CHAPTER V.
From his early boyhood Rowland Hill delighted in long walks. He would go many a mile to see either fine scenery or an old building. Of what had pleased him as a boy, he never grew weary as a man. He had never, he said, to the best of his belief, come within thirty miles of Stonehenge without going to see it. When he was a lad of eleven he paid a visit to Shrewsbury. How deeply what he saw impressed him is shown by an account which he drew up in his old age:—
“Those who have travelled along the same road will remember [he writes] the fine view which bursts upon the sight from the top of a hill a little beyond Shifnal, and may imagine the delight felt thereat by three lads accustomed to little but the plains of Warwickshire.”
No less charmed was he with his first sight of the Severn:—
“Those who have lived from infancy where a river flows can have no conception of its attraction to those who at a later age see it for the first time. The motion of the water, the breadth of the stream, the barges on its surface, with their sails sometimes unfurled to the wind, the lofty bridges, with their series of arches, were such never-ending charms that we could not understand how any one could regard them with indifference.”
It was Assize time at Shrewsbury, and he was taken to see a criminal trial:—
“Of all that passed before our eyes or occupied our thoughts during this ever-to-be-remembered visit, incomparably the most striking and impressive scene was a criminal trial. The spacious court, the crowded benches, the barristers in their robes, the servitors with their javelins, the awful presence of the judge when he entered amidst the sound of the trumpet and took his seat on the lofty bench, all prepared our minds for the solemn inquiry about to begin. The case was one of burglary, attended with violence. The cottage of an aged couple had been entered and robbed, the old man being severely beaten by one of the offenders, who all—three in number—had been subsequently apprehended. Of these, one—whose part in the proceeding had gone no further than keeping watch at the door (so at least he alleged)—had, while in prison on another charge, given the information which enabled justice to lay hands on the others, and had consequently been admitted as King’s evidence. I need not say that we felt towards him the dislike and contempt with which an approver is generally regarded. His fellows in crime, particularly the chief offender, took their places at the bar with a demeanour that astonished us, so completely did it differ from all that we had expected. Doubtless they were seeking to cover their real trepidation with an appearance of unconcern; but this we could not then understand. They taboured on the front of the dock with their fingers, looked about in a defiant manner, and nodded in various directions, as if in recognition of acquaintances. They were defended by counsel; and an attempt was made to take the offence out of the category of burglary, first by the plea that it was not committed by night (the hour being no later than nine on a summer’s evening), and, secondly, by the allegation that as the door was on the latch, the house could not be said to have been broken open—points made, of course, in desperation, and very summarily dealt with by the judge. The only further attempt was to discredit the evidence of the approver, who was severely cross-examined, though the following short passage is all that I now remember of the process: ‘How came you to think of informing?’ ‘Because my conscience told me I had done wrang.’ ‘And why didn’t your conscience tell you you had done wrang before you got into prison for stealing the pig?’ The evidence was too strong to be shaken, and both prisoners were convicted. Of course when such a host of minor offences were capital, so grave a crime as this was on the fatal list; and we heard the judge, after putting on the black cap, pronounce the terrible sentence of death. The defiant look put on at first was still maintained by both prisoners; but when the judge, after warning the more ruffianly of the two that he could not hold out to him any hope of mercy, addressed his companion, telling him that, as he had abstained from violence, his life would be spared, this latter at once broke down, falling upon his knees, while he poured out his thanks and promises of amendment. Shortly afterwards the sentence passed on the other was executed; and somewhat beyond the fatal hour, while going on an errand, I unfortunately and most unintentionally caught a distant sight of the hanging body.”
For many years his excursions were chiefly made on foot. Though his health was at all times of his life delicate, yet his frame was active, and capable of great endurance. He was, when a boy, one of the quickest runners and best leapers in the school, and he became a strong swimmer. “I walked to Stourbridge once a week, to give a lesson,” he records in his Journal. “This I could do without the least fatigue, as it is only twelve miles from hence, and I have often walked upwards of thirty miles in one day.” His fondness for feats led him, he said, to hazard his health. Thus, once in a walk of five-and-twenty miles in a hilly country, he went the last mile on the run. In his Journal he recorded many of his trips. In the year 1813 he was taken, for the benefit of his health, to Margate. “We could see,” he wrote, “the coast of France. My mother was rather uneasy at being so near to the French.” He walked over to Dover, and began to sketch the castle and town from the Castle Hill. Some soldiers told him that a day or two before a man had been put into prison for drawing there:—
“I could not, however, believe them, and went on with my drawing. However, in a little time a file of soldiers came out of the Castle with fixed bayonets, and told me that if I did not go away directly they would take me into custody. I now thought it time to be gone, and so walked away to our lodgings, with no wish to stop in a town where the inhabitants were under a military government.”
The following year peace was made with France:—
“June 3rd, 1814.—About three o’clock this morning the glorious news of the signature of the preliminaries for peace arrived in Birmingham. I was up at four o’clock for the purpose of going to Hagley, to which place I had the pleasure of taking the news. I never saw so many pleasant faces in my life.”
In the summer of 1815 he again went to Margate. How he found money to pay for the trip he has thus left on record:—
“My eldest brother and I, who, on account of depressed health, had two years before been taken by my mother to Margate (much to my delight, as I then first saw London and the sea), were eager to repeat the trip, and not having the means at hand, set about to acquire them. Availing ourselves of such of the apparatus used at my father’s late lecture, and those delivered eight years before, as belonged to the family, we boldly determined to give four public lectures ourselves, the admission to be by purchased tickets. My brother was to do the speaking part, and I, as before, to manage the experiments. While, however, we made every preparation with great diligence, we unluckily had yet to learn that audiences are scarcely to be collected without full notice; and our notification to the public was so short and imperfect, that when the day was close at hand we found that either we must be satisfied with an audience of thirty persons, or fill the school-room where the lecture was to be delivered by gratuitous admission. Taking this latter course, we performed to an audience which gave us abundant applause, but did little to forward our ulterior object. Nothing daunted, we resolved to try elsewhere, in a more advised manner; and being encouraged thereto by our friend Mr. Beasley, we proceeded, after due preparation of all sorts, to the little town of Stourbridge; hiring a man with a cart to convey the apparatus, and ourselves performing the journey on foot. Here our success was considerable, the result being due, I have no doubt, in great measure to our warm-hearted friend, who was an enthusiastic admirer of us both, and by no means kept his flattering estimate to himself.
“Our total profits being sufficient to warrant the journey, we took it accordingly; intending thereby to get up such a stock of health as would carry us briskly through the next half-year.”[57]
He left Birmingham for London at half-past six o’clock in the evening of June 23rd.
“At about three o’clock in the afternoon of the next day we entered London, amidst the thunder of carriages and the buzz of people.
* * * * *
“In the afternoon I went to see the Exhibition of Paintings at Somerset House. Of the landscapes, Turner’s pleased me most: there was one, a most beautiful painting, called ‘The Rebuilding of Carthage.’ Turner is almost the only man who attempts to paint the sun. It is done in this picture with great success. It quite dazzled my eyes to look at it. The reflection of the sun’s rays upon the water was remarkably fine. The Exhibition closed this evening for the season. I stopped as long as I could.”
The same evening he went to Drury Lane and saw Kean. The after-piece was very bad. “I should have thought that a London audience would not have sat to hear such stuff.” On leaving the theatre he “walked about the streets to see the illuminations for the late victory at Waterloo.”
“Margate, July 3rd, 1815.—We went to see the steam-boat come in from London. It is worked by means of two wheels, resembling water-wheels, one of which is placed on each side of the vessel, and about a-half sunk in the water. It comes from London and returns three times in each week. It generally performs the voyage in about twelve hours. In the best cabin there is a handsome library, draught-boards, &c. It is surprising to see how most people are prejudiced against this packet. Some say that it cannot sail against the wind if it is high; but when it entered the harbour the wind and tide were both against it, and the former rather rough, yet I saw it stem both.” “There was,” he said, “a great crowd, and much enthusiasm, though carpers predicted failure, and sneered at ‘smoke-jacks.’”
He visited Canterbury. In mentioning the destruction of Thomas a’Becket’s tomb, he writes:—
“There are, indeed, few monuments which were erected prior to the Reformation but what are defaced some way or other. It is surprising that people should be so bigoted against bigotry.”
On his return to London he was introduced to the painter West:—
“We went to his house this morning, and saw some hundreds of paintings, all by West. How proud must he feel in walking through his gallery to see so many proofs of his own industry! While we were looking at the paintings Mr. West came by. I was introduced to him, and had the honour of conversing with him for some time.... He is a fine old man, upwards of seventy years of age.”
Soon after his return home he obtained an appointment. His father might a second time have written “preferment goes on among us.”
“August 30th, 1815.—At the last meeting of the Committee of the Institution for the Education of Deaf and Dumb Children, established in this town a few years ago, my father was elected to the office of secretary, and I am to be sub-secretary, for which I am to receive a salary of £20 per annum.”
About this appointment he thus wrote in later years:—
“This post I gladly accepted, as it would make a very handsome addition to my pocket money. I soon found, however, that the duties were by no means merely nominal; the current labour being considerable, and the minutes, from the commencement of the Institution, which existed only in rough, having all to be transcribed. This appointment was very useful to me, as I was called upon to transact semi-public business, and was, moreover, at the meetings of the committee and elsewhere, brought into contact with men whose superior attainments made me feel keenly the necessity for increasing my own. This post I retained until the increasing demands of the school compelled me to give it up.”
In the summer holidays of the next year (1816) he made with some of his companions a tour in Derbyshire. He thus describes two of the views that he saw:—
“The views in this valley, varying at every step, are extremely beautiful. Sometimes the river is pent in between the surrounding hills, and the eye is at a loss to discover the passage by which it enters or leaves the valley. Proceed a little further, and the spectator is enchanted with the long perspective of woody hills and barren rocks between which the rapid Derwent pours its foaming waters.... As we sat with the window open to enjoy the freshness of the air, the massive outline of the opposite rocks, just distinguished through the gloom of night, and the silence of evening, which was only broken by the low murmur occasioned by a fall in the river, created very pleasing sensations in our minds. It was a kind of silence hearable, if I may be allowed to use a parody.”
They went to see a great chasm in the earth called Elden Hole. It was, as they learnt on the way, enclosed by a wall:—
“The woman went with us who keeps the key. On the road we entered into a discussion respecting the right of the landholder to lock up such a place, which debate was interspersed with many learned remarks respecting the equality of birthright, &c., but when we came to the hole we were unanimous in agreeing that it was for the good of the neighbourhood that it should be very securely fenced.... We threw several large stones down the hole. The noise which they made was at first very loud; it then ceased, as though the stone had lodged upon some projecting part of the rock; directly after the noise was continued, but less loud; then it became a long unequal moan, which imperceptibly died away.”
On his way home he and one of his companions walked in one day from Ashbourne to Birmingham, a distance of forty-three miles. For many days heavy rains had fallen, and the river Dove had overflowed its banks:—
“When we came to a turn in the road, about a furlong from the bridge, we were surprised to find the road and the fields on each side, as far as the eye could reach, covered with water. The top of the bridge was the only dry spot we could see.... It was a distressing sight. Most of the fields had but a few days before been mown. The tops of the haycocks could just be seen above the water. A great number of men were employed in carrying away as much of the hay as could be saved from the flood. Whilst we were waiting, undetermined what steps to take, two men came up who had ridden through the flood on horseback. They told us that the road was inundated for a mile and a-half, that in some places it was very deep, and that the water was rising very fast.
“We inquired if there was any other road by which we could reach Lichfield (the next town on our road), and were informed that there was none but what, it was most probable, would be in the same situation. Our only alternative, therefore, was either to go back to Sudbury, and perhaps remain there two or three days, or wade through the flood. As we were both able to swim, should it be necessary, we determined to proceed. We were able to reach the bridge by going out of the road and along a field, but could proceed no further in that way. We now sat down and took off the lower parts of our dresses, made bundles of them, which, together with our folios, we fastened upon our backs, that our arms might be at liberty if we should find it necessary to swim, and waded through the water. We did not find it so deep as we expected. By keeping the highest part of the road, we never found the water more than three feet in depth.”
They reached Lichfield at five in the afternoon. Not having yet had enough of the water, they stopped to bathe in the canal, and saw the Birmingham coach go by:—
“After bathing, I found that my heel, in consequence of the continual rubbing of my shoe, had become very painful, so much so that it was with the greatest difficulty that I could walk at all. But I managed to double the heel of my shoe under my foot, and tie on the shoe with strings, and then I could walk very well.
“The next coach passed us when we were within about eight miles of Birmingham, and then we determined to walk the whole of the way.
“Before this it began to rain, and did not cease till we reached home, which was at about eleven o’clock. Having walked forty-three miles, we were not ashamed to own ourselves tolerably well tired.”
Writing in 1817, he records in his Journal:—
“A Hampden Club was formed in this place, I think about twelve months since, for the purpose of promoting a reform in the Commons House of Parliament. It consists chiefly of the working-class, though some of its members have a right to rank higher.... The conduct of this body of men throughout has been such as reflects great honour upon them. When their number was small, they met at some public-house; but our magistrates, by threatening to take away the publican’s licences, managed to displace them, and in this way they followed them from house to house....
“These meetings throughout the country are the true reason of the suspension of the Habeas Corpus Act, and the passing of the gagging bills, and other tyrannical acts, tending to abridge the liberty of the people of this country, and not any conspiracy, as the ministers wish the old women, male and female, to believe.
“It is very probable that a few individuals, whose distresses and misfortunes have accumulated upon them till they have been driven to despair, may have formed the mad scheme of conspiring against the government; not that I think they were at all connected with the attack upon the Prince Regent, which, in my opinion, was the mere ebullition of popular discontent. But what can three or four wretched fanatics do towards the overthrow of a government, though they may be in possession of a stocking full of ammunition?[58] Since the passing of these acts, great numbers of people have been arrested upon suspicion and sent to prison, where they will be kept during the pleasure of a rascally administration, or till the expiration of the acts. Great numbers of valuable members of the community have left this country for America, unwilling to live where they can only enjoy their liberty at the pleasure of the ministry.”
In the Easter holidays of 1817, he set out on another trip:—
“April 4th, 1817.—After having breakfasted, we set out on foot at a quarter after three in the morning. We reached Wolverhampton at a little before seven.... We dined at Shifnal, at a baker’s shop, on bread and butter. Our dinner cost us not quite fourpence each.”
At Shrewsbury he found that there was a strong competition among the coach proprietors, and that the fare to Liverpool had been reduced to four shillings:—
“As such an opportunity might never occur again, we determined upon setting out the next morning.”
At Chester he had time to see the cathedral:—
“I do not know whether, as this was Easter Sunday, a better choir of singers than usual had been provided, but I never heard any singing which pleased me so much. The organ, a fine-toned instrument, was played with great skill. I cannot better describe the effect of this heavenly harmony than by a quotation from the beautiful poem of ‘The Sabbath.’”[59]
From Liverpool they walked out to the village of Bootle, where they looked about for an inn in which to pass the night:—
“The only inn in the village is ‘The Bootle Hotel.’ We were afraid of that word ‘hotel,’ and, learning that there was another inn to be found a little further on, we proceeded; but this we found as much too mean as the other was too grand for us. We went on, therefore, and soon came to a third inn; but here we were more frightened than before, for the sign was ‘The Royal Waterloo Hotel.’”
On the way home he passed a night at Shrewsbury, at the house of his father’s sister:—
“In the evening my aunt showed us four or five letters addressed by John Howard to an uncle of my father’s, Mr. Symonds, a dissenting minister of Bedford. Mr. Howard was, at one time of his life, a member of his congregation. In one of these letters he mentions the pleasure he received, when at Rome, in seeing the monuments of ancient art. Foster, in his essay on ‘Decision of Character,’ mentions, as an instance of Howard’s unremitting perseverance in the attainment of one object, that he went to Rome without visiting its public buildings. I am not sorry that the author was mistaken. If Howard had done so, I think it would have been mere affectation.
“At about four or five miles beyond Salop, we passed near to a curious old wall, which stands in a field to the right of the road. From the materials of which it is built, we judged it to be Roman masonry. We were all ignorant as to what building it belonged.”[60]
He and his friend were out seven days, travelled 273 miles, and spent twenty-nine shillings each. Nevertheless he thought that these trips stood in need of justification, for his next entry is as follows:—
“In reading these memoirs hereafter, I may perhaps think that I was extravagant in taking so many journeys; but it is necessary to my health. Without a journey about once a year, I never should be able to go through the business that I do. Towards the end of the half-year I always get thin and pale, and my headache (which for the last two years, with the exception of the holidays, has been almost constant,) generally is worse at that time, which makes it necessary for me to take some recreation, to get up a stock of health for the next half-year; this is the most lucrative mode of proceeding. Lately an application was made to me to undertake to give three lessons per week, of two hours each, to a young man, an old scholar of ours. As I had already plenty to do, I was undetermined whether to undertake it or not; but I argued with myself thus: If I undertake this business, I shall receive about thirty pounds per annum for it. I shall certainly injure my health by such close application; but I shall be able to afford to take a journey oftener than before, which will put all straight again. Besides, this is the most pleasant way of proceeding to me; for if I am to be at work, the more constantly I am employed the better, and when the holidays come, the more perfect the holiday the better. I like either to have no business at all to do, or to be fully employed. The headache has become so habitual to me, that unless it is very bad, I am seldom aware that anything is the matter with me, unless my attention is called to it, as by some one inquiring whether I am better.”
The next entry of any interest in his Journal is about his parents:—
“May 11th, 1817.—It is my wish to say something of my parents; to express, if possible, the gratitude which I feel for their care during my childhood, for the pains they have taken in my education, and for their judicious treatment since I have attained maturer years. But the task is too great, and I shall not attempt it. I hope that I shall always show them, by kind and dutiful conduct, that I am fully aware of the magnitude of my obligations. I am thought, I believe, to have cold feelings; but if any one can entertain stronger feelings of gratitude towards his parents than I do, his heart must burst, for it cannot contain them.... My father and mother have acted most judiciously in using every means in their power to make home a place of comfort to us. The consequence is that we have none of that itching, which is so prevalent in most young people, to be always from home; and I think I may say without vanity that there is not a family in Birmingham where there is less discord than in ours. For this we are indebted to our parents, who, instead of interfering in all our undertakings, as is too common with many enlightened fathers and mothers, allow us to use our own judgment and discretion; and when we are in the wrong, rather let us find it out ourselves than by a continual interference beget a spirit of opposition in their children. My mother is a woman of strong native talents, but she has had few opportunities of cultivating them. She is kind, affectionate, possessed of great courage and spirit, and is well adapted to the situation she occupies as manager of a large household. My father possesses the strongest mind of any man I know.”
Two days after he had made this entry he writes:—
“May 13th.—It has frequently been a surprise to me that people should choose to scald their mouths and injure their health by eating and drinking hot food, particularly tea and coffee, the goodness of which they appear to estimate according to the pain it must give them in drinking it. For five or six weeks past I have had mine made by mixing with tea and coffee of the usual strength about one-half of cold water, brought directly from the pump; so that it is both cool and weak—two very good qualities in my estimation. Lately two of my brothers have followed my example.”
“May 24th.—For the last month or two I have been in the habit of lying in bed rather too late. I now make a resolution to get up earlier in future. It is my intention to rise with the boys—that is, at six o’clock. That I may see whether this resolution is kept, I will keep an account of the time at which I rise every morning.”
He kept up these entries for more than two years; but in August, 1819, he records:—
“It is now some weeks since I discontinued the practice of entering the time at which I rise. My object in doing it at first was to break myself of a habit of lying late in bed. This object I have accomplished, nor do I fear a relapse; it is therefore unnecessary that I should continue the motive.”
In June, 1817, he again went to London:—
“June 23rd.—In the evening I went to Covent Garden Theatre, to see John Kemble play for the last time. He took his most celebrated character, Coriolanus. It is a part for which he is well calculated, as it requires a noble and dignified mien. Kemble has left the stage in good credit; yet I think if he had remained much longer he would have fallen in the public opinion, as he is become so old as not to be able to disguise it even on the stage; and his recitation is terribly monotonous.... The play of Coriolanus is well known to contain many aristocratic sentiments not very agreeable to the friends of liberty; and I was sorry to find that when any sentiment of this kind was expressed it always received the approbation of the audience. Upon mentioning this circumstance, I learned that, for some reason or other, the audience at Covent Garden Theatre has lately become very loyal.
“After the play, Kemble came forward to address the audience. He appeared to suffer much from the feeling that it was for the last time. Whether this was real or affected I cannot say; but if acting, it was acting of a very superior kind. After he had retired, a crown of laurel and a scarf were thrown upon the stage. The manager was then called. He came forward, and promised to present them to Mr. Kemble.
“When the curtain drew up for the farce, which was ‘The Portrait of Cervantes,’ a part of the audience, intending it as a mark of respect to Mr. Kemble, called out, ‘No farce, no farce! off, off!’ &c. The others, who wished to see the farce, clapped and called, ‘Go on, go on!’ It was doubtful which party was the more numerous. At length Fawcett, the manager, again came forward to say that, if it were the wish of the audience that, out of respect to Mr. Kemble, the farce should not be acted, he would desire the curtain to be dropped. Some immediately cried out, ‘Yes; down with it!’ Others, ‘No; go on!’ The poor man did not know what to do. He again attempted to speak, but the noise was too great for him to be heard; so he retired, and the curtain fell. This satisfied but one party; the other became directly more clamorous. After a few minutes, the curtain was again drawn up, and the farce proceeded; but the noise was still kept up, and I was unable to hear a sentence all the night. I heard afterwards that Talma was at the theatre this night, and that he was much pleased with the enthusiasm of the audience. He said that the French talked a great deal about enthusiasm, but that they possessed much less than the English.”
He went to the House of Commons, and “heard the Lord Mayor, Lord Cochrane, and some others speak on the side of liberty.” The debate was on the Suspension of the Habeas Corpus Act[61]:—
“It is a pity that every good man is not also a learned and clever man. I was sorry to find that the Lord Mayor, whom I expected to be a first-rate speaker, was very deficient even in common grammar; but, nevertheless, such a man is of more service to the great cause of liberty than a hundred of your place-hunters, let their delivery be ever so elegant, and their grammar ever so correct.”
On June 30th he visited Chantrey’s studio:—
“I left the Gallery with very great regret, and I am sure that I was sincere when I told Mr. Whitwell [the friend who had introduced him] that to him I was obliged for the greatest gratification I ever received.”
The following evening he started for the Isle of Wight:—
“I left London at six in the evening for Southampton. The road lay through Brentford and Staines. Near to the latter place, in a field, I saw the place where King John signed ‘Magna Charta.’ The spot is marked by a sun-dial. I was glad to hear some of the passengers give it as their opinion that something of the kind was wanting now.
“As soon as it became light, we enjoyed most delightful views of a richly-wooded country. The trees in Hampshire are the largest I ever saw, and the country is almost covered with what we consider large woods. There is not a finer sight in the world than to be elevated above an extensive wood, and to see the trees extending as far as the eye can reach, till they become scarcely distinguishable from the sky.”
He went to sketch Netley Abbey:—
“While I was drawing, several parties came to visit the Abbey, and I entered into conversation with most of them. One gentleman was finding great fault with the taste of the proprietor of the Abbey. He said, ‘Now, if this was my Abbey, I’d get some masons and stop up all the holes, and I don’t know if I should not whitewash it. Would not you, Sir?’ I thought this opening speech promised fair, so that I nodded assent to induce him to go on; and he proceeded: ‘Then I’d remove all this rubbish (pointing to the masses of stonework which lay on the ground) and fetch some loads of gravel from the beach, with which I would cover the floor of the chapel, and have it rolled nice and flat; or I don’t know whether I should not lay turf instead, and keep the grass cut short, and as level as a bowling-green. Then I’d build a nice thatched cottage just by the gate there for the porter to live at; but I think I should have it within the chapel, because it would add very much to its appearance. The Abbey would be worth coming to see then; but now the fellow that owns it must be a fool.’ The gentleman then asked me what I thought of his proposed alterations, and I told him that they would certainly make the chapel look very neat and pretty. ‘Ah!’ says he, ‘I see you are a young man of taste.’ I did not think it necessary to contradict him. He wished me good morning, and walked off, and I resumed my drawing, rejoicing that the Abbey was in better hands than his.”
Crossing over to the Isle of Wight he passed through the village of Freshwater:—
“Wishing to be acquainted with the etymology of the name Freshwater, I asked the sailors if the water in the bay was not so salt as the sea-water generally is. ‘Oh, yes,’ they replied, ‘it’s all alike.’ ‘What, then, is the reason of the names Freshwater Town and Freshwater Bay?’ I inquired. ‘Why, they are in Freshwater parish to be sure,’ was the reply.”
On his way home he saw Stonehenge:—
“It is certain that great numbers of the stones have been carried off (I suppose in pieces), and afterwards used in building, as Inigo Jones mentions in his account of Stonehenge that such was the case between two different periods at which he visited the Temple. What must be the feelings of those who could, for the sake of the value of stones as building materials, disturb and destroy so venerable, so interesting a monument of antiquity, I cannot guess. I think it would be well if the government of the country would purchase this and every other valuable antiquity of the island, and preserve them as much as possible from injury.”
In one of the papers that he drew up in his old age, he thus describes his last visit to Stonehenge:—
“We also went to see Stonehenge, for about the tenth time in my life, since whenever there was a chance to visit this most interesting and much controverted antiquity I never failed to take advantage of it. But this, my last visit, was a very different affair indeed from my first in 1817. Forty-three years before I had set out for Stonehenge, in company with my father, breakfasting on the way at a small inn, a mile or two from the place. While my father rested I went, sketch-book in hand, to the so-called Druidic temple. Not a creature, human or animal, was in sight, not even the ‘Shepherd of Salisbury Plain’ himself. I was alone with the wonderful stone monument, and nothing but the sky and the vast downs in sight. By-and-by came a shepherd, chatty and communicative, with fifteen hundred sheep, and thus only was my solitude broken upon. But to-day (1860) what a change! Easy communication and love of locomotion had vulgarized even Stonehenge. We found a crowd of people making noisy the place, and rudely shattering my early peaceful associations.”
In April, 1817, he had recorded his “intention of making experiments to ascertain the comparative nourishment which is derived from different kinds of food.” In the following January he records the result:—
“My engagements this half-year are such as will not allow me to continue my experiments upon food, as I am obliged to be out very much. I have, therefore, brought my experiments to a conclusion without having completed them. But, however, I have ascertained some remarkable facts, as the Journal will show, and I hope that my trouble will not altogether be thrown away.
“COPY OF THE JOURNAL RESPECTING DIET.
“April 15th, 1817.—I was thinking yesterday that little was known of the comparative nutriment which we receive from the different kinds of food we eat, and I then determined to try a few experiments, from the results of which a table may be formed showing the comparative value of the principal kinds of food upon which we live. It is also my intention to notice the effects which each kind of fare has upon my health.
“I shall live three days upon each of the principal kinds of food, and take nothing else except coffee, tea, and water. I shall always drink three cups of coffee at my breakfast, three cups of tea at my tea, and as much water as I feel inclined for. With my meat and potatoes I shall allow myself salt, but nothing else.
“That, at the time I am eating one kind of food, I may feel no effects from the kind which I eat before, it is my intention, after having lived three days upon any particular food, to take the usual fare for the next three days, and so on.
“Before I enter on my Journal, I will say something of the usual state of my health. For the last year or two I have suffered much from the headache: I have almost constantly been troubled with bile; but a few days ago I made a tour to Liverpool, which I found to improve the state of my health considerably, and since my return I have been tolerably well.
“I began my experiments this morning: during this day and the two next I shall eat nothing but dry bread untoasted. I have taken a stale quartern loaf, which weighed 4 lbs. 4 oz. It is made partly of old flour, and partly of that of last year, which was very bad. The loaf is rather moist, and a little brown. It came from the old Union Mill, and cost one shilling and fourpence half-penny.
“It is now seven o’clock at night. I have made three meals from it, and have eaten about one-third, which is less than I expected I should eat. I have not stinted myself at all. I am much the same in every respect as I was yesterday, only that I feel as though I had eaten too much. I do not know whether I shall be able to eat any supper.
“April 16th.—I eat a little supper last night. I have been much the same to-day as I was yesterday.
“April 17th, 6.30 p.m.—I have not been quite so well to-day as I was yesterday. I am troubled very much with the bile and the headache. I have a good deal of the loaf left, more, I think, than will last me for supper. My mother says there has been a visible alteration for the worse in my appearance since the commencement of the three days.
“9.45.—I have just finished my loaf and supper. I made no point of exactly finishing the loaf: it is merely accidental.
“April 20th.—During this and the two last days I have fared as usual. Still troubled with the bile and headache, though not so unwell as before.
“The next three days I shall eat nothing but bread and butter, the bread of the same kind as before.”
He next tried dry toast, cold toast and butter, hot toast and butter, bread and bacon, bread and cheese, rice pudding, boiled green pease and salt, damson-pie and sugar, bread and sugar; living for three days on each article. It is not, perhaps, surprising that, in the course of the experiments, he one day records “an acute pain in my left side nearly the whole of the day.”
The next entry that I quote is of a very different kind:—
“February 15th, 1819.—Campbell, the poet, is now in Birmingham. He is engaged by the Philosophical Society to deliver a course of twelve lectures on poetry. This morning he called here to put his son under our care during his stay in Birmingham. We consider this a feather in our cap.
“March 2nd.—Young Campbell, who is about fifteen, is a boy of talent. He has never been at a school, but has been educated at home by his father. Mr. Campbell is so pleased with what we are doing for the boy, that he says he should like exceedingly to leave him with us; but, as he is an only child, he cannot persuade Mrs. Campbell to part with him.
“March 12th.—Yesterday, Mr. Campbell dined with us. He is a very pleasant man in company. He related a great number of pleasing anecdotes; but he did not answer the expectations I had formed of the poet Campbell.[62]
“August 22nd, 1819.—The people of Birmingham have taken the first decisive step towards parliamentary reform. A town’s meeting has been held at New Hall Hill for the purpose of considering the best means of obtaining the representation of all the unrepresented people of England, and particularly those of Birmingham. At this meeting an immense concourse of people assembled; some accounts say eighty thousand. I was present, and witnessed nearly the whole proceedings. It was unanimously resolved to appoint Sir Charles Wolseley representative of Birmingham, with directions to make every effort to obtain a seat in the House of Commons when it shall again assemble after the present vacation. The object of this meeting was treated by the opposite party with the greatest ridicule; but that it deserves anything rather than ridicule is manifest from the alarm it has evidently excited in the minds of the supporters of the present system.
“At our Birmingham meeting the people conducted themselves with the greatest decorum. Our magistrates had the good sense not to provoke them by the presence of the military, and the immense assembly dispersed without the least mischief being done.”
“August 10th.—A few days ago I accompanied my brother Matthew to Warwick, to assist him in preparations for the defence of Major Cartwright, who was tried at the Assizes just concluded. The offence charged against him, and the others who were tried with him, was the election of a legislatorial attorney or representative of the people of Birmingham (Sir Charles Wolseley). My brother was engaged for the major, Denman for Edmonds and Maddocks, and Wooller and Lewis defended themselves. The trial occupied two whole days, the Court sitting to a late hour each day. The speeches of Denman, Matthew, and Wooller were, I think, the most eloquent I ever heard; but in spite of justice, reason, and everything else but the advice of the Judge, the blockheads in the jury-box gave a verdict of guilty.... Matthew, as usual, received the compliments of the Judge. He is rising very fast into fame.”
Thirteen years later, when the Reform Bill was carried, the great town of Birmingham was at last represented in Parliament. “They have made me Chairman of Attwood’s Committee,” wrote old Mr. Hill to his eldest son, who was at that time a candidate for Hull.... “I am glad that you like what I spoke at the town’s meeting. All I said came from the heart as prompted by a sincere affection for liberty, goodness, and truth. Still the fervour of delivery was not the less because Attwood and Birmingham had common cause with Hill and Hull.” In that town in which, more than forty years before, he had braved the violence of a Tory mob, the old man had now the high honour of being called upon to propose, on the nomination day, the election of the first representative that Birmingham ever sent to the Commons House of Parliament.