“At the school-house, after carefully satisfying ourselves that all the boys were safely roosted, we proceeded much in the same manner as at Mr. Edgeworth’s house. O’Brien and Steele were asked by him if they knew any good songs, and they accordingly favoured us with some of their best.
“Shortly after, Mr. Edgeworth, as though a thought had suddenly struck him, cried out that he should uncommonly like a beefsteak. Most of us agreed that it would be a good thing; but Arthur, who had been rather fidgetty most of the evening, could stand it no longer, and accordingly made good his retreat to the inn. For my own part, I cannot say that I receive the least true pleasure from parties like this; but, as every one must occasionally join in them, I think it best to make oneself as comfortable as possible under all the circumstances, and not to attempt to swim against the stream.
“The mistress of the house, who I afterwards learned had been in bed, was now summoned, and questioned as to the possibility of satisfying our wishes. Fortunately she was provided with the means, and at about two o’clock we sat down to a beefsteak supper. After supper, Mr. Edgeworth commenced an oration in praise of his butler’s grandmother, who had been remarkable for many good qualities. The glasses were filled, the butler was furnished with one, and with the utmost solemnity we drank to the memory of the worthy grandmother....
“The next day we took our leave of the Edgeworths. Miss Edgeworth had now read the whole of the book. She spoke of its excellences in the same terms as before, but she objected to some parts of our plan. She is afraid that the republicanism of the school may be alarming, and advises that this part should be made less prominent. She says she is afraid that parents will dread the republican spirit which our system must infuse among the boys. I think she has too much good sense to think this an evil in itself—indeed, she spoke of it only as a matter of prudence as regards ourselves. She, perhaps, may be right, but I think that we may venture; because, in the first place, the republican tendency of our plans is very far from obvious, and there are very few Miss Edgeworths to find it out. And again, I think people are now beginning to be a little enlightened on the subject, and that we shall soon be on the popular side of the question, even with that class which it is our interest to please.”
On their way back to Dublin, the travellers overheard two Irishmen discussing the career of Napoleon, tidings of whose death had lately arrived. One of them maintained that the failure of his Russian campaign was altogether due to a premature setting-in of the monsoons. The other modestly remarked that he had always understood that these winds were known only on the Indian Ocean. “Yes,” replied the first; “but that year they blew a tremendious long way inland, carrying with them prodigious cold.”
The brothers took the steam-packet from Dublin to Holyhead. “The captain told them that his company intended to attempt running it throughout the next winter; and cautiously remarked that he thought in a storm a steamer might even have some advantages over a sailing-vessel.”
In the summer of the following year (1822), Rowland Hill again visited the Isle of Wight, accompanied by two of his younger brothers:—
“While in the Isle of Wight, I visited a cave in the side of an immensely high cliff. This cave is called the Hermit’s Hole. The only road to it is along a narrow path leading from the top of the cliff. This path is steep and narrow, and the descent is somewhat dangerous, as a slip would inevitably precipitate a person down the cliff, a height of about seven hundred feet, into the sea which roars below. Travellers in the Isle of Wight speak in strange terms of this cave. One says ‘the mere thought of such an adventure (that of visiting the cave) is enough to shake the strongest nerves;’ and he recommends no one to venture, as ‘the path is so narrow that it is impossible to turn round, consequently a person who should set out must go all the way.’ I believe I am naturally cowardly. I have, however, I hope educated myself to face danger as well as most men. I therefore feel a pleasure and an interest in voluntarily putting my courage to the test, and I am proud when I find I can do that which other people pronounce to be difficult. Arthur would not venture to the edge of the cliff; but, after taking off my coat, I proceeded down the path, followed by Frederic. At first the path is protected by a projecting rock, which forms a kind of breastwork on the sea side, but after a few yards there is no protection whatever. I found the path better than I had expected; but it is very steep and narrow, and, besides slanting in length towards the cave, has a side slant towards the sea. There were several loose stones upon it, which made the danger so much the greater; some of these upon the least touch fell into the sea. It was with some difficulty I overcame an involuntary feeling of the necessity of leaping after them. The cave has nothing in itself to repay the danger of reaching it: the whole pleasure, indeed, consists in the danger overcome. Notwithstanding the accounts given by travellers, I turned back two or three times to see for Frederic. He ventured the greater part of the way; but when he came to a place where the path turned round a projecting part of the cliff, his courage failed him, and he hurried back. I must confess, however, that he accomplished more than I could have done at his age. I think the path was about twenty yards in length.”