-
tiful and proud as they recline elegantly in that
padded carriage ; but after all they are only what
they seek to be, masses of silk, steel, and ribbon,
with a substratum of flesh and blood, and the sickly
remains of a human heart that God's goodness gives
to all, and man's folly can never entirely take away
from any.
That party of young officers of the garrison to
whom they are bowing are fools too, me jtidice.
What airs the fellows give themselves because their
recognised trade is honourable idleness, with inter-
vals of no less honourable bloodshed ! How con-
temptuously they twirl their moustaches at their
civilian fellow-creatures, and in how self-satisfied a
manner do they look down upon the whole world
from over their stiff collars and faultless cravats ! I
know they are brave — though no braver than the
rest of us ; but for that very reason I am heartily
sorry that they should so often make such fools of
themselves.
Here struts by an old fool, ay, and a miserable
SOME THING ABO UT FOOL S. 183
sinner — a purple-faced dandy in a wig, leering,
mocking, gloating over the garbage of life, draining
the dregs of his youthful folly with one foot in the
grave. He loves nothing but himself, and believes
in nothing but mammon and Bacchus and Mrs.
Grundy. Very likely, too, he is a glutton and a
gambler. Pah ! this folly is sickening. I cannot
laugh over it, as some writers do, but must speak
my mind sorrowfully and angrily. And so soon to
die ! — is it not sad }
Now here comes a fool at whom we smile indul-
gently — the clever fool. See how he rushes along
the street, with mysterious looks and long hair float-
ing over his shoulders, his outer man enveloped in a
coat like nobody else's coat, and his head covered
by a hat quite different from all sane, commonplace
people's hats. This is a literary genius, who thinks
a great deal of himself, and fondly imagines the
delusion to be shared by the public. He imagines
that every word, look, and action of his is noticed,
and will be handed down to posterity; and therefore
he takes care that all his words, looks, and actions
be singular. He preaches loudly in his books
1 84 SA TURD A Y— WITH
against every person and everything but himself,
while the fact is that he is not very different from
any one else. But, at all events, he thinks that he
is ; and there you may see him looking wisely con-
ceited, like a clever fool that he is.
Ah ! what sort of fool have we here } The other
fools look upon him with distrust, and seem to
regard him as an intruder. For he is a jay in pea-
cock's feathers, a grocer's shop-boy most likely, aping
the folly of the superior fools. What a magni-
ficent strut he has, and how contemptuously he
looks upon the smooth, modestly but harmoniously
coloured, plumage of the real peacocks ! Ah, my
friend, don't trust too much to that splendid waist-
coat, nor to that gaudy cravat, nor to that glitter-
ing watch-chain, nor yet to that three-halfpenny
cigar, which you would like to pitch into the gutter,
if you only dared. Your grey plumage is peeping
out beneath, and the peacocks know at a glance
what you are. Go back to the jays, and leave such
folly to your betters.
Then there is the fool who is a wise, cunning man
of business through the day, and only appears as a
SOME THING ABO UT FOOL S. 1 85
fool in Princess Street in the afternoon ; there is the
very foolish fool, who denotes by his attire that his
folly lies in the direction of horses and dogs ; there
is even the fool ecclesiastical — alas ! that I should
have to write it — who glides along with a meek
look of genteel sanctity, and imagines that by a
prim, outlandish attire, and a peculiar style of neck-
tie, he does much to honour God, and pleases the
female portion of his congregation.
In short, there are fools of all sorts and sizes who
frequent Princess Street daily, to admire and to be
admired. It is to see and to scorn such creatures
that I sometimes repair thither on Saturday after-
noons, when my stomach is out of order, and my
moral nature wants a little wholesome stimulus.
But seeing all these fools often makes me very
melancholy and distrustful of human nature; so
much so, indeed, that I begin to feel that after all
I am only a fool myself. Then perhaps I turn
wearily into a certain quiet garden in the neigh-
bourhood of Princess Street, where nursery-maids
meet to talk gossip, and genteel little children
imitate in many ways the folly of their elders, with
i86 SA TURD A Y— WITH
glimpses of honest nature and healthy childish
wisdom peeping out now and then, which not even
French governesses can restrain. And lying in
these gardens, within hearing of the prattling of
their merry lips, I can see the spires of certain
churches and chapels where many of these fools
pay for white surplices and carved oak stalls and
stained windows, and other appliances for the wor-
ship of the Maker of all, and whither at certain
times they repair decorously to go through the
folly of supplicating, in foolish falsehood. Him who
is alone to be entreated in spirit and in truth. I
know that I speak censoriously and scornfully, and
not at all genteelly ; but I speak so because I am
sick of fools and their folly, turning into evil so
many things that God made to be good.
For He made all. Our wisdom and folly are
alike in His hand ; and however degraded, we are
all more or less faint images of Himself. And thus
there is hope for us all, fools though we be. The
bells of that church hard by are saying so, and lull
me into a pleasant dream of a happy age when
fashionable tailors, and Parisian milliners, and bil-
SOME THING ABO UT FOOL S. 1 87
Hard markers, and editors of peerages, shall be no
more kings and priests upon earth, but all men shall
be only men, true, simple, and brave, with the words
of the poet written on the heart of each :
* 'Tis only noble to be good :
Kind hearts are more than coronets,
And simple faith than Norman blood.'
Doubtless that time will come, and is coming ;
and as a first-fruits of it, we may some day expect
to see Princess Street given up to be the dismal
abode of such fools as I have spoken of, who, tied
to Mrs. Grundy's tattered apron-string, will flit
about its pavements uttering their feeble wails of
sorrow and fear, while all around throbs the great
world with its mighty pulses of life and death, good
and evil, grief and joy, hastening surely and steadily
on to the appointed goal. And when the fools are
reduced to this piteous state, I shall not look on
them with the same interest as I do now while they
are proud and stiff- necked ; and therefore my
Saturday walks along Princess Street will be dis-
continued, if indeed by that time I have not made
my last journey upon earth.
CHAPTER XV.
OUR SCHOOLS.
* 'Tis not enough that Greek or Roman page
At stated hours his freakish thoughts engage.*
COWPER.
'ARENTS are always asking my advice as
to what schools they should send their
sons to ; and such advice is very difficult
to give, especially if you do not know the boys.
Physicians know that it is impossible to prescribe
for a case which they have made no diagnosis of,
and only very stupid people suppose that all medi-
cines are alike good for every complaint. In the
same way, one boy will get on well at one school
and one at another ; and it is hard to recommend
a school in the same confident way as you would
recommend a butcher or a baker.
But let us take the case of an average English
188
OUR SCHOOLS, 189
boy, neither miraculously good nor incorrigibly bad,
sound in wind and limb, free from those 'pecu-
liarities' of temper for which doating parents so
often ask us to make an allowance ; fond of play,
and not immoderately averse to study ; in short,
with no point of his disposition requiring extra-
ordinary care or training, and let us consider the
influence which different kinds of schools will have
upon him.
I take it for granted that he ought to be sent to
some school or other. There are some things which
a boy learns from none so well as his parents, but
there are others which are better taught him by
men who have made education the study and busi-
ness of their lives. And though it may seem rash
and cruel to drive a boy out from the sanctuary of
a quiet home into a scene where the darts of Satan
are flying thick, yet it is really wise and kind. That
fight must be fought by all ; and if a man learn not
in youth to face the noise and the dangers of . the
battle, he can scarce be firm and fearless in man-
hood. To have never met danger is not courage,
nor is it innocence to be ignorant of evil.
190 OUR SCHOOLS.
In estimating the moral influence of any school, I
think that the most important characteristic will be
its size ; and for the purpose of comparison in this
respect, I will divide all schools into small, middle-
sized, and large, and proceed thus to my review.
By the small schools I mean those private estab-
lishments conducted generally by clergymen with
poor livings, who advertise themselves as residing
in healthy situations in picturesque parts of the
country, and undertaking to receive as members of
the family, and educate, a number of the sons of
noblemen or gentlemen, which, if not * discreetly
limited to two at most,' seldom exceeds six or
seven. The advantages of such an establishment
are evident. The pupils will be more closely
watched, and receive more undivided attention
than at a larger school. Their characters will be
more closely studied, and more allowance will be
made for their natural deficiencies, while more care
will be taken to repair them. The gardener will
constantly be at work, watering, pruning, and train-
ing. But your hothouse plants, though they bloom
so brightly, cannot be exposed to the outside air
k
OUR SCHOOLS, 191
with safety. Cultivation is good, but there is such
a thing as over-cultivation, which turns healthy
nature into a sickly growth of custom. The great
evil of such schools is, that the tone of feeling and
manners, and cast of thought of the pupils, depend
too much upon the influence of one man. If they
are at all teachable, they learn to look upon things
too much through their master's special spectacles.
This would be well enough if their masters were all
such men as Dr. Arnold; but how many country
parsons are Dr. Arnolds ? Or how many are narrow
and prejudiced, and selfish and sanctimonious >
Even if they be worthy, well-meaning men, I would
grudge them the exclusive right of moulding the
young mind, which should grow up of its own
accord, and flourish amid storm and sunshine, and
many a breeze from the warm west and the chilly
north. The sum of what I mean to say is this, that
what is taught is not generally so valuable as what
is learjted. If the reader understands this distinc-
■ tion, he will perceive the reason why I should be
reluctant to send a son of mine to be so thoroughly
taught in a small school.
192 OUR SCHOOLS.
Middle-sized schools consist chiefly of establish-
ments known often by such high-sounding names as
colleges, institutions, or academies, which are carried
on as private speculations by self-appointed * princi-
pals.' I confess to a strong prejudice against such
schools. The number of their pupils may be stated
as between twenty and a hundred, and this seems to
me a number which excludes the advantages both of
large and small schools. It is too large to be alto-
gether under the influence of one man, and it is too
small for the development of a healthy condition of
public opinion among the boys themselves. In a
community of fifty boys there will always be found
so many bad ones who will be likely to carry things
their own way. Vice is more unblushing in small
societies than in large ones. Fifty boys will be more
easily leavened by the wickedness of five, than five
hundred by that of fifty. It would be too danger-
ous an ordeal to send a boy to a school where sin
appeared fashionable, and where, if he would remain
virtuous, he must shun his companions. There may
be middle-sized schools which derive a good and
healthy tone from the moral strength of their mas-
OUR SCHOOLS. 193
ters, or the good example of a certain set of boys ;
but I doubt if there are many. Boys are so easily
led to do right or wrong, that we should be very
careful at least to set the balance fairly.
There are two classes of such schools which I hold
in utter abomination, — the one because I have had
some experience of them, the other because I know
nothing about them. I allude, in the first place, to
the refined schools, which are so fast gaining favour
among foolish parents, where there are no boys, but
only young gentlemen, who have kid gloves and
canes, and a high opinion of themselves. There are
no floggings, nor playgrounds, nor stickjaw, nor any
such vulgar institutions at these schools. Every-
thing is managed on the silver-fork and coaxing
principle. But though all this may be very pleasing
to the doating fondness of mammas and the vanity
of boys, it is not at all good for the character of the
men who are to be thus early trained into conceited
puppies ; and I think that all sensible people who
wish their sons to be brought up as Christian gentle-
men would agree with me, if they were as well
acquainted with this evil as I am.
N
194 OUR SCHOOLS.
The other class of schools which I object to is one
which I know nothing of, save from the daily adver-
tisements of scores of them in the Times. In these
advertisements I see men professing to lodge, feed,
and educate properly the sons of gentlemen for some
such sum as twenty guineas a-year, including books;
but from statistical knowledge of the quantity and
quality of the mental and physical nourishment
necessary for healthy boys who are to be brought
up as gentlemen, and of the remuneration expected
by butchers, bakers, and * efficient assistant masters '
for the exercise of their professional services, I feel
justified in saying, either that an ugly appellation
should be applied to the above-mentioned adver-
tisers, or that — ^which of course is far more likely —
philanthropy exists in this world to a much greater
extent than is usually supposed, and is applied to
educational purposes on a scale which should call
forth a large measure of public gratitude to our
unknown benefactors. But speaking from a mer-
cenary point of view, I should think it impossible
that such board, washing, and education as are pro-
mised in these advertisements could be contracted
OUR SCHOOLS. 195
for at twenty guineas per annum, so as to leave any
profit to the contractor ; and I am ashamed to say
that I have so little confidence in the benevolence
and disinterestedness of the advertisers, that I should
be very cautious about sending my son to one of
these loudly vaunted establishments.
There are, of course, hundreds of middle-sized
schools throughout the country which do not come
under these two classes. Some of them are doubt-
less good, and some bad. Some are managed by
wise and faithful dominies, some by mercenary
quacks. But I repeat my belief that, ceteris paribus,
the moral tone of such a school will be peculiarly
liable to be at the mercy of a set of bold and bad boys.
We now come to large schools, between whose
advantages and disadvantages it will be more difli-
cult to adjust the balance. These are almost exclu-
sively long-established foundation schools, or modern
schools conducted in imitation of their spirit and
constitution.
The great advantage of public schools is, that they
are generally large enough to admit of a free and
healthy tone of public opinion which will be a fair
196 OUR SCHOOLS,
preparation for entrance into the world. Every boy's
moral nature will be thoroughly ventilated, as it
were, and his strength will be truly tested for the
work he is being trained to do. He will learn to
know himself and his position. He will have a free
choice between good and evil ; and whether he fol-
low the one or the other, will do so with more sted-
fastness and honesty than if he had been forced into
it by the vigilance of a tutor or the example of a
petty clique of chance companions. He will be
able to choose his friends and associates from some
hundreds of boys of all characters and disposi-
tions, among whom, as in the great world, there
will be various sets having little or no influence
upon each other. All this does not in the least
do away with the necessity for, and the advantage
of, judicious control by superiors. But control can
only be usefully exercised upon a nature that is
developing itself honestly and naturally and fully ;
and this effect at least will be produced by the
influence of a large school.
Another advantage of a public school is, that it is
ruled by settled law and custom which all must
OUR SCHOOLS. 197
obey, and not by the caprice of any one man, who
himself is acted on by external influences. The
head master of a public school is to some extent a
despot Being independent of all votes of supplies
from parents, he can venture to carry things so far
with a high hand, regardless of the whims and pre-
judices of his constituency, who, as I have already
said, are far harder to manage than the subjects
over whom they delegate authority to him. He
can expel a bad boy without the fear of a curtain
lecture from his wife on the text of an unpaid
butcher's bill. He can even order the trouser-
pockets of the whole school to be sewed up, like
a second Czar Peter. Thus it will be seen that he
has an enormous power to exercise for the good of
the community over which he rules. And, on the
other hand, even if he were inclined to exercise
this power tyrannously and unjustly, there is a
certain unwritten charter which has been granted
to public-school boys which he will not attempt
to violate. His administration of justice will be
founded on precedents and not on passion; and
thus a certain sacredness will surround his judg-
198 OUR SCHOOLS.
ments, and his boys' minds will be early imbued
with a due respect for law, since they will see that
the law is both strong and just. It is good that
all boys learn this lesson ; but how shall we teach
them it, if we blow hot and cold at different times,
and rule not according to statute, but according to
impulse, as most dominies will do more or less, if
they be not restrained by some prescriptive rules ?
But there is also much to be said against public
schools. In the first place, I think the boys are
allowed to have too much of their own sweet will.
There is a want of proper supervision by masters
out of school hours, which is as bad for boys as
the opposite extreme of never allowing them to be
out of sight of a master in their play-time, placing
sentries over them in their bedrooms, and watching
them even through spy-holes, as is done in the
French Lyc6es. Hence the necessity of such a
system as fagging, the very existence of which
confesses the deficiency. This and the monitorial
authority are much lauded by the advocates of
juvenile self-government, and I confess that their
arguments have a good deal of plausibility. But I
OUR SCHOOLS: 199
know how difficult men find it to rule justly, and
therefore I doubt if big boys can be safely trusted
with authority over their schoolfellows. The worst
feature, however, of the fagging and monitorial
systems, is that they depend so much on mere brute
strength. It is all very fine to talk of licking boys
into their proper level, and thus teaching them to
face the world ; but is it a useful or true lesson to
teach them, that in a civilised and Christian world
every man's hand is against his fellow, and might
only is right }
As a general rule, the number of masters at a
public school is quite disproportionate to the number
of boys, and thus the forms and the boarding-houses
are, from their very size, unwieldy. I know a school
where one master is expected to be able to teach
from eighty to one hundred boys at once, and an-
other where a young clergyman is supposed to
stand in loco parentis to nearly as many. The
consequence is, that many boys leave these schools
with less knowledge than when they entered them,
and little more religious training than is implied in
a parrot-like acquaintance with the liturgy, sleepily
200 OUR SCHOOLS,
got over every morning in the school chapel. If
any one questions this, let him try if he can see, in
the course of an hour or so, that fifty boys have
learned a lesson, and how far he can make these
fifty boys listen to all he says for that time. Not
one man in a hundred can perform such a task
well ; and not one man in a hundred can learn
and work upon the character and habits of so
many boys, and that one man only after being
familiar with them for years.
I am sorry to say that a tone of puppyism pre-
vails in some of our great public schools, which is
much to be deplored. This arises, I think, from
two causes. The first is, that the pupils at these
schools are generally the sons of rich men, and are
allowed to have a great deal too much money —
about the surest way of doing harm to boys which
the devil has as yet invented. The sums which
young gentlemen at Eton or Harrow spend on
cricketing costumes, and ices, and beer, and other
luxuries, would sometimes suffice to supply more
than one industrious family with all the necessaries
of life. Then the esprit de corps which public-schooj
OUR SCHOOLS. 201
boys pride themselves on is pushed too far ; and
the way in which they look down upon ''tother
schoolmen* is perfectly ridiculous. What would
the good men who founded these charity schools —
for nearly all of them were originally nothing else —
say, if they could rise from their graves and see the
airs which some swaggering little prigs give them-
selves ? For which subject more fully treated, see
my chapter on * YouNG Gentlemen/
This is a rough, but I think a fair, estimate of the
difference between small, middle-sized, and large
schools, though of course I know that there are
many schools of all sizes having special merits or
demerits, which I have not space to discuss. And
now I will describe the school to which I should
like to send my son, if I had a son, and there were
such a school.
I would have this school as large as possible,
but I would have it divided into small classes or
forms. This arrangement would require a large
number of masters to carry it out; and I would
appoint these masters not only because they were
good scholars, but good men. As far as possible,
202 OUR SCHOOLS.
I should try to secure that they should not be
clergymen who cannot get livings, and have merely
taken to teaching as a temporary expedient on
the road to a bishopric or other dignity ; but men
who have devoted their whole life to the work of
teaching, and have their heart and soul in it.
I would not have the boys living together in
large mobs, but would have them either residing
with their parents, or boarded in small numbers
with the masters, or other persons competent to
take care of them. Thus the advantages of home-
training and supervision out of school hours would
be added to the healthy influence of mixing in a
large society of boys.
The essence of my system of discipline would
be a judicious control which should not be in-
consistent with a due measure of freedom, nor
prevent a boy's nature from healthily developing
itself. I would make as few laws as possible, but
would take care that they be rigorously observed.
I would try to teach the boys to take a pride
in my system of discipline, remembering that the
tone of feeling among themselves will always be
OUR SCHOOLS. 203
more powerful than the anathemas of any dominie.
I would on no account allow their parents to inter-
fere with my regulations. If a boy obeyed me, well
and good ; if he did not, he should be punished ;
if that had no effect on him, he should leave the
school. I would expel confirmed bullies and liars
and foul-mouthed scoundrels with all possible marks
of ignominy and loathing. I would have none but
honest schoolboys, no young gentlemen. For these
unhappy members of humanity I would provide a
separate establishment on some desolate island, to
which they might be banished till old enough to
go to college.
My model school being thus constituted, I would
open it to all boys whose parents could afford to
pay its rather high charges, and to some who
could not. And I would teach them — ^but it is
useless to say what I think they ought to be
taught. Education is conducted now- a -days on
the commercial principle of demand and supply,
and I fear that true wisdom is like to be a drug
in the market
CHAPTER XVI.
ON OTHER DOMINIES.
* Public hackneys in the schooling trade,
Machines themselves, and governed by a clock.'
COWPER.
COMMENCE this chapter with some
diffidence. We dominies have so sel-
dom a good word to say of each other,
that I fear I may not do justice to my fellow-
craftsmen. This is a sad fact, but a fact never-
theless, and the reason of it clear enough. We
are so accustomed to have our own way, and hea^
our own tongues going, that we do not make good
society for each other. I believe the same rule
holds good with crowned heads and country par-
sons. If there were a dozen emperors of Abys-
sinia living and ruling within a convenient distance
204
ON OTHER DOMINIES. 205
of one another, we should find them by no means
peaceable neighbours ; and in the same way we
dominies, so far as not bound over by Mrs. Grundy
to keep the peace, are given to sneer at the attain-
ments and exertions of our brethren. I shall try,
however, in this chapter to forget my professional
feelings, and to speak charitably as well as truth-
fully.
I believe that the rude popular idea of a dominie
is somewhat vague ; a wig and a loud voice, with a
tendency to quote Greek and Latin, being his only
recognisable characteristics. But those who have
dipped into stories of school life cannot fail to be
more enlightened. They must have realized in
their mind's eye, on the authority of such books,
four distinct types as existing in the genus Dominie.
These four types are obtained by the subdivision
of schoolmasters into head-masters and assistants,
and by a further distinction of public and private
being made between the schools in which lie their
respective spheres of action.
The highest type is of course the head-master
of a large public school. This head-master is truly
2o6 ON OTHER DOMINIES.
a most admirable and wonderful being, if we may
believe the story-books through which alone he is
known to that enormous majority of our country-
men who have not learned cricket and verse-making
at a public school. He is an Olympian Jupiter,
moving in awful state through time-honoured oaken
chambers and grey cloisters, and with stern and
serene equanimity launching his birchen thunderbolts
at trembling delinquents. No doubt of his infalli-
bility is ever allowed to enter our minds ; no suspi-
cion that his temper may be sometimes irritable, or
his digestion out of order. It is impossible to de-
fine clearly the corporeal image of him which rises
before us. We know little about his appearance,
and that little dazzles us. His private life is equally
sacred and mysterious. No profane historian has
yet ventured to follow him into the secret cell
where it is to be hoped he sometimes ventures, to
put on his shooting-coat and slippers, and smoke
a pipe, and read Punch. True, Tom Brow7i has
dared once, and once only, to introduce us to the
dread Doctor in the midst of his family ; but all
of Tom Brow7is followers have shrunk from imi-
ON OTHER DOMINIES, ±07
tating their leader's irreverence. No, in their pages
he stands before us constantly in cap and gown ;
robed, moreover, in the dignity of boundless learn-
ing and power, for ever a king of boys and a mighty
man upon earth, till the day when his pride and
his power shall suddenly have an end, when for
sins of his youth, not yet duly expiated, he shall
be seized upon by the locum tenens for the time
being of our head of the church, and, in spite of
his pitiful cries of nolo episcopariy nolOy nolOy shall
be remorselessly translated to a certain place in
the House of Lords, reserved as a St. Helena for
the despots of youth, thenceforth to live and die
unpitied, unfeared, unknown. In this case. Heaven
grant him strength to keep his views on the Pen-
tateuch and all other subjects to himself.
The assistant master of a public school is nearly
always represented as an earnest and boyish young
clergyman of unexceptionable morals and manners,
and of strong opinions of the kind known as mus-
cular Christian. He is addicted to playing cricket
with the boys, and has favourites among them,
whom he invites into his private room for confi-
208 ON OTHER DOMINIES,
dential chats. He has a great horror of everything
deceitful, and a sharp eye for all sorts of boyish
tricks, not to speak of a preternaturally quick ear
for false quantities. This is almost all we of the
outer world know about him ; but if he is half as
perfect as he is painted, he must indeed be a most
estimable and amiable individual. Perhaps his
pupils are not always of this opinion, however, till
after the period of their pupildom at least : for
although he is fond of handling the bat, he would
also seem to be an adept in the use of the cane ;
and it may be supposed that he has an enormous
waste-paper basket, in which he keeps all the
Georgics he gives to be written out as poenas.
The conventional head-master or * principal * of
a private school is not by any means such an awful
being as the ruler of a great school. The former
wants much of both the power and dignity of the
latter, and is often suspected of being liable to the
common weaknesses of humanity. We hear of him
making jokes and taking snuff. He has parlour
boarders, who report that he eats a good dinner,
and takes a nap after it. He does not confine him-
ON OTHER DOMINIES. 209
self to birching heinous offenders in secret state,
but pervades the whole school, executing extem-
porary justice with canes, rulers, and other vulgar
instruments ; besides which, he is given to getting
angry, and thereupon to scolding and cuffing. He
always is very polite to parents, often a little afraid
of the big boys, and generally very fierce and
terrible to the little ones, frowning at them, and
calling them 'sir' in a way which is extremely
appalling. He has his good-humoured moods too,
and sometimes gives the boys a half-holiday when
he wants to go fishing, or has been promised a new
pupil. He is invariably blessed with a terribly
sharp and sensible wife, who sees that there is
plenty of suet in the dumplings, and not too much
butter on the bread, and who passes the greater
part of her existence alternately in running about
from cupboard to cupboard with a bunch of keys,
and in sitting over a pile of stockings requiring,
though not always deserving, to be darned. By
her aid our worthy schoolmaster is generally able
to retire from business in due course of time, and
passes the rest of his life in a far-off unknown
O
\
2IO ON OTHER DOMINIES.
lotus-land, where dwell the dominies who have had
enough of scourging and scolding. It is remarked
that nobody except Sterne ever saw a dead donkey.
But who ever saw and spoke to, in the flesh, a
retired dominie ?
But if the woful tales which the story-books tell
us of ushers be true, it is a mystery to me how the
junior ranks of the profession are filled up. One
would think that there are not enough spiritless
scarecrows in Britain to teach its middle-class youth.
For the usher is uniformly represented as a pale
and interesting young man, dressed in seedy black,
who has seen better days, and is not likely ever to
see much worse ones. He is snubbed by his em-
ployer and his pupils alike, placed between two
fires. He is not expected to have any opinions of
his own. It is darkly whispered that it is part of
his duty to eat the fat of the parlour boarders, and
to brush the boots upon occasions. Were it not
for his usefulness in this respect, the mistress of
the house doesn't see what's the good of him, and
wonders why her husband's strong arm and loud
voice can't put as much learning as is at all de-
ON OTHER DOMINIES. 211
sirable into his boys' heads. The boys daren't
move or utter a sound before the master himself,
but they have their revenge on the usher. They
chalk the back of his coat, and put stones in his
bed. They joke with him about his personal ap-
pearance. They revile and slander his relatives,
real and fictitious. Under these circumstances, it
is truly miraculous that the unhappy usher does
not forthwith make away with himself ; but in his
life, as set forth by story-writers, there is at least
one bright spot of hope. The principal's daughter
is very likely to be attracted by his melancholy
and interesting looks. The usual results — for de-
scription of which, see the Minerva press, passim —
follow. The course of true love runs not smoothly
for a little, troubled by the suspicious watchfulness
of mamma and some of the sharper pupils, who
perhaps try to jest with the mild usher on the
subject of his attachment, and to their amazement
get a box on the ear, and find that love can turn
the lamb into a lion. At length, if no green-eyed
monster blight their happy love, things go so far
that the young lady threatens to starve herself, or
212 ON OTHER DOMINIES.
gives mysterious hints as to the slimy bottom of
the mill-pond. Thereupon papa relents ; and when
the pupils return after the next holidays to resume
their studies, they find their late victim prepared
to tyrannize over them as son-in-law and partner.
These are the types of dominie whom we meet
with in story-books. Do we meet with them in
real life ? Not often, I -think. I, who have known
many dominies, have found them to be much the
same as other men, of many classes and characters,
wise and foolish, grave and gay — good, bad, and
indifferent. Let me try to call up before the
reader's eye some samples of the profession.
First, we have Mr. A., called by his irreverent
pupils ' Stiff Dick,' not so much because his Chris-
tian name is Richard and his nature inflexible, as
because his hard, mottled face bears some resem-
blance to a certain compound of that name, the
ingredients of which are well known to house-
keepers of boarding-schools. From this it will be
inferred that Mr. A.'s appearance is not prepossess-
ing, and he certainly does not attempt to improve
it by any external aid. For an incredible number
ON OTHER DOMINIES, 213
of years he is fabled never to have been seen out of
the same grim, old-fashioned suit of black, upon
which, nevertheless, no spot or stain is at any time
visible. But no king robed in purple and adorned
with barbaric pearl and gold could be an object of
more terror to his subjects. Stiff Dick is stern,
exact, inexorable. Alas ! for the unhappy juvenile
who, with trembling knees, beholds that cold grey
eye fasten upon him, and hears that hard, immove-
able voice speaking in his ears a Rhadamanthine
sentence from which there can be no appeal. Woe
betide the boy who enters Mr. A.'s classroom with
his hat on, or is detected whispering to his neigh-
bour in school. Thrice fortified with oak and triple
brass must his breast be, likewise his shoulders with
towels or old copy-books, who dares venture on an
untimely joke in that presence. How his pupils
rejoice if, by any lucky chance, he is unable to do
his duty ! This seldom happens though, for Mr. A.
is one of those unhealthy-looking men who are
never ill. For years together he will never be
absent; but day after day, punctual to a moment,
he is at his post, to put the same iron yoke on the
214 ON OTHER DOMINIES.
necks of himself and his pupils. His enemies say
he is cruel and unsympathizing towards boys ; but
one thing they cannot say, that he does not make
them learn and behave themselves so long as they
are under him. One effect of his so-called cruelty
is, that he scarcely ever requires to punish his boys.
More kindly dominies dribble out a far greater
quantity of thrashing and scolding than he does,
and yet do not produce one-half so much order and
diligence. He acts on the principle of concentrating
his forces, and crushing the enemy once and for
all. He is never seen by his boys to smile, or
heard by them to utter an unnecessary word. His
mood is invariable. He never allows either passion
or good-nature to interfere with justice. And thus
he is admired by sensible parents, and feared by
boys as a good disciplinarian and successful teacher.
At all events, he knows what he is teaching, and
teaches it. So many dominies do not know what
they are teaching, and teach it — the devil's lie — that
this world is ruled by chance and caprice, and not
by the strictest and most unalterable laws, which if
a man break, he shall have pain and sorrow.
ON OTHER DOMINIES. 215
A very different kind of dominie is Mr. B., known
in his school as * Billy.' He is a dandified young
dominie, altogether incapable of sternness. His
manner of dealing with boys is to fondle them and
encourage them to be familiar, until they have grown
ungovernable, and then he gets into a rage and calls
them names. He has favourites among them, pretty,
civil little boys, who toady him to his face, and
laugh at him behind his back. He deludes himself
that he is greatly respected and loved by his pupils,
therein labouring under a wonderful hallucination.
But he does not suppose that scholastic pursuits
are his proper sphere in life. He is a man of
fashion. He goes out to tea-parties, and drawls
out polite nothings in the ears of young ladies.
You should see what attention he pays to the
mammas and sisters of his pupils when he can get
a chance. Billy has certainly mistaken his voca-
tion. His colleagues and his boys for once agree
in thinking him a fool. It need not be observed
that there is one strong dissentient from this
opinion.
Mr. C. is a man who should never have been a
2i6 ON OTHER DOMINIES,
dominie. He is too much of a genius. He might
do for a teacher at a university, where I am given
to understand that the professor has nothing to do
but talk, while the students all listen with the ut-
most attention and deference ; but he is not a good
teacher of boys. They, his boys, however, highly
approve of his method. He does not trouble them
much with text-books or set lessons, but delivers
to them long high-flown discourses on any subject
that comes into his head. Upon the slightest
provocation, he recites to them pages of his own
poetry, throwing back his head and rolling out the
words in a way that sounds very fine. You will
see a class of little boys staring at him with great
awe, wondering what it is all about. He likes this,
and thinks he is carrying them along with his
enthusiasm. By-and-by, though, they get accus-
tomed to it, and amuse themselves in his class
by whispering, giggling, and pricking each other
with pins ; so both parties are pleased, the road to
knowledge being made pleasant and easy, though
it may be doubted by the discerning spectator if
much progress is made thereon. Occasionally he
ON OTHER DOMINIES, 217
cannot resist the temptation of lying back in his
chair and giving himself up to a poetic reverie,
which of course his boys take advantage of for
purposes which may be imagined. Thus it is that
Mr. C, though the author of many clever books,
is not a good teacher. He thinks he is, but in
these matters vanity goes a long way. Vanity is
the dominie's besetting sin, and in this respect at
least Mr. C. is a true dominie.
It would be well if he taught his pupils no worse
lessons than those which are contained in his poetry.
It would be well if they could tell no tales of him
lying like a beast in the gutter, unable to reach
his own door. It would be well if scandal-monger-
ing young gentlemen, returning at eleven o'clock
from a juvenile scene of dissipation, had not met
him reeling along the street, arm-in-arm with a
manifest son of Belial, both flown with insolence
and whisky. Eccentricities of genius, some call this ;
eccentricity of Satan, say I. Of all professions, the
teaching of boys should be kept clear of such genius,
unless ballasted by principle and common sense.
Mr. C.'s great friend is Mr. D., a foreigner.
2i8 ON OTHER DOMINIES.
We old-fashioned dominies have a great prejudice
against foreign teachers, and not without reason.
As a rule, they are unsatisfactory in many points.
Mr. D. is a very good example of the class. He
looks down upon the rest of us as slow and preju-
diced. He has a large stock of theories on edu-
cation, which we, in our insular stupidity, do not
see the merit of. He has a theory for communi-
cating knowledge in a particularly rapid way ; and
this theory seems so far successful, that his pupils
forget what he has taught them with as much readi-
ness as he professes to make them acquire it. He
has a theory for maintaining discipline in his classes
without punishment. He has a theory for gaining
the respect of his pupils. He has a theory for
inoculating them with a spontaneous love of all the
virtues. And you should hear him groaning over
the depravity of the juvenile heart which does not
appreciate him and his theories.
One disagreeable peculiarity of Mr. D. is that he
is always labouring under pecuniary difficulties, and
wanting to borrow money. It is very distressing
that people won't give large incomes to teachers
ON OTHER DOMINIES. 219
of languages ; and in this sad case, what can be
more natural than that a person of a theoretical
and imaginative disposition should be in nowise
hindered from launching out into expenses in the
matter of clothes, suppers, and cigars, as it were
obtaining from society on credit the luxuries that
she denies him as a right? And if society, as
represented in the persons of deluded tradesmen,
refuse to recognise the justice of this reasoning, and
threaten actions of law and other practical argu-
ments, money must be borrowed, — the Utopian age,
when clever men shall have as much as they please
of that vile dross, not yet having come. Wherefore
Mr. D. is shunned by his brother dominies, except
C, who never has any money to lend.
Both D. and C. are held in great contempt by
Mr. E., who has been described as the 'heaven-
born dominie.' Pallas-like, he is fabled to have
been born with a Latin grammar in one hand and
a cane in the other. No one can imagine him
ever to have been a boy, or anything else than
a dominie ; and yet a boy he must have been, and
a very naughty boy too, so sharp is he at finding
220 ON OTHER DOMINIES.
out all the misdoings of the boys who have the
ill-fortune to be placed under him. It is a grand
sight to see that energetic little man managing a
class of a hundred boys. Not a word dare one
of them speak, not a trick can they play ; for Mr.
E. seems to have eyes all round his head, and
comes down upon them in a moment. Boys are
his element. I don't know that he has any
great affection for them, but he understands them
thoroughly, and can rule them with a rod of iron.
Not an unkindly man, though. He can be gentle
and patient with the timid boys ; and though he
is sharp and severe with the naughty ones, he has
generally a laugh or a joke to sweeten the stripes
which he inflicts. So, many of the boys like him,
and all respect him. They take a pride in boast-
ing of his sharpness, and of the vigour with which
he can thrash. When they meet him on the street,
they look at him with great awe. He is a public
character to them, and they think themselves highly
honoured if he lifts his stick to his hat in return
for their humble salutation. How they would be
astonished if they saw what a meek and altogether
ON OTHER DOMINIES, 221
ordinary individual their tyrant is at home, where
Mrs. E. looks after him very sharply, I can tell you !
Do you know Dr. F. } (Ph. D., University of Swil-
lingen. Price ;^20.) The secret of F.'s life, which
his boys more than half suspect, is that he is afraid
of them. A man of low birth and scanty educa-
tion, he feels no confidence in giving orders to the
sons of men at whose table he could not dine with-
out reverence and nervousness. He could hector
about the little boys if he had not the fear of their
mammas before his eyes, but he feels unfit to rule
his older pupils ; so he does all he can to make
things go easy. He condescends ! a dangerous ex-
periment, if you have nothing to condescend from.
He tries to imitate Dr. Arnold, and other great and
good dominies, quite forgetting that all men are not
Dr. Arnolds. He calls his boys 'you fellows,' and gets
laughed at by them for his pains, and not always
behind his back even. He tries to dress himself like
them, in soi-disant fashionable apparel, and talks to
them familiarly about their pursuits and pleasures.
But it won't do. Unless you have a character which
will bear the strictest investigation, you must never
222 ON OTHER DOMINIES.
give your pupils cause to suspect that you are a
creature of like passions with themselves. That
gorgeous waistcoat which Dr. F. is fond of wearing
would alone be enough to destroy his influence
with the elder boys. He sometimes plays at
cricket with them, and plays extremely ill. This
is also a great mistake. A dominie should never
do anything before his pupils which he can't do
better than, or at least as well as they. I don't
know that the Prince of Wales would much in-
crease his popularity among learned men, if he
were to undertake to deliver a course of lectures
upon the Origin of Species; certainly his dignity
would suffer.
It will thus be easily seen that Dr. F.'s pupils
look upon him neither with love nor esteem. Be-
coming occasionally sensible of this, he will try to
mend matters by putting on a lion's head, and
roaring ; but they laugh at his bullying as much
as his coaxing. Altogether, Dr. F. is not the sort
of man I should choose to place my sons under, and
yet I believe him to be a very common type of
dominie.
ON OTHER DOMINIES, 223
I had intended to present the reader with por-
traits of other dominies ; but looking over the de-
scriptions I have already written, I find them so
faithful — in my own opinion at least, which is all I
have to go by — that I fear to raise up in wrath a
host of dominies who may find my caps fit, and will
thenceforward look upon all their literary friends
with bitterness and suspicion. So here I shall for-
bear, hastily huddling up my chapter with a few
words on the Ideal dominie.
The ideal dominie is, of course, a man possessed
of all good qualities, and especially of those which
will gain him the obedience and affection of his
pupils. He is wise without being pedantic, firm but
not harsh, active though not meddling. His diges-
tion is never out of order, and consequently he never
loses his temper, but is always considerate with the
thoughtless, patient with the slow and timid. Yet
he can summon up noble anger against the sneak
and the bully, and knows how to record in burning
words the ' sentence of the liar's and the coward's
hell.' He thoroughly understands the nature of
boys, and is well acquainted with all their tricks ;
224 ON OTHER DOMINIES.
but he knows when to see, and when seeing, not to
seem to see. He conducts himself towards them in
such a way as to invite their friendship, and at the
same time to check familiarity. He shows a warm
interest in all their pursuits, and fills them with part
of his own enthusiasm for whatever things are lovely
and useful and of good report. He is in manners
and appearance a thorough gentleman, and in all
his words and deeds an earnest Christian. Thus
he lives happy, honoured, and useful, and will die
lamented and remembered.
Do I, the censurer of other dominies, answer to
this picture } Alas ! no. God knows how hard I
try to do so ; and He knows, too, how much harder
I should try. But there are such men, and I, for my
part, would rather be one of them than emperor of
half the world.
CHAPTER XVII.
RECOLLECTIONS OF A DOMINIE.
* My days are almost done,
My life has been approved,
And many love me ; but by none
Am I enough beloved.'
Wordsworth.
lEVERAL of the members of a class which
was under me half-a-dozen years ago
have lately formed themselves into a
club, the main purpose of which is to entertain me
at dinner every year. This is done, I believe, partly
from a desire to do me honour, partly that old school
friends may meet and keep up their acquaintance
with each other, and partly as an outward and visible
sign that the givers of the feast are no longer boys,
but men.
The first dinner of the club took place a few days
P
226 RECOLLECTIONS OF A DOMINIE.
ago, and I was very well pleased to attend it, though
the feelings were curious and novel enough with
which I met those young men, but a few years ago
the objects of my most anxious thoughts, now almost
strangers to me.
The affair went off very well. Of course my
health was clamorously drunk as the toast of the
evening, the chairman rather nervously making a
grandiloquent speech in my laudation. I don't
suppose all he said about me was true ; if so, I am
about the most perfect character that ever existed
on the face of the earth, except in epitaphs and after-
dinner speeches. Then came more speeches and
songs, and a constant buzz of animated conversa-
tion ; for by this time the young men had all found
their tongues, and were eagerly employed in rak-
ing up stories of the old school-days that already
seemed so far away in the past I did not stay
long, thinking my presence a check on the lads'
conviviality ; for while a few assumed a very swag-
gering and independent tone in my presence, as if
to show that times had changed, most of them were
rather shy, not yet having been able to divest them-
RECOLLECTIONS OF A DOMINIE. 227
selves of their boyish awe, and feeling towards me
very much like the old gentleman Thackeray tells
us of, who could not realize the idea that Dr. Birch
was impotent to whip him.
So I went home, but not to sleep. For this meet-
ing with voices and faces not yet grown unfamiliar
to me, had roused up memories of days gone by
which it was hard to set at rest. I remembered
how these very young men, with shorter coats and
smoother faces, had laughed, and trembled, and
fidgeted, and blundered under my yoke. And I
remembered almost as vividly the first class I ever
taught in this city — with what zeal and care I
worked for their benefit, with what joy and inte-
rest I watched the progress they made, what hopes
I had for the future lives of the most promising
among them, what fears and doubts for the back-
ward. But these hopes and fears and doubts were
not altogether justified by events. There is Smith,
who was always at the head of the class, and whom
I expected to become Prime Minister at least in
the due course of time, but who is at present a very
commonplace, middle-aged gentleman, leading a
228 RECOLLECTIONS OF A DOMINIE.
comfortable and respectable life as manager of a
country insurance office. And Brown, whose fond
parents thought of putting him into the Church,
and whose talents seemed to point the way to
nothing less than an archbishopric, if he did not
. spoil his chance by adopting any very marked theo-
logical opinions, in which case he would become a
fashionable preacher at a chapel of ease, and a
stumbling-block to the Record or the Guardian^ —
Brown, who got so many prizes, ran away from
home, enlisted in the marines, and is said to have
been eaten by a shark off the Barbadoes ; while
that stupid fellow Jones, who sat hopelessly at the
bottom, and showed capacity for nothing but pok-
ing pins into other boys' legs, has developed that
solitary talent to such a purpose, that he is now
^a well-known surgeon and anatomist, making his
thousands a-year. He came to perform an opera-
tion upon me lately, and with more humour than
good taste, reminded me of the painful operations
which my professional duties once compelled me to
perform upon him ; and as a proof that he bore no
malice, refused to take my guinea ; a very unneces-
RECOLLECTIONS OF A DOMINIE, 229
sary scruple, it struck me, as I can safely aver that
the ability which has led him to such a high place in
his profession was in no manner due to the mental
exercise which he underwent in my class, unless,
indeed, constant flogging be efficacious for the secret
development of unknown genius. And Robinson,
who I always thought would go to the dogs, went
to India instead as a beardless ensign, showed great
pluck and prudence in command of an out-station
attacked by the enemy, rose rapidly to high com-
mand, and has written his name in the imperishable
rolls of Clio with the letters K.C.B. after it. So
true is it that boys are but ' pretty,* or ugly, ' buds
unblown,' from the appearance of which it is not
always safe to judge the flower.
What says the poet, par excellence^ of schoolboy
life, in writing of old companions who were not as
*once he knew them ?'
* Tom Mill was used to blacken eyes
Without the fear of sessions ;
Charles Medlar loathed false quantities,
As much as false professions.
Now Mill keeps order in the land,
A magistrate pedantic.
230 RECOLLECTIONS OF A DOMINIE.
And Medlar's feet repose unscanned
Beneath the wide Atlantic.
Wild Nick, whose oaths made such a din,
Does Dr. Martext's duty ;
And Mullion, with that monstrous chin,
Is married to a beauty.
And Darrell studies, week by week,
His Mant, and not his Manton ;
And Ball, who was but poor at Greek,
Is very rich at Canton.'
But there are some boys whose career I could
almost prophesy from the time of my first making
their acquaintance: Robert Goodboy, for instance.
Master Bobby was one of those wonders seldom
entrusted to the care of sceptical and inconsiderate
dominies. The list of his perfections summed up
to me by his mamma when she first brought him
to school, was something truly amazing, and only
to be equalled by the fresh springs of virtue which
she discovered in him from time to time, and duly
informed me of on visiting days. Nor, when I
came to know the prodigy, did I find these perfec-
tions so imaginary as they are in the minds of most
fond mammas. He was a painfully good boy. He
never was idle or naughty; at least he never was
RECOLLECTIONS OF A DOMINIE. 231
found out He always learned his lessons well, and
got all the prizes. He never wasted his time in
shouting or scrambling or wrestling with the other
boys. He never went home with his collar crushed
or his trousers muddy. He was always so neat and
clean and proper-looking. He kept at a distance
from the other boys, and was so proudly conscious
of his own rectitude, that he sometimes volunteered
to tell me of their misdeeds, and I dare say had his
equanimity afterwards disturbed by a good kicking
for his pains. Thus he passed through the school
with a great reputation for scholarship and good
behaviour, but without profiting by the lessons of
courage, frankness, and unselfishness which are to
be learned among honest, kindly boys, and which
I would far rather see a boy learn than all the Latin
and Greek in the world.
I can't say that I was very sorry to part with my
friend Master Goodboy, though he had gained me
so much credit in the eyes of his admiring parents
and friends. Of many boys I take leave with dread
and anxiety, loving them much, and knowing that
their hearts are weak and their passions strong.
232 RECOLLECTIONS OF A DOMINIE.
But I had no fear for his welfare. From his infancy
success in life had been the object held up by his
judicious father for him to aspire to, and I felt sure
that in one sense of the word he would be successful
in life ; and I was right. He distinguished himself
at the university, and became a lawyer, and a most
able and diligent one. He grew into practice and
a large income, and is now known all over the city
as a most respectable and wealthy man, and i^
bringing up a large family to walk in the same
paths of propriety and prosperity. He is also a
great man in a certain section of the religious world,
whose views he adopted early in life, and thereupon
began to shun my acquaintance, and to speak
doubtfully of my moral character, professing to
have discovered that I was unsound in my views of
justification by faith. A most respectable and
honourable man, no doubt, but I never heard of his
making a friend or doing an unselfish action, or
lifting a finger — except by way of subscription —
against the sin and sorrow that oppress his less
favoured fellow-creatures. Perhaps I do him wrong,
but I cannot think of him without reflecting how
RECOLLECTIONS OF A DOMINIE. 233
little it profits man or boy to gain prizes and scholar-
ships and thousands a year if he grow not brave
and kindly and noble.
Robert Goodboy's great rival in the class was
Frank Favourite, who was as clever and idle and
open-hearted as Robert was industrious and re-
served. Frank was every one's friend but his own ;
he was carelessly condescending even to the sneaks
and the boobies. But he was spoiled by too much
friendship, for his companions flattered him and
paid him the homage of boyish admiration, dazzled
by his handsome face and graceful figure. Boys
worship beauty more than would be supposed,
especially when joined to strength and courage.
He was their leader in every game, and first in
every study to which he thought it worth while
to apply himself. But to some dispositions admira-
tion is a deadly posion. Frank was a sad example
of this. As he grew into the passions and the
thoughts of manhood, his vanity increased, and
drowned in his heart much of his purer nature.
The sky of his life seemed bright and clear, and
the breeze was fair, and he saw not the rocks
234 RECOLLECTIONS OF A DOMINIE,
that lay hid beneath the smooth waves. And he
listened to the sirens singing sweetly that good was
evil, and evil good ; and he shunned not the island
of Circe whereon grew tempting fruits, bright and
blooming to the eye, but bitter and baneful to
the soul. I saw his danger, and earnestly warned
him of it, telling him of the perils and sorrows
that beset the way of life, and the laws of God
that no man can despise and be in safety. But
he heeded me not, and proud in his youths and
his strength, went on to his fate, which in time he
met For thoughtless pleasure led on to folly,
and folly to crime — crime done in a moment, and
blasting a lifetime. He awoke then, and knew
that he had foundered in storm and darkness.
And then he found the worth of the friends who
had once flattered and followed him. They still
agreed that he was *a fine fellow,' and pitied his
misfortunes ; but being now steady, respectable men
of business, they * could not see their way* to help
him. If he had come to me, I would have welcomed
and forgiven him, and done my best to raise him
from the slough into which he had fallen. But
RECOLLECTIONS OF A DOMINIE, 235
no, he was too proud to humble himself thus,
having long ago left me in disgust, thinking me
a mouldy old owl, that loved the shade and hated
the sunshine. And he did not turn to the Teacher
whose lesson he had neglected to learn, praying
to be forgiven and chastened and taught anew —
at least we fear not. For the proud spirit that
had led him into such trouble gave way under
it; and he did that which placed him beyond
human help. He shot himself in despair, or as
the coroner's jury, being good-natured men, more
delicately called it, 'temporary insanity.* How
many perish thus from that fearful insanity which
makes them forget the end and conditions of their
being !
There was a boy in that class whom Frank,
with all his geniality, might have passed with a
scornful nod, or perhaps with a patronizing kick.
He was slow and awkward, and sullen and cowardly,
and lived a sad and a solitary life among his
schoolfellows, branded by them with the name of
*Mufif.' He could not run, nor fight, nor play
cricket, and he cried when he was hurt, and
236 RECOLLECTIONS OF A DOMINIE,
trembled and equivocated when he was going to
be punished. I, with foolish haste, agreed to the
verdict of his companions, and put him down as
a hopelessly bad boy; and if I had known his
parents, would have advised them to remove him
from the school. And, actuated by dislike and
contempt almost as much as by just severity, I
did my share to make his life wretched. I after-
wards bitterly repented of my rash and hasty
opinion of him. But I was young thei^ and had
not learned how closely evil and good are often
interwoven in the heart. It was so with him ;
for though he sometimes lied, and sulked, and
sneaked, he had within the seeds of a nobler life,
— seeds which ripened in time to a warm love for
things lovely and of good report, and an earnest
desire to follow these things. One day I was
astonished to find him exposing himself to punish-
ment, rather than deceive me in a way which the
conventional morality of schoolboys does not teach
them to regard as shameful. After this I watched
him closely, and was able to perceive that his
heart had been breathed upon by the mysterious
RECOLLECTIONS OF A DOMINIE, 237
Spirit that bloweth where it listeth ; and for years
afterwards, as long as he remained under my care,
I saw from afar off, as it were, and rejoiced in
the conflict between good and evil which had been
stirred up within him. The good conquered, and
the boy whom I had despised grew strong in
heart, and bravely wrestled with sullenness, idle-
ness, and cowardice, and all his besetting sins.
When he left me he went to the university, and
in due time became a clergyman, and is now
fighting against the poverty, misery, and ignorance
of one of our large towns, the same good fight as he
once fought against Satan in his own heart. And
whenever I hear him preach, I feel humble and
ashamed, and resolve to beware of judging rashly
of that which no human eye can discern fully.
Another clergyman, who was in the same class,
was John Standfast. He was a sterling boy, and
one could perceive his value at a glance. Genial
and spirited, and moderately industrious, he was a
favourite both with his schoolfellows and his mas-
tei-s. Above all, we loved him because he spoke
the truth. Whatever might be the consequences.
238 RECOLLECTIONS OF A DOMINIE.
no lie or equivocation ever faltered from his lips,
and his eye looked unflinchingly into yours, even
while you were unlocking the sacred drawer, and
drawing forth the fatal instrument of punishment.
He seldom had to be punished, and, when he had,
took it without a murmur, if he knew he had de-
served it. He loved justice with the true love of a
high-spirited boy. I remember one day being in
doubt whether I should allow Master Goodboy to
go above him, and be marked at the head of the
class or not. From the circumstances of the case, I
felt a delicacy in giving judgment, and appealed to
the opinion of the whole class. They almost unani-
mously pronounced in favour of John, and the
affair was, as I thought, settled. But he stood up,
and said that he thought the other boys were wrong,
and that he should lose his place. I ordered it to
be so, without comment ; but I could have hugged
him with delight.
Another incident showed more clearly his cha-
racter, and the part he was to play in after life. I
had just finished punishing a boy who was hisjidus
Achates, when I heard a voice very audibly exclaim-
RECOLLECTIONS OF A DOMINIE, 239
ing, * Cheat !' It took me a minute to recover from
the shock of this unusual interruption, and then I
asked who had spoken. There was a pause, during
which the boys looked wonderingly at each other,
and then Standfast stood up. ' Did you use that
word ?' * Yes,* he answered in a low tone, his face
growing crimson. 'And did you apply it to me?'
* Yes,' in a still lower tone. * What did you mean V
* I thought you were unjust to — .* I made a slight
gesture, which he misunderstood, and was coming
boldly out to take his punishment; but I ordered
him to sit down again, and rather to his own sur-
prise, and that of the class, took no further notice
of the matter till school was over. I then had a
long private talk with him, in which I pointed out
to him that his friend had clearly deserved punish-
ment, and that even if I had been wrong, it was
not any boy's place to correct me in such a sum-
mary fashion. John had already begun to repent
of his hasty enthusiasm, and he was quite con-
vinced by my arguments that he had done wrong,
and most amply apologized both at once and after-
wards in presence of the whole class. But I
240 RECOLLECTIONS OF A DOMINIE.
thought all the better of him for it, and I often
afterwards thought of this incident when he had
gained a certain notoriety by presuming to doubt
the infallibility of more dignified teachers.
John went into the Church, and there ran his
head against the dogmas of certain learned doctors,
who affirmed that God had said so and so, which it
seemed to his mind it would be wron^ even of
God to say. Yet he could not say that God was
unjust, not because he feared, but because he loved
Him, and wished to believe in Him. It was a sore
trial for his brave, honest heart, whose notions of
right and wrong were thus shaken. At length,
like a flash of light, it came into his mind that,
after all, God might be true, and men only the
liars ; and thereupon, casting the authority of the
Church and the learned doctors to the winds, he
rose up from the quagmire of doubt, and, strong
in the strength of humble hope and loving faith,
set himself to find out as wisely and diligently as
he could what God had said, and to do his best
to preach that and nought else to a world sadly
deaf to such sayings. And the conclusion he came
RECOLLECTIONS OF A DOMINIE. 241
to was, that it was very easy to say what was God's
word, but very difficult to say what was not God's
word. And this conclusion was so different from
that of certain other reasoners on the subject, that
some of these felt it their duty to proclaim him a
herald of Antichrist. But he worked on and cared
not, or tried to care not, and to look only to God,
who knew his heart. It was a hard fight that he
fought, for both the friends of Satan and many of
those who called themselves the friends of God
were his foes. At length, faint with wounds, and
tired of the dust and the shouting of the battle,
he passed away, leaving behind him unseen but
lasting monuments in the hearts of those whom
he had rescued from darkness and led into light.
And though he was so ' unsound,' I have no fears
for his welfare in the next world, such as I should
have if the editor of the Christian Chronicle were
the judge of heaven as well as of earth.
Charley Tender was a very different boy, and
made a very different kind of parson. He was
always timid and gentle and delicate, and the
other boys laughed at him for his girlish fea-
Q
242 RECOLLECTIONS OF A DOMINIE.
tures and fair silken locks, though on the whole
he was a pet and a favourite among them. Mas-
ter Charley was rather dreamy and idle ; but I am
afraid I did not do my duty to him, and may there-
fore be blamed by stern persons of Calvinistic per-
suasions for his subsequent perversions. He was
so tender and fragile-looking, that I never could
bear to punish him, especially when he looked up
into my face with his mild blue eyes in a way
which seemed amply to confess his fault and to
plead for mercy. This always disarms me. When
a boy is bold and defiant, I have no difficulty in
thrashing him ex sententiay but it is hard to steel
the heart and be cruel towards one who is penitent
and submissive. And so Charley got off many a
well-deserved chastisement, and never excelled at
anything except making sentimental poetry, which
was an intellectual exertion far more pleasant to
him than the mastery of hard facts and dusty
theories. He seemed fit, indeed, only to lie on
the rose-leaves of life, and I feared for him if he
should be exposed to the keen blasts and the
pelting haiL
RECOLLECTIONS OF A DOMINIE. 243
He went into the Church, and became a very
earnest clergyman, after a particular type of ear-
nestness which is much in vogue at present. He
rejoiced greatly at the wisdom of the Church and
the Fathers, and mourned pathetically over the
vulgar, prosaic perversity of Dissenters and all
other unhappy persons led astray by the devil. He
made himself dear to the ladies of his flock by the
gentleness and fragileness which are so becoming
to young curates, and look so very like the highest
forni of sanctity. He quarrelled with the men —
how he ever could have quarrelled with any one I
can't imagine — about his way of conducting the
services, in which certain keen - eyed Protestants
thought they could perceive the hand of the Scarlet
Woman. And when the recent Ritualistic move-
ment began to agitate the Church, it may be cer-
tain that Charley threw himself into it heart and
soul. Despising the scruples of a crass and pre-
judiced vestry, he would have lavished all his small
patrimony upon candles and flowers and vestments,
by which men of his turn of mind seriously and sin-
cerely believe that they can please the Maker of all
244 RECOLLECTIONS OF A DOMINIE,
things. He furthermore began to hint at a mys-
terious priestly power which he possessed, and to
renounce the time-honoured name of Protestant.
These proceedings roused such a storm among his
sober parishioners, that in spite of the sympathy
and silent support of many enthusiastic maidens, he
found the place grow too hot for his tender nature,
and fled for refuge to a community of monks lately
established under the very nose of the Record,
They received him with joy, cropped his hair, called
him after the name of some forgotten saint, and
thenceforth Charley disappeared from the world.
I have heard that he is killing himself by fasts and
penances and vigils, and that he has expressed him-
self ready to glorify God by his death. Opinions
differ, but for my part I should have more respect
for a God who is to be glorified in healthy life and
activity.
And many other boys I could tell about who are
just the same to-day as I knew them at school, and
have been distinguished in life for the same qualities
that marked them there. I remember how Dick
used to hold himself aloof from the other boys, and
RECOLLECTIONS OF A DOMINIE, 245
skulk about the secret corners of the playground
with a scowl on his face, though he was so kind-
hearted that he wouldn't hurt a fly. He said such
clever things sometimes, but he did nothing but
dream over his lessons, and behaved so oddly that
he went by the name of * Madman.' He is a cele-
brated author now, of the cynical and denunciatory
type, and some people still call him mad, especially
those whom he has lashed with his satirical invec-
tives ; but there must be some method in his mad-
ness, or else rumour lies as to the large sums which
he is said to receive for his writings. Then Tom,
who as a boy was always so pompous, one might
easily have known that he would come to be an
alderman and a great local politician. And Harry,
who got the Victoria Cross the other day, used to
fight with his friends of all sizes at school, in the
same dogged and dauntless way which the Russians
and the Sepoys afterwards had such sad experi-
ence of.
But once summon forth the shadowy train of the
Past, and it is hard to cry * cease.' Memories of all
246 RECOLLECTIONS OF A DOMINIE.
my life come crowding before my eyes, filling my
heart with a pleasant pain and a sweet bitterness.
The memory of my childhood comes back to me
with a dream of kindly words and loving faces and
bright flowers and merry sunshine, and childish
pleasures and sorrows that are pleasures and sor-
rows no more. Then the hopeful flush "and strength
of youth, and the earnest battle of manhood, and
the cares and the labours that are perhaps vain in
the sight of man, but fruitful in the sight of God.
And after all, to be alone !
Alone, yet not alone. For I know that God is
with me, not on particular days nor in particular
buildings, but throughout my life and till death. I
may seem to some to speak pharisaically ; but I
must speak the truth. I am proud and thankful
that He has not made me as other men, drunkards,
adulterers, extortioners, revilers, but has turned my
heart to seek after the wisdom of the just. And I
am humble too, knowing how little I am worthy of
such blessing. But ought I not to rejoice }
At any rate, whatever may be my joys and sor-
rows, they are but for a little while. I am at school
RECOLLECTIONS OF A DOMINIE. 247
in this world, and, like my schoolfellows, I am
blundering, and careless, and ignorant. But I shall
soon be summoned to the presence of the Great
Teacher, from whose lips I shall learn clearly and
perfectly the lesson of life in a little while.
Very solemn should be the recollections of one
drawing near to the end of life. Alas for him who
then looks down the long vista of years, and sees
nought but the wrecks of wasted strength and empty
pleasures and broken vows ! Happy will he be who
knows that he has tried to be brave, and pure, and
useful, and having laboured faithfully to spend the
talents committed to him, waits in humble hope for
the day when the angel chorus will come forth to
meet him with their glad welcome, when every tear
of earth shall be wiped away from his face, and he
shall join the glorious multitude for whom their
Father's love has conquered Satan, and sin, and sor-
row, and brought them to dwell for ever in the city
of the Lord.
I may have failed to make it clear whether the
dominie's life is the happiest or the most miserable
lot on earth. Perhaps in my inmost heart I am not
248 RECOLLECTIONS OF A DOMINIE.
altogether certain on this point myself. But this I
am sure of, that the diligent and faithful dominie
shall have a better and more enduring reward than
aught of earthly joys and sorrow can either make
or mar.
THE END.
MURRAY AND GIBB, EDINBURGH,
PRINTERS TO HER MAJESTY'S STATIONERY OFFICE.
A SELECTION FROM CATALOGUE
OF
IPoplar anb Stanbarb §oofes
PUBLISHED BY
WILLIAM P. NIMMO, EDUBTJE&H.
*,* Complete Catalogue of Mr. Nimmo's Publications, choicely printed
and elegantly bound, suitable for the Library, Presentation, and School
Prizes, etc. etc., will be forwarded gratis, post free, on application.
* Mr. Nimimds hooks are well known as marvels oy cheapness,
elegance, and stei'ling woi'thJ' — Observer.
NIMMO'S POPULAR EDITION
OF
THE WORKS OF THE POETS.
In fcap. 8vo, printed on toned paper, elegantly bound in cloth extra, with
emblematic design worked in gold and black, price Ss. 6d. each; or in
morocco antique, raised and illuminated, price Ts. 6d. each; or morocco
extra, illuminated and raised, elaborate new design, price 8s. 6d. each ; or
Caledonian wood, fern pattern, morocco extra back, price IDs. Each Volume
contains a Memoir, and is illustrated with a Portrait of the Author engraved
on Steel, and numerous full-page Illustrations on Wood, from designs by
eminent Artists ; also beautiful Illuminated Title-page.
1. LONGFELLOW'S POETICAL WORKS.
2. SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS.
3. BYRON'S POETICAL WORKS.
4. MOORE'S POETICAL WORKS.
5. WORDSWORTH'S POETICAL WORKS.
[Continued on next page.
Joohs jntblisl^tb bg SSUliam ^. Jprnnui.
NIMMO'S POPULAR EDITION OF THE
WORKS OF THE POETS,
CONTINUED.
6. COWPER'S POETICAL WORKS.
7. MILTON'S POETICAL WORKS.
8. THOMSON'S POETICAL WORKS.
9. GOLDSMITH'S CHOICE WORKS.
10. POPE'S POETICAL WORKS.
11. BURNS' POETICAL WORKS.
12. THE CASQUET OF GEMS. Choice Selections
from the Poets.
13. THE BOOK OF HUMOROUS POETRY.
14. BALLADS : Scottish and English.
15. BUNYAN'S PILGRIM'S PROGRESS and
HOLY WAR.
16. LIVES OF THE BRITISH POETS.
17. THE PROSE WORKS OF ROBERT BURNS.
18. POEMS; SONGS, AND BALLADS OF THE
SEA.
*^* This Series of Books, from the very superior manner in which
it is produced, is at once the cheapest and handsomest edition of the
Poets in the market. The volumes form elegant and appropriate Pre-
sents as School Prizes and Gift-Books, either in cloth or morocco.
' They are a marvel of cheapness, some of the volumes extending to as many as
700, and even 900, pages, printed on toned paper in a beautifully clear type. Add
to this, that they are profusely illustrated with wood engravings, are elegantly
and tastefully bound, and that they are published at 38. 6d. each, and our recom-
mendation of them is complete.' — Scotsman.
Soohi pnblis^t2i bg SBilltam ^. |[immo.
NIMMO'S SELECT LIBRARY.
New Series of Choice Boohs, beautifully printed on superfine paper, pro-
fusely Illustrated with original Engravings by the first Artists, and
elegantly bound in cloth and gold, large crovm 8vo, price 5s. each.
Second Edition.
1. Almost Paultless : A Story of the Present Day. By the
Author of ' A Book for Governesses.'
* The author has written a capital story in a high moral tone/ The
Court Journal.
Second Edition.
2. Lives of Old English Worthies before the Conquest.
By W. H. Davenport Adams.
' The author's aim is to illuminate, what may be regarded as obscure,
certain periods of historic England, accompanied with biographical
sketches.' — Courant.
Second Edition.
3. Every-Day Objects ; or, Picturesque Aspects of Natural
History. By W. H. Davenport Adams.
• As an introduction to heavier works, by awakening in the youth-
ful understanding a taste for knowledge in natural science, and giving
them a brief but clear insight into the why and the wherefore of much
they wonder at, this book will serve a very useful purpose.' — The
Examiner.
Third Edition.
4. My Schoolboy Priends : A Story of Whitminster Grammar
School. By AscoTT K. Hope, Author of 'A Book about Domi-
nies,' ' Stories of School Life,' etc.
'This is a most interesting book. Boys, for whom it is especially
written, will thoroughly enjoy it.' — Westminster Beview.
Second Edition.
5. Drifted and Sifted: A Domestic Chronicle of the Seven-
teenth Century,
'The author of this interesting, and we may add pathetic, story
appears to possess the art of reproducing bygone times with much
ability.'— r^e Record.
6. Warrior, Priest, and Statesman ; or, English Heroes in the
Thirteenth Century. By W. H. Davenport Adams.
7. Totty Testudo. The Life and Wonderful Adventures of
Totty Testudo. An Autobiography by Flora F. Wyldk.
' The book is of engrossing interest, and the reader will be astonished,
as he lays it down, to find that he has been able to get so much
entertainment and instruction from the personal adventures of a
tortoise.' — Inverness Courier.
Sooks {pibUsljeb bg William ^. ^tmmo.
NIMMO'S FIVE SHILLING ILLUSTRATED
GIFT BOOKS.
Grown 8vo, beantifully printed on snperfine paper, profusely illustrated
by eminent Artists, and richly bound in cloth and gold, and gilt
edges, price 5s. each.
SKCO!n> EDmoN.
1. Sword and Pen ; or, English Worthies in the Eeign of
Elizabeth, By W. H. Davenport Adams.
' A more toholesome book for young readers we have seldom seen.' —
The AtheruBum.
Secokd Editiow.
2. Norrie Seton ; or, Driven to Sea. By Mrs. George Oupples,
Author of ' Unexpected Pleasures,' etc.
' Mrs. Cupples has given to the boys in this volume just the sort of
sea-story with which they will be delighted.' — The Scotsman.
Second EDmoN.
3. The Circle of the Year; or, Studies of Nature and
Pictures of the Seasons. By W. H. Davenport Adams.
' Its purpose is to tell both young and old, but especially the former,
how much of interest there is in everything connected with nature.* —
BelVs Messenger.
Second Edition.
4. The Wealth of Nature : Our Pood Supplies from the
Vegetable Kingdom. By the Eev. John Montgomery, A.M.
' It would be difficult to put Into the hands of any boy or girl a
volume which more equally combines the instructive and interesting
in literature.'— A^. B. Mail.
Fourth Edition.
5. Stories of School Life. By Ascott E. Hope.
6. Stories of Prench School Life. By Ascott E. Hope.
* We were among the many who greatly admired Mr. Hope's " Stories
of School Life "and "Stories about Boys," and when we found that
he had undertaken to illustrate French school life, we gladly opened
the volume. The stories are interesting in the highest degree ; they
appeal to the best sympathies of the lads for whom they are written.
They set forth the right and the true against the false, and they are
full of good, hearty humour.' — Public Opinion.
Sookt (isblis^tb bg SEtilliam ^. |l^immo.
NIMMO'S UNIVERSAL GIFT BOOKS.
A Series of excellent Works, profusely Tlltistrated with original Engravings
by the first Artists, choicely printed on superfine paper, and elegantly
bound in cloth and gold, and gilt edges, a'own 8w, price 3a. 6d. each.
1. Eupert Kochester, the Banker's Son. A Tale. By
WmiFKED Taylor, Author of ' Story of Two Lives,' etc.
2. The Story of Two Lives ; or, The Trials of Wealth and
Poverty. By Winifred Tatlor, Author of • Rupert Roches-
ter,' etc.
3. The Lost lather ; or, Cecilia's Triumph. A Story of
our own Day. By Dartl Holms.
4. Christian Osborne's Friends. By Mrs. Harriet Miller
Davidson, Author of * Isobel Jardine's History,' and Daughter
of the late Hugh Miller.
5. Tales of Old English Life ; or, Pictnres of the Periods.
By WiLUAM Francis Collier, LL.D., Author of ' History of
English Literature,' etc.
6. The Tonng Mountaineer ; or, Frank Miller's Lot in Life.
The Story of a Swiss Boy. By Dartl Holme.
7. Mnngo Park's Life and Travels. With a Supplementary
Chapter, detailing the results of recent Discovery in Africa.
8. The Spanish Inquisition : Its Heroes and Martyrs. By
Janet Gordon, Author of ' Champions of the Reformation,'
etc.
9. Wisdom, Wit, and Allegory. Selected from ' The Spec-
tator.'
10. Benjamin Franklin : A Biography. From the celebrated
'Life' by Jared Sparks, and the more recent and extensive
' Life and Times' by J.imks Parton.
11. Wallace, the Hero of Scotland: A Biography. By
James Paterson.
12. Epoch Men, and the Eesults of their Lives. By Samuel
Neil.
[Continued on next page.
NIMMO'S UNIVERSAL GIFT BOOKS-continued.
13. The Mirror of Oharacter. Selected from the Writings
of OvKRBURY, Earlk, and Butler.
14. Men of History. By Eminent "Writers.
15. Old-World Worthies ; or, Classical Biography. Selected
,from Plutarch's Lives.
16. Women of History. By Eminent Writers.
17. The Improvement of the Mind. By Isaac Watts, D.D.
18. The Man of Business considered in Six Aspects. A
Book for Young Men.
19. Stories about Boys. By Ascott E. Hope, Author of
'Stories of School Life,' 'My Schoolboy Friends,' etc. etc.
20. Violet Eivers; or, Loyal to Duty. A Tale for Girls.
By Winifred Taylor, Author of ' Story of Two Lives,' etc
21. The Twins of Saint -Marcell .■ A Tale of Paris Incendie.
By Mrs. A. S. Orr, Author of 'The Roseville Family,' etc. etc.
22. George's Enemies: A Sequel to 'My Schoolboy
Friends,' By Ascott E. Hope, Author of 'Stories about
Boys,' etc. etc.
23. Eound the G-range Parm ; or, Good Old Times. By
Jean L. Watson, Author of ' Bygone Days in our Village,' etc.
24. Friendly Pairies ; or, Once upon a Time.
25. Curious and Instructive Stories about Wild Animals and
Birds. With numerous Illustrations.
26. Stories from over the Sea. With Illustrations.
27. The Story of a Noble Life ; or, Zurich and its Eeformer
Ulric Zwingle. By Mrs. Hardy (Janet Gordon), Author of
' The Spanish Inquisition,' ' Champions of the Keformation,'
etc. etc.
28. Stories of Whitminster. By Ascott E. Hope, Author of
'My Schoolboy Friends,' 'Stories about Boys,' etc. etc.
•^* This elegant and useful Series of Books has been specially
prepared for School and College Prizes: they are, however, equally
suitable for General Presentation. In selecting the works for this
Series, the aim of the Publisher has been to produce books of a perma-
nent value, interesting in manner and instructive in matter — books that
youth will read eagerly and with profit, and which will be found equally
attractive in after-life.
NIMMO'S HALF-GROWN REWARD BOOKS.
Extra foolscap 8vo, cloth elegant, gilt edges, lUxistrated,
price 2s. 6d. each,
1. Memorable Wars of Scotland. By Patrick Praser Tytler,
F.R.S.E., Author of ' The History of Scotland,' etc.
2. Seeing the World : A Young Sailor's own Story, By
Charles Nordhoff, Author of * The Young Man-of-War's-
Man.'
3. The Martyr Missionary: Pive Years in China. By
Bev. Oharlbs P. Bush, M.A.
4. My New Home : A Woman's Diary.
5. Home Heroines: Tales for Girls. By T. S. Arthur,
Author of ' Life's Crosses,' etc.
6. Lessons from Women's Lives. By Sarah J. Hale.
7. The Eoseville Pamily. A Historical Tale of the
Eighteenth Century. By Mrs. A. S. Orr, Author of ' Mountain
Patriots,' etc.
8. Leah. A Tale of Ancient Palestine. Illustrative of
the Story of Naaman the Syrian. By Mrs. A. S. Orr.
9. Champions of the Eeformation : The Stories of their
Lives. By Janet Gordon.
10. The History of Two Wanderers ; or, Cast Adrift.
11. Beattie's Poetical Works.
12. The Vicar of Wakefield. By Oliver Goldsmith.
13. Edgar Allan Poe's Poetical Works.
14. The Miner's Son, and Margaret Vernon. By M. M.
Pollard, Author of ' The Minister's Daughter,' etc. etc.
15. How Prank began to Climb the Ladder, and the Friends
who lent him a hand. By Charles Bruce, Author of ' Lame
Felix,' etc.
16. Conrad and Columbine, A Pairy Tale. By James
Mason.
17. Aunt Ann's Stories. Edited by Louisa Loughborough.
18. The Snow- Sweepers' Party, and the Tale of Old Tubbios.
By 11. St. John Corbet, Author of 'Mince Pie Island,' etc. etc.
19. The Story of Elise Marcel. A Tale for Girls.
8 gooks {fublif^cb bg SRUIiam J. 9tmmo.
NIMMO'S TWO SHILLING REWARD BOOKS.
Foolscap 8vo, Illustrated, elegantly bound in cloth extra, bevelled
boards, gilt back and side, gilt edges, price 2s. each.
1. The Par North: Explorations in the Arctic Begions.
By Elisha Kent Kanb, M.D.
2. The Young Men of the Bible. A Series of Papers, Bio-
graphical and Suggestive. By Rev. Joseph A. Collier.
3. The Blade and the Ear ; A Book for Young Men.
4. Monarchs of Ocean : Oolumbus and Oook.
5. Life's Grosses, and How to Meet them. By T. S. Arthur.
6. A Father's Legacy to his Daughters, etc. A Book for
Young Women. By Dr. Gregory.
7. Great Men of European History. Prom the Beginning of
the Christian Era till the Present Time. By David Pryde, M. A.
8. Mouutain Patriots. A Tale of the Eeformation in
Savoy. By Mrs. A. S. Orr.
9. Labours of Love. By Winifred Taylor,
10. Mossdale. By Anna M. De longh.
11. The Standard-Bearer. A Tale of the Times of Oon-
stantine the Great. By Ellen Palmer.
12. Jacqueline. A Story of the Eeformation in Holland.
By Mrs. Hardy (Janet Gordon).
13. Lame Pelix. A Book for Boys. By Charles Bruce.
14. Picture Lessons by the Divine Teacher ; or, Illustrations
of the Parables of our Lord. By Peter Grant, D.D.
15. Nonna s A Story of Julian the Apostate. By E. Palmer.
16. Philip "Walton; or, Light at Last. By the Author of
* Meta Frantz,' etc.
17. The Minister's Daughter, and Old Anthony's "WilL
Tales for the Young. By M. M. Pollard.
18. The Two Sisters. By M. M. Pollard, Author of 'The
Miner's Son,' etc. etc,
19. A Needle and Thread : A Tale for Girls. By Emma J.
Barnes, Author of ' Faithful and True, or the Mother's Legacy.'
20. Taken Up: A Tale for Boys and Girls. By A. Whymper.
21. An Earl's Daughter. By M. M. Pollard.
22. Life at Hartwell; or, frank and his Priends. By
Katherijsk E. May, Author of ' Alfred and his Mother,' etc. etc.
23. Stories Told in a Pisherman's Cottage. By Ellen Palmer,
Author of 'Nonna,' etc. etc.
24. Max Wild, the Merchant's Son ; and other Stories for
the Young.
NIMMO'S EIGHTEENPENNY REWARD BOOKS.
Demy 18mo, lUustrated, cloth extra, gilt edges, price Is. 6d. each.
1. The Vicar of Wakefield. Poems and Essays. By Oliver
Goldsmith.
2. iEsop's Fables, with Instructive Applications. By Dr.
Cbo3
3. Banyan's Pilgrim's Progress.
4. The Young Man-of-War's-Man : A Boy's Voyage round the
"World. By Chables Nordhoff, Author of 'Seeing the
World.'
5. The Treasury of Anecdote: Moral and Beligious.
6. The Boy's Own Workshop ; or. The Young Carpenters.
By Jacob Abbott.
7. The Life and Adventures of Bobinson Crusoe.
8. The History of Sandford and Merton. A Moral and Instruc-
tive Lesson for Young Persons.
9. Evenings at Home ; or, The Juvenile Budget Opened. Con-
sisting of a variety of Miscellaneous Pieces for the Instruction
and Amusement of Young Persons. By Dr. AiKm and Mrs.
Babbauld.
la Unexpected Pleasures ; or. Left alone in the Holidays. By
Mrs. Georob Cupples, Author of ' Norrie Seton,' etc.
•,* The above Series of elegant and useful books is specially pre-
pared for the entertainment and instruction of young persons.
lo jBookt pnblts^eb fag SSttlliam ^. J^ntmo.
NIMMO'8 .SUNDAY-SCHOOL REWARD BOOKS.
Foolscap 8vo, cloth extra, gilt edges, Illustrated, price Is. 6d. each.
1. Bible Blessings. By "Rev. Kichard Newton.
2. One Hour a Week : Fifty-two Bible Lessons for the Young.
3. The Best Things. By B^v. Eichard Newton.
4. Grace Harvey and her Cousins.
5. Lessons from Eose Hill ; and Little Nannette.
6. Great and Good Women : Biographies for Girls. By
Lydia H. Sigourney.
7. At Home and Abroad; or, Uncle William's Adventures.
8. The Kind Governess; or, How to make Home Happy.
9. Christmas at the Beacon: A Tale for the Young. By
Ellen Palmer.
10. The Sculptor of Bruges. By Mrs. W. G. Hall.
11. The Story of a Moss Eose; or, Euth and the Orphan
Family. By Charles Bruce.
12. The Swedish Singer ; or, The Story of Vanda EosendahL
By Mrs. W. G. Hall.
13. My Beautiful Home; or, Lily's Search. By Chas. Bruce.
14. Alfred and his Mother ; or, Seeking the Kingdom. By
Kathkrine E. May.
15. Asriel ; or. The Crystal Cup. A Tale for the Young.
By Mrs. Henderson.
16. Wilton School ; or, Harry Campbell's Eevenge. A Tale.
By F. E. Weatherlt.
17. Percy and Ida. By Katherine E. May.
18. Fred Graham's Eesolve. By the Author of * Mat and Sofle,*
etc. etc.
19. The Sea and the Savages : A Story of Adventure. By
Harold Lincoln.
20. Summer Holidays at Silversea. By E. Eosalie Salmon.
21. The Story of John Heywood : An Historical Tale of the Time
of Earry viii. By Cuarlks Bruce, Author of * How Frank
began to Climb,' etc.
22. From Cottage to Castle; or. Faithful in Little. A Tale
founded on Fact. By M. H., Author of ' The Eed Velvet Bible,'
etc.
23. Blind Mercy; and other Tales for the Young. By Gertrude
Crockfoud.
24. Three Wet Sundays with the Book of Joshua. By Ellen
Palmer.
gooki |piblU^{i bs SaiUixm |l. J^itnmo. n
NIMMO'S ONE SHILLING ILLUSTRATED
JUVENILE BOOKS.
Foolscap 8vo, Coloured Frontispieces, handsomely bound in cloth,
Illuminated, price Is. each.
1. Pour Little People and their Friends.
2. Elizabeth ; or, The Exiles of Siberia. A Tale
from the French of Madame Gottin.
3. Paul and Virginia. From the French of
BKRNAKDm Saint-Piekrk.
4. Little Threads : Tangle Thread, Golden
Thread, and Silver Thread.
5. Benjamin Franklin, the Printer Boy.
6. Barton Todd, and the Young Lawyer.
7. The Perils of Greatness : The Story of Alex-
ander Menzikoff.
8. Little Crowns, and How to Win them. By
Rev. Joseph A. Collier.
9- Great Riches : Nelly Rivers' Story. By Aunt
FANmr.
10. The Right Way; and The Contrast.
11. The Daisy's First Winter. And other Stories.
By Harriet Bkkcher Stowk.
12. The Man of the Mountain. And other
stories.
13. Better than Rubies. Stories for the Young,
Illustrative of Familiar Proverbs. With 62 Illustrations.
^Continued on next page.
12 gooki pnblUtjtb bg SSlilUam |p. ^hnnui.
NIMMO'8 ONE SHILLING ILLUSTRATED
JUVENILE BOOKS,
CONTINUED.
14- Experience Teaches. And other Stories for
the Young, Illustrative of Familiar Proverbs. With 39 Illus-
trations.
15- The Happy Recovery. And other Stories for
the Young. With 26 Illustrations.
i6. Gratitude and Probity. And other Stories
for the Young. With 21 Illustrations.
17- The Two Brothers. And other Stories for
the Young. With 13 Illustrations.
i8. The Young Orator. And other Stories for
the Young. With 9 Illustrations.
19- Simple Stories to Amuse and Instruct Young
Readers. With Illustrations.
20. The Three Friends. And other Stories for
the Young. With Illustrations.
21. Sybil's Sacrifice. And other Stories for the
Young. With 12 Illustrations.
22. The Old Shepherd. And other Stories for the
Young. With Illustrations.
23. The Young Oflacer. And other Stories for the
Young. With Illustrations.
24. The False Heir. And other Stories for the
Young. With Illustrations.
25. The Old Farmhouse; or, Alice Morton's
Home. And other Stories. By M. M. Pollard.
26. Twyford Hall; or, Rosa's Christmas Dinner,
and what she did with it. By Charles Bruce.
27. The Discontented Weathercock. And other
stories for Children. By M. Jones.
28. Out at Sea, and other Stories. By Two
Authors.
29. The Story of Waterloo; or. The Fall of
Napoleon.
30. Sister Jane's Little Stories. Edited by Louisa
Loughborough.
9ookt paliQi^tb bg SSilliam ^. Itbmna. 13
NIMMO'S
NINEPENNY SERIES FOR BOYS AND GIRLS.
In demy 18mo, with Illustrations^ elegantly hound in cloth.
This Series of Books will be found uuequalled for genuine interest and
value, and it is believed they will be eagerly welcomed by thoughtful
children of both sexes. Parents may rest assured that each Volume
teaches some noble lesson, or enforces some valuable truth.
1. In the Brave Days of Old ; or, The Story of the Spanish
Armada. For Boys and Girls.
2. The Lost Euby. By the Author of ' The Basket of
Flowers,' etc.
3. Leslie Boss ; or, Fond of a Lark. By Oharles Brnoe.
4. My First and Last Voyage. By Benjamin Olarke,
5. Little Katie : A Fairy Story. By Oharles Brace.
6. Being Afraid. And other Stories for the Young. By
Charles Stuart.
7. The Toll-Keepers. And other Stories for the Young.
By Benjamin Clarke.
8. Dick Barford: A Boy who would go down Hill. By
Charles Bruce.
9. Joan of Arc ; or. The Story of a Noble Life. Written
for Girls.
10. Helen Siddah A Story for Ohildren. By Ellen Palmer.
11. Mat and Sofie: A Story for Boys and Girls.
12. Peace and War. By the Author of 'The Basket of
Flowers,' etc.
13. Perilous Adventures of a French Soldier in Algeria.
14. The Magic Glass ; or. The Secret of Happiness.
15. Hawks' Dene : A Tale for Ohildren. By Katherine £.
Mat.
16. Little Maggie. And other Stories. By the Author of
* The Joy of Well-Doing,' etc. etc.
17. The Brother's Legacy ; or, Better than Gold. By
M. M. Pollard.
18. The Little Sisters ; or, Jealousy. And other Stories for
the Young. By the Author of ' Little Tales for Tiny Tots,' etc.
19. Kate's New Home. By Oecil Scott, Author of ' Ohryssie
Lyle,' etc.
14 ^aoki publis^eb bg SSLUltam ^. ^tmmo.
NIMMO'S SIXPENNY JUVENILE BOOKS.
Demy 18mo, Illustrated, handsomely bound in cloth, price 6d. each.
I. Pearls for Little People.
9, Great Lessons for Little
People.
3. Eeason in Khyme : A
Poetry Book for the Young.
4. Hsop's Little Fable Book.
5. Grapes from the Great
Vine.
6. The Pot of Gold.
7. Story Pictures from the
Bible.
8. The Tables of Stone:
Dlustrations of the Com-
mandments.
9. Ways of Doing Good.
10. Stories about onr Dogs.
By Harriet B. Stowk.
11. The Eed- Winged Goose.
12. The Hermit of the Hills.
13. Effie's Ohristmas, and
other Stories. By Ade-
laide Austen.
14. A Visit to Grandmother,
and other Stories for the
Young.
15. Bible Stories for lonng
People. By A. Austew.
16
The Little Woodman and
his Dog Cffisar. By Mrs.
Sherwood.
Among the Mountains :
Tales for the Young. By
Adelaide Austen.
Little Gems for Little
Readers.
19. Do your Duty, come what
will, and other Stories for
the Young.
Noble Joe: A Tale for
Children. By A. Austen.
Lucy Vernon, and other
Stories for the Young.
Anecdotes of Favourite
Animals told for Children.
By Adelaide Austen.
Little Henry and his
Bearer. By Mrs. Sher-
wood.
24. The Holidays at Wilton,
and other Stories. By
Adelaide Austen.
Ohryssie Lyle : A Tale
for the Young. By Cecil
Scott.
Little Elsie among the
Quarrymen. A Story for
the Little Ones. By Ellen
Palmer, Author of ' Christ-
mas at the Beacon,' etc.
17.
18.
20.
21
22.
23.
25
26.
NIMMO'S FOURPENNY JUVENILE BOOKS.
The above Series of Books is also kept in Paper Covers, elegantly
printed in Colours, price 4d. each.
*»• The distinctive features of the Sixpenny, Ninepenny, and One Shilling
Juvenile Books are: The Subjects of each Volume have been selected with a due
regard to Instruction and Entertainment; they are well printed on fine paper;
they are Illustrated with Coloured Frontispieces and beautiful Engravings ; and
they are elegantly bound.
goohs pttblisjeb bg SEiUiam ^. Jpmmn. 15
NIMMO'8 POPULAR RELIGIOUS GIFT BOOKS.
18mo, finely printed on toned paper, handsomely bound in doth extra,
price Is. eacli.
1. Across the Eiyer : Twelve Views of Heaven.
By Norman Maclkod, D.D. ; R. W. Hamilton, D.D. ; Robekt
8. Candlish, D.D. ; James Hamilton, D.D. ; etc. etc. etc.
2. Emblems of Jesus ; or, Illustrations of
Emmanuel's Character and Work.
3. life ThougMs of Eminent Christians.
4. Comfort for the Desponding ; or, Words to
Soothe and Cheer Troubled Hearts.
5. The Chastening of Love : Words of Consola-
tion for the Christian Mourner. By Joseph Parkek, D.D.,
Manchester.
6. The Cedar Christian, and other Practical
Papers. By the Rev. Theodore L. Cuyler.
7. Consolation for Christian Mothers Bereaved
of Little Children. By A Friend of Mourners.
8. The Orphan ; or, Words of Comfort for the
Fatherless and Motherless.
9. Grladdening Streams ; or. The Waters of the
Sanctuary. A Book for Fragments of Time on each Lord's
Day of the Year.
10. Spirit of the Old Divines.
1 1. Choice Grleanings from Sacred Writers.
12. Direction in Prayer ; or. The Lord's Prayer
Illustrated in a Series of Expositions. By Peter Grant, D.D.,
Author of 'Emblems of Jesus,' etc.
13. Scripture Imagery. By Peter Grrant, D.D,,
Author of ' Emblems of Jesus,' etc.
NIMMO'S
HANDY BOOKS OF USEFUL KNOWLEDGE.
Foolscap 8vo, uniformly bound in cloth limp, price Is. each.
1. POULTRY AS A MEAT SUPPLY : Being Hints to Hen-
wives how to Rear and Manage Poultry Econumically and Pro-
fitably. Fourth Edition. By the Author of * The Poultry Kalendar.'
2. HOW TO BECOME A SUCCESSFUL ENGINEER :
Being Hints to Youths intending to adopt the Profession. Third
Edition. By Bernard Stuart, Engineer.
3- RATIONAL COOKERY : Cookery made Practical and
Economical, in connection with the Chemistry of Food. Fifth
Edition. By Hartklaw Ekid.
4- DOMESTIC MEDICINE : Plain and Brief Directions for
the Treatment requisite before Advice can be obtained. Second
Edition. By Offley Bohun Shore, Doctor of Medicine of the
University of Edinburgh, etc. etc eta
s. DOMESTIC MANAGEMENT : Hints on the Training
and Treatment of Children and Servants. By Mrs. Charles Doio.
6. THE METALS USED IN CONSTRUCTION : Iron,
Steel, Bessemer Metal, etc etc. By Francis Herbert Jotnsob.
Illustrated.
REV. ROBERT PHILIP'S
EXPERIMENTAL GUIDES.
In foolscap 8vo, handsomely bound in cloth, price 2s each.
1. CHRISTIAN EXPERIENCE; or, A Guide to the Per-
plexed.
2. COMMUNION WITH GOD ; or, A Guide to the Devotional.
3. ETERNITY REALIZED ; or, A Guide to the Thoughtful.
4. PLEASING GOD ; or, A Guide to the Conscientious.
5. THE GOD OF GLORY ; or, A Guide to the Doubting.
6. REDEMPTION ; or, The New Song in Heaven, the Test
of Truth and Duty on Earth.
7. SACRAMENTAL EXPERIENCE ; or, The Real Secret of
Enjoyment at the Lord's Table.
8. THE COMFORTER ; or. The Love of the Spirit traced in
His Work and Witness.
' Few religious writings of the present age have been more acceptable to the
Christian public, or more useful, than those of the Rev. Robert Philip. His
works are exclusively addressed to Christians ; and they so obviously meet the
wants of Christians under the various circumstances of life, that even were the
execution less able, they could scarcely fail of being highly appreciated by large
numbers of the Christian community.'— /Vom Introductory Essay by Rev. Albert
Barnes.
RETURN CIRCULATION DEPARTMENT
TOi^i^ 202 Main Library
LOAN PERiaO 1
H0ME4SE
2
3 . >n :-
4'
5
6
ALL BOOKS MAY BE RECALLED AFTER 7 DAYS
1 -month loans may be renewed by calling 642-3405
6-month loanis may be recharged by bringing books to Circulation
Desk ;
Renewals and recharges may be made 4 days prior to due date
DUE AS STAMPED BELOW
#fitfFfi> j^. "■ ■ ' -^
J
\Vif«r** Wit tTB 1
2 1979
—-=&^1
'^^-~~
®$
iKr-
248164