The education he received appears to have been rather desultory. The dry and spiritless mode of conveying instruction in those days had neither attractions for his taste, nor power over his mind. As he advanced into youth, and "macadamised his own road," various branches of the natural sciences, history, antiquities, and the fine arts, nearly absorbed his attention. A course of mathematical study would probably have been the best discipline for him at this time, as a balance to the spontaneous development of his imagination. He afterwards pursued it with great enjoyment, though to no considerable extent; and, late in life, he proposed a resumption of the study to the companion of his pursuits—one of the many plans so suddenly and so mournfully cut short.
When he entered on life, and the duties of his profession, that of a banker, early left him master of many leisure hours, the use of the pencil was a favourite recreation. His artistic perceptions must have been very early developed. He was acquainted with a gentleman a professed virtuoso, and a collector of those fine old drawings and sketches which are the first rough thoughts of the painter, or the playful offspring of his lighter moments. In an unpublished MS. he thus describes in the third person his own first introduction to the beauties of the old masters:—
"A new faculty seemed dawning upon him. He felt their glorious power exalting, refining, the sense by the wondrous potency of art; rendering the forms and hues seen by the imagination visible to the bodily as to the mental eye; and expressing in a tangible shape what had before existed only in the hidden recesses of the soul. He saw for the first time a few of the random sketches, the first bright thoughts of these great men, struck out like sparks from the glowing embers of fancy. The fire and freedom of such rude scratches were pointed out; and he could see with a painter's eye the beauty of a line, the combination and the arrangement, the first shadowy thoughts of the artist emerging from chaos into form." That he possessed even then, to a considerable extent, the artist's power as well as his perception, may be inferred from an anecdote of those days which forms the conclusion of the passage:—
"The professor of vertu was expatiating one day, to a group of bystanders, on the merits of some little gem of a drawing he had just purchased. He pointed out the beauties with great gusto, fully impressing his auditory with a sense of the profound knowledge and superiority of his own discrimination. The novice leaned over, and, young as he was, enjoyed the dissertation vastly. In a while he ventured to make a remark: the man of art turned round, and with a look of contempt, intended to extinguish the youthful aspirant, said, 'We don't allow you to be a judge, sir.' Abashed, he shrank back; but the wound rankled, and he determined to have lusty revenge. He sketched on paper, with great freedom and carelessness, the subject of an old etching, imitating as nearly as possible the style he had previously seen. By the judicious application of tobacco-juice, soot, bistre, ochre, and a little grease, so as to make the picture a perfect pattern of dirt,—a rent, a puncture, a piecing here and there, to show the care with which it had been preserved,—he succeeded in making, as he thought, a tolerable imitation, and with great glee gallanted off the prize to his preceptor. The connoisseur at once pronounced the few bold strokes, every one of which 'told,' to be those of a master; and his pupil had much difficulty in evading his inquiries, as to where he had met with it, and whether there were any more to be had." His success was complete; but neither love of triumph, nor gratified vanity, tempted him to divulge the secret, and thereby mortify his acquaintance: he was satisfied with the result of the experiment, nor did he ever after repeat it.
His first attempt at composition was called forth by a friend, who put into his hand a copy of a periodical which, at that time, offered prizes for the best essays on prescribed subjects, to be sent in by young persons under a specified age. It was suggested to him, that he should take one of the subjects, and see what he could make of it. He at first hesitated; but, recalling the magic power of the little word "Try," he sat down to the task, and composed an essay:—"To show what obligations parents and children are under to tutors and governesses, and how far it is their duty, from gratitude and interest, to behave towards them with friendship and respect." It was considered worthy of the prize, as appears from a copy of Blair's Class-book,—in the fly-leaves of which the essay is preserved,—bearing in the customary gilt letters the inscription,
"PRESENTED TO MASTER JOHN ROBY, AGED FIFTEEN.
A REWARD OF MERIT."
Now fairly aware of his powers, to the pleasures of the pencil were added those of the pen. As might be expected, Poetry, Essay, Tale, were all tried, read at first to juvenile companions, as extracts he had met with. Why should early authorship, like early love, be a thing we shrink from avowing, even to the nearest of our friends? It is because, when we write truthfully and earnestly, we lay bare our very soul; and the avowal in this, as in the other case, becomes an exposure of one's inner self.
Debating and Philosophical societies ere long attracted him, and he evidently exerted a leading influence on his companions. He took a prominent part in their projects and reunions. "Sucking in knowledge like a sponge," as he afterwards said, he was as ready to impart it. A silver snuff-box,—still prized as a relic of his eighteenth or nineteenth year,—bearing the following inscription,
"THE GIFT OF THE PHILOSOPHIC SOCIETY, WIGAN,
TO THEIR
ESTEEMED LECTURER AND WORTHY MEMBER,
Mr. J. ROBY,"
attests the nature of his early pursuits, and the estimation in which he was then held by his associates.