“Having satisfied our minds that our general theory was correct, by a long course of experiments, and by the acquiescence of those who are so much interested in a careful, and even rigorous, examination of our plans, we have latterly proceeded without the trepidation which at first attended us at every step, and rendered the task of reducing the convictions of our minds to practice, a tedious and painful operation. We now feel our system to be sufficiently matured for public inspection—not that it is incapable of infinite improvement. We are far from pretending to a state of perfection; that we should belie daily by the changes which we still find it expedient to introduce. But there is a wide difference between alterations which proceed from the adoption of new principles, and those which are in furtherance of old ones. The latter will become gradually more and more minute, until they cease altogether to effect any of the important features.”
We may once more be tempted to smile, as we read of the long course of experiments carried out by a young man who was but five-and-twenty. It is not, however, by years but by labour that life is rightly measured. Rowland Hill at a very early age had come into the only inheritance which he was ever to receive—man’s inheritance of labour and sorrow. He had seen, it is true, but five-and-twenty summers. Yet far distant must have seemed to him the time of childhood’s careless years. He had begun to labour early, and into every hour, into every day, into every year, he had got the work of two. How much he had already done is shown by one of his father’s letters to his brother Matthew, dated April 24th, 1823. Well-nigh broken down by work, the young man had gone up to London to seek rest by a change of scene:—
“I hope change of place and your good company will be of service to our beloved Rowland. You are aware that his indisposition originates in his intense application to the business of the school, and I think it particularly excited by anything which draws hard upon his inventions; I therefore suggest that the discussion of new plans is not a desirable subject of conversation.... I most ardently wish that the dear lad could reflect more on the much that is effected than on the little that may remain in the state of a desideratum. If we can maintain our present position—and surely it is far easier to preserve than to gain—if we can do this, we have enough to make us very proud and very happy. I do hope that improvements will for awhile be entrusted to that quiet operation of time and experience which will slightly tax the mental powers of one who has done a life’s work in less than half the years he may fairly hope to pass in usefulness, and who must not be suffered to be worn out prematurely.”
This letter was found a few years ago, and was shown to the aged man who, after his long life of usefulness, had at last entered upon that period of rest from which he was never to be roused again. It so chanced that I called on him soon after he had seen it. I have this note of my visit:—
“He spoke with great emotion of the hard work and anxieties of his youth, and said that he had broken down several times before he gave up the school. He and his brother Matthew used constantly to talk over school matters—too much so by a great deal. He had been lately shown a letter written by his father, saying that he was going to London for a holiday, and that not a word must be said to him about business, for he greatly needed rest, and had already done the work of a life-time. ‘And so I had,’ my uncle said to me, with a voice broken with emotion.”[49]
If any still smile at the young man’s “long course of experiments,” surely it will be with a smile of kindly pity and not of contempt. The trepidation which we are told attended the youthful reformer at every step is, I fancy, a rhetorical flourish of Matthew’s. There was but little trepidation in Rowland Hill at any period of his life. In his early years his daring would have seemed in almost any other man the most overweening rashness. But, as I have already said, he knew what he could do, and always kept well within his powers.
The first mention of his new system in his Journal is as follows:—
“Soon after Midsummer (1816), I established a Court of Justice in the school. The judge is chosen monthly by the boys. The sheriff and the keeper of the records are chosen in the same manner. The attorney and solicitor-general are appointed by me. The judge appoints the inferior officers, as the clerk and crier of the Court, the constables, etc. The jury consists of six boys, chosen by ballot, from amongst those who have not for the last month disgraced themselves by appearing on certain bad lists, or by being convicted of any disgraceful offence. All evidence is taken, even that of the parties themselves. No oaths are administered, as we wish to impress the boys with the conviction that it is criminal to tell falsehoods at any time and in any place. The assizes are appointed to be held once per week; but it sometimes happens that there are no offenders. The sheriff keeps a book in which he enters all the sentences, which are generally the forfeiture of premial marks, a certain number of which entitle a boy to a holiday. If a boy cannot pay the marks, he is imprisoned in a large wooden cage, at the rate of one hour for five marks. The greatest number of offences are leaving school without permission and before the tasks are completed.... If a boy pleads guilty (as most of them do), his punishment is always lessened one-sixth; but the prisoners are never asked whether they are guilty or not, that they may not be induced to tell lies. The sheriff always presents his book to me for my signature to each sentence, and I have the power of mitigating and pardoning. I never yet have had cause to find fault with a single verdict of a jury or sentence of a judge; and I have found that these trials, besides saving my father and myself a deal of trouble in deciding disputes and investigating offences (for the Court tries civil as well as criminal causes), have very considerably lessened the number of offences. I believe (and I have good opportunities of becoming acquainted with other schools) that our boys are by far the most moral set I ever was acquainted with. This circumstance may, I think, in a great measure be attributed to these and some later regulations.”
Whether the cage was at any time in public view I do not know. Before long, however, he and his brothers came to see how much harm is done by exposing a boy to public shame, as is shown by the following passage in the second edition of Public Education:—
“Confinement, and disability to fill certain offices, are our severest punishments;—public disgrace, which is painful in exact proportion to the good feeling of the offender, is not employed, and every measure is avoided which would destroy self-respect. Expulsion has been resorted to, rather than a boy should be submitted to treatment which might lead himself and his schoolfellows to forget that he was a gentleman.”