Footprints of Famous Men: Designed as Incitements to Intellectual Industry

by John G. Edgar

Notwithstanding this unquestionable fascination held out by her, the capricious sway which she exercised with incessant vigilance was so much felt by the boy, that he rejoiced exceedingly when allowed to return to his father’s house, where he enjoyed comparative freedom, and could walk into the neighboring fields, which with him, at this period, was the greatest of all pleasures and the chief of all delights.

Miss Tyler had sternly prohibited her charge being breeched, like other juveniles of the day; and though he was six years old, and tall for his age, she had forced him to wear a childish, fantastic dress. It was now gladly exchanged for a garb befitting the dignity of ambitious boyhood; and the youthful dramatist was placed at a day-school, kept by a Baptist minister. There, though a docile boy, he received somewhat harsh treatment, and the only flogging on record that he ever underwent at the hands of a teacher; but he did not profit, to any extent, by the tuition. In twelve months the reverend pedagogue died; and Southey was sent to a boarding-school about nine miles from Bristol, at a house which, in other days, had been the seat of a provincial family of consequence. The broken and ruinous gateways about which the urchins sported, the walled garden transformed into a play-ground, the oaken staircase on which they aspiringly scrawled their names, and the tapestry which covered the old walls of the school-room, conveyed to the heart of the young rhymer mournful impressions and associations, and produced an impression on his memory not soon effaced. When in the pride of youthful and eccentric intellect, he visited the spot in company with a versifying friend, and described it in his early poem, the “Retrospect.” He knew well how to appreciate the ideas suggested by such a scene.

Meantime, at this educational institution he managed, rather by assisting his comrades than any guidance he himself had the advantage of, to acquire some knowledge of Latin, which was only taught occasionally by a Frenchman who came from Bristol for the purpose. Southey and his fellow-imps were rather meanly fed; and their ablutions, performed chiefly in a stream that passed through the grounds, were conducted with much less precision and completeness than would have satisfied the scrupulous cleanliness of the fastidious Miss Tyler. Indeed, the carelessness habitually permitted and practiced in this respect would with some reason have driven her into one of her boiling passions, which such an event as the wedding of a servant-maid never failed to raise. The seminary was, besides, much too disorderly to be in any degree comfortable; yet the boys were not without days and seasons of juvenile enjoyment. In spring each was allowed to cultivate a small allotment of garden-ground, on which was grown salad, which served for a frugal supper; and in the autumn there was a plentiful and animating crop of apples and other fruit to gather from the adjoining orchards. On one occasion they unfortunately exceeded all discretion, and appropriated so liberally those set apart for the master’s use, that grave suspicions were excited and acted on, their drawers and boxes searched, and the whole plunder recaptured. The youthful band knew well that a moderate extent of pocketing would not have been inquired into. As it was, every apple was taken from them, and Inopem me copia fecit might have been the exclamation of each votary of mischief, as he hung his head and reflected on the vexatious incident. They were dressed in their best, Southey, doubtless, wearing his cocked hat, when Rodney went from Bath to Bristol, to be entertained by the corporation of the great commercial emporium; and they were marched to a convenient spot on the wayside, to give him three cheers as he passed. They exerted their lungs with no small effect, and the gallant admiral returned the salute with right hearty good-will.

At this not very advantageous seminary Southey remained for twelve months, but at the end of that period a panic occurred, in consequence of some disease prevailing in the establishment; and the future Laureate was withdrawn from its precincts in tremulous haste, and given again into the safe custody of his irascible but affectionate aunt.

Miss Tyler had by this time deserted Bath and all its social and theatrical delights. On the death of her mother she had taken possession of the latter’s house at Bedminster; and it was deemed expedient to deliver Southey over to her tender mercies, while his father looked out from his linens and broadcloth for a proper school at which to place the clever youth. In this old-fashioned retreat, the successful biographer of the greatest of English admirals confesses to having spent some of the happiest days of his boyhood. Even at that early age his pleasure seems to have been in retirement, and his satisfaction in secluded labor; he had little relish for boyish games, and he found so much amusement in the garden among flowers and insects, that, had his taste in this branch of study been encouraged and taken advantage of, he might, perhaps, have figured as a distinguished naturalist. But that was not his destiny. His pen, wielded by a willing hand and directed by a suggestive brain, was his weapon; and before thirteen he had indulged his young ambition by compositions of various kinds, and his imagination by perusing and devouring the pages of Tasso, Ariosto, and Spenser.

Meantime, as early as assorted with his worthy father’s convenience, Southey was placed as a day-boarder at a school in his native city, where he appears to have been tolerably well taught. He had already, as has been intimated, aspiringly commenced composition in verse. Wordsworth dated his love of rhyme, and the tendency which colored his manhood, from his tenth year; but his future friend and eulogist seems to have received the “poetic impulse” at a much less mature time of life, and to have commenced gratifying his sensations and prepossessions by practicing the “art divine” at an age when he could hardly have learned to hold or handle his pen with any degree of facility. Owing to his aunt’s histrionic predilections, Shakspeare, as the prince of dramatists, had been put into his little hands almost as soon as he could read; and he went through the historical plays with rapture. It then occurred to him that there would, in all probability, be civil wars in his day, similar to those of which he read; and he conceived the ambitious desire of rivaling the valorous feats and lofty fame of Richard Neville, earl of Warwick, the setter-up and puller-down of kings. So imbued did his mind and spirit become with this notion, that he began nightly to dream of tents, battle-fields, beating drums, clashing spears, and all the “pride, pomp, and circumstance of glorious war.” Besides perusing with avidity the works of Shakspeare, he had read those of Beaumont and Fletcher before he was eight years old; and his fancy, thus stimulated, glowed with romantic thoughts and charming visions. Moreover, he had already been present at numerous plays, and listened with awakened and lively curiosity to interminable conversations about their writers and actors, whom he regarded as the greatest of men. In this way his first aspirations after authorship naturally took the dramatic form; and he did not hesitate to express his opinion on the subject with great confidence and complacency.

“It is the easiest thing in the world to write a play,” observed he one day, at this period, to a female friend of his aunt, with whom he happened to be on a journey.

“Is it, indeed?” she said, not a little surprised.

“Yes,” replied Southey; “for you have only to think what you would say if you were in the place of the characters, and make them say it.”

Acting on this not very correct principle, he not only produced pieces himself, but endeavored to persuade his puerile associates to do likewise. In the latter attempt he, of course, found his zealous efforts altogether futile, but experienced much consolation from the pride derived by his gentle mother, when she discovered that her boy was so highly gifted. These were not the days of popular literature; and the worthy draper’s dusty shelf did not present to his son’s keen appetite for knowledge any very various or interesting collection of books; but Southey about this time had the good fortune to meet with Spenser’s “Faëry Queen,” which charmed him much with its sweetness. He was soon, however, removed once more from under the paternal roof into more congenial company.