“What was the dear, delusive creature at?”
“Oh! nothing, nothing, only private chat.”
“A pack of nonsense! it cannot be true!
As if, dear girl, she could be false to you[[22]]!”’
Here, again, there may not be much originality of thought, but the versification is excellent, and the whole piece of surprising merit, when we reflect that it was written by a child of eleven. Yet, whatever may be the worth of this and other pieces in the volume before us as a promise of future greatness, we cannot but pity the poor little fellow, stimulated by the inconsiderate vanity of his parents to a priggish affectation of teaching others when he ought to have been either learning himself or at play with his schoolfellows; and we can thoroughly sympathize with the Bishop’s feelings respecting the book. The lady to whom the Letters to a Friend were written had evidently asked him for a copy, and obtained the following answer:
‘I am sure that if you knew the point in my foot which gives me pain you would not select that to kick or tread upon; and I am equally sure that if you had been aware of the intense loathing with which I think of the subject of your note you would not have recalled it to my mind. When Mrs P——, in the simplicity of her heart, and no doubt believing it to be an agreeable topic to me, told me at dinner on Thursday that she possessed the hated volume, it threw a shade over my enjoyment of the evening, and it was with a great effort that, after a pause, I could bring myself to resume the conversation. If I could buy up every copy for the flames, without risk of a reprint, I should hardly think any price too high. Let me entreat you never again to remind me of its existence[[23]].’
In 1809 young Thirlwall was sent as a day-scholar to the Charterhouse, the choice of a school having very likely been determined by the fact that his father resided at the east end of London. The records of his school days are provokingly incomplete; nay, almost a blank. We should like to know whether he was ever a boy in the ordinary sense of the word; whether he played at games[[24]], or got into mischief, or obtained the distinction of a flogging. As far as his studies were concerned, he was fortunate in going to the Charterhouse when that excellent scholar Dr Raine was head master, and in being the contemporary of several boys who afterwards distinguished themselves, among whom may be specially mentioned his life-long friend, Julius Charles Hare, and George Grote, with whom, in after years, he was to be united in a common field of historical research. His chief friend, however, at this period was not one of his schoolfellows, but a young man named John Candler[[25]], a Quaker, resident at Ipswich. Several of the letters addressed to him during the four years spent at Charterhouse have fortunately been preserved. When we remember that these were written between the ages of twelve and sixteen, they must be regarded as possessing extraordinary merit. They are studied and rather stilted compositions, evidently the result of much thought and labour, as was usual in days when postage cost eightpence; but they reveal a wonderfully wide extent of reading, and an interest in passing events not usual in so ardent a student as the writer evidently had even then become. Young Candler was ‘a friend to liberty,’ and an admirer of Sir Francis Burdett. His correspondent criticizes with much severity the popular hero and the mob, who, ‘after having broken the ministerial windows and pelted the soldiers with brickbats, have gone quietly home and left him to his meditations upon Tower Hill.’ Most thoughtful boys are fond of laying down the lines of their future life in their letters to their schoolfellows; but how few there are who do not change their opinions utterly, and end by adopting some profession wholly different from that which at first attracted them! This was not the case with Thirlwall. We find him writing at twelve years old in terms which he would not have disdained at fifty. ‘I shall never be a bigot in politics,’ he says; ‘whither my reason does not guide me I will suffer myself to be led by the nose by no man[[26]].’ ‘I would ask the advocates for confining learning to the breasts of the wealthy and the noble, in whose breasts are the seeds of sedition and discontent most easily sown? In that of the unenlightened or well-informed peasant? In that of a man incapable of judging either of the disadvantages of his station or the means of ameliorating it?... These were long since my sentiments[[27]].’ And, lastly, on the burning question of Parliamentary Reform: ‘Party prejudice must own it rather contradictory to reason and common sense that a population of one hundred persons should have two representatives, while four hundred thousand are without one. These are abuses which require speedy correction[[28]].’ He had evidently been taken to see Cambridge, and was constantly looking forward to his residence there. His anticipations, however, were not wholly agreeable. At that time he did not care much for classics. He thought that they were not ‘objects of such infinite importance that the most valuable portion of man’s life, the time which he passes at school and at college, should be devoted to them.’ In after-life he said that he had been ‘injudiciously plied with Horace at the Charterhouse,’ and that, in consequence, ‘many years elapsed before I could enjoy the most charming of Latin poets[[29]].’ He admits, however, that he is looking forward ‘with hope and pleasing anticipation to the time when I shall immure myself’ at Cambridge; and he makes some really admirable reflections, most unusual at that period, on University distinctions and the use to be made of them:
‘There is one particular in which I hope to differ from many of those envied persons who have attained to the most distinguished academical honours. Several of these seem to have considered the years which they have spent at the University, not as the time of preparation for studies of a more severe and extended nature, but as the term of their labours, the completion of which is the signal for a life of indolence, dishonourable to themselves and unprofitable to mankind. Literature and science are thus degraded from their proper rank, as the most dignified occupations of a rational being, and are converted into instruments for procuring the gratification of our sensual appetites. This will not, I trust, be the conduct of your friend. Sorry indeed should I be to accept the highest honours of the University were I from that time destined to sink into an obscure and useless inactivity[[30]].’
An English translation of the Pensées of Pascal had fallen in his way; and, in imitation of that great thinker, he had formed a resolution, of which he begs his friend to remind him in future years, to devote himself wholly to such studies (among others to the acquisition of a knowledge of Hebrew) as would fit him for the clerical profession. We shall see that he never really faltered from these intentions; for, though he was at one time beset with doubts as to his fitness to perform the practical duties of a clergyman, he was from first to last a theologian, and only admitted other studies as ancillary to that central object.
Thirlwall left Charterhouse in December 1813, and proceeded to Trinity College, Cambridge, in October of the following year. How he spent the interval has not been recorded: possibly, like many other boys educated at a purely classical school, he was doing his best to acquire an adequate knowledge of mathematics, to his deficiency in which there are frequent references. He was so far successful in his efforts that he obtained the place of 22nd senior optime in 1818, when he proceeded in due course to his degree. Meanwhile, however great his distaste for the classics might have been at school, he had risen to high distinction in them; for he obtained the Craven University scholarship when only a freshman, as well as a Bell scholarship, and in the year of his degree the first Chancellor’s medal[[31]]. In the autumn of the same year he was elected Fellow of his college. It is provoking to have to admit that our history of what may be termed the first part of his Cambridge career must begin and end here. Of the second portion, when he returned to his college and became assistant tutor, we shall have plenty to say hereafter; but of his undergraduate days no record has been preserved. He had the good fortune to know Trinity College when society there was exceptionally brilliant; among his contemporaries were Sedgwick, Whewell, the two Waddingtons, his old friend Hare, who gained a Fellowship in the same year as himself, and many others who contributed to make that period of University history a golden age. We can imagine him in their company ‘moulding high thought in colloquy serene,’ and taking part in anything which might develop the general culture of the place; but beyond the facts that he was secretary to the Union Society in 1817, when the ‘debate was interrupted by the entrance of the proctors, who laid on its members the commands of the Vice-Chancellor to disperse, and on no account to resume their discussions[[32]],’ and that he had acquired a high reputation for eloquence as a speaker there[[33]], we know nothing definite about him. He does not appear to have made any new friends; but as Julius Hare was in residence during the same period as he was, the two doubtless saw much of each other; and it is probably to him that Thirlwall owed the love of Wordsworth which may be detected in some of his letters, his fondness for metaphysical speculation, and his wish to learn German. The only letters preserved are addressed to his old correspondent Mr Candler, and to his uncle Mr John Thirlwall, and they give us no information relevant to Cambridge. In writing to the latter he dwells on his fondness for ancient history, on his preference for that of Greece over that of Rome; he records the addition of the Italian and German languages to his stock of acquirements; and he describes with enthusiasm his yearning for foreign travel, which each year grew stronger: