The severe operations which he had to undergo he bore with the utmost fortitude. During the worst of them he never uttered a sound, but merely said when it was over, “Come, that’s no trifle.” Bodily pain at all times of his life he endured with silent patience.
It was fortunate that there was no sense of failure in his plans to heighten his illness. He had none of that misery to encounter which, as he had written, would come upon him should Hazelwood not succeed. His success seemed complete. In 1819 the new school-house had opened with sixty-six pupils. Year after year for seven years the numbers steadily rose till, by 1826, there were 150. Rugby did not at that time number so many. When he was lying on his sick-bed his father wrote—“Applications (for admittance) are almost become a source of anxiety, unless they were made pleasant by a greater portion of health and strength to meet them.” I have been told by one who was then living in Birmingham that so great for a time was the eagerness to get boys into Hazelwood that, when the school was full, strangers often sought the advocacy of a common friend, in the hope of still securing a place for their son. The very thoroughness of the success was a great misfortune. The steady growth of the new school during its first few years was due to its real merits. The two youngest sons had joined their elder brothers in the management, and for some years there were four of them all working harmoniously together, and with the greatest energy. “Public Education” did not at first rapidly swell the numbers. But when Jeffrey in the “Edinburgh Review,” and De Quincey in the “London Magazine,” both blew a loud blast in its praise, then the tide of prosperity set in with far too sudden and too full a flood. The heads of the young schoolmasters were by no means turned by their success. They found themselves confronted with fresh difficulties. Rowland Hill had before this become painfully aware of his own shortcomings. But these were brought more than ever home to him by his very success, for it lifted him at once into a higher class of society. Men of rank and men of learning sent their children to be educated at Hazelwood. The expectations that “Public Education” raised were undoubtedly too high. The young authors wrote with thorough honesty. But they were writing about their own inventions and their own schemes; and, like all other inventors and schemers, they had a parental fondness for the offspring of their own brains. The rapid increase in the number of pupils was, moreover, as it always must be, a great source of danger to the discipline. In any school it is always a very hazardous time when the proportion of new boys is large. But in such a school as Hazelwood, with its complicated system of self-government, the hazard must have been unusually great. Out of 117 boys, with whom the school opened in January, 1825, only sixty-three had been in it more than seven months. At the very time, therefore, when Rowland Hill might with good reason have looked to enjoy some rest from his prolonged toil, a fresh strain was thrown upon him. It is not wonderful that he sank under it for a time, almost broken, as it seemed, in health and spirits.
In the midst of his hard work, a few months before the second of the two illnesses, he had been suddenly called upon to face a new difficulty. He had been bent on founding a great school, which should serve as a kind of model to the whole country. “I had refrained from writing to you,” he wrote to his eldest brother, when he was regaining his strength, “because I knew it to be important to my speedy recovery to keep down as much as possible all those associations connected with the little school, and with the great school, which so uniformly arise in my mind whenever I write to you, let the subject be what it may.”
Even so early as the year 1820 he had recorded in his Journal:—
“All our plans are necessarily calculated for great numbers, and I contend that, where the strength of the teachers is proportionate, a school cannot be too numerous. If we had 500 instead of 70 boys, I would make this place a Paradise. Till we have some such number, the effects of our system, great as they have already been, cannot be justly appreciated. I have some hopes that in time we may be able to explode the foolish ideas that private education and limited numbers are desirable.”
A few years later he began to see that it was not in a suburb of Birmingham that even he could make a Paradise. He saw that to carry out his plans the day must come when he should move to the neighbourhood of London. There was still much, he felt, to be done before he should be ready to take this step. But from a clear sky there came a clap of thunder. He was suddenly filled with alarm lest his plans should be forestalled. He was startled to learn that Bentham had one day said to Matthew Hill, “I have been thinking whether, if a sucker were taken from your Hazelwood tree and planted near London, it would grow.” In February, 1825, Matthew wrote that Brougham had just told him that he, John Smith,[65] and James Mill had resolved to found a school at London on the Hazelwood plan immediately. “Brougham has some money in hand, and J. Smith has offered to find the rest at four per cent. Brougham says that Burdett, Hobhouse, and Mill are strongly in favour of Hazelwood.”[66] Rowland Hill was not a little alarmed at the news, and with some reason, too. “Will it not be well,” he wrote back to his brother, “to inform Brougham that we have it in contemplation to establish a metropolitan school ourselves? If he knows this already, I think his conduct is very strange.” The brothers were not long in coming to a decision. They resolved to act upon Bentham’s thought with all speed, and plant near London a sucker from the Hazelwood tree.
BRUCE CASTLE, TOTTENHAM.