His mother had undertaken to provide him with clothing while with his uncle at the farm; but this small expense was found to be too much for her scanty means. Robert at that time had two brothers, George and Nathaniel, living in London, and working, the one as a journeyman shoemaker, and the other as a tailor. To them the anxious mother applied for help in her difficulties, stating in her letter that Mr. Austin had said Robert was so small and weakly, it was to be feared he would never be able to obtain his living by hard out-door labor. The brothers at once agreed to take him under their care, find him in food and clothing, and teach him the craft of shoemaking until he should be able to obtain his own livelihood. Full of solicitude for his safety and well-being, the good woman took him up to London herself, and handed him over to the guardianship of her two eldest sons, begging them, “as they valued a mother’s blessing, to watch over him, to set good examples for him, and never to forget that he had lost his father.”
George Bloomfield and his brother were then living at No. 7 Pitcher’s Court, Bell Alley, Coleman Street, in a garret which served both as workshop and bedroom. The place was dingy and gloomy, and presented to the bright, thoughtful Suffolk lad a mournful contrast to the pleasant surroundings in the old farm-house at Sapiston. Nor could it have been a very healthy abode, for five workmen occupied the room during the day, “clubbing together,” after the fashion of such workmen in those days, to lighten the burden of rent.
At first the new-comer was chiefly employed by the older men as their errand-boy, being rewarded for his trouble by receiving lessons from the workmen in the art of shoemaking. These men, like so many of their craft, were of a thoughtful turn of mind, and very eager for the news of the day. It had been their custom to have the yesterday’s paper brought in with their dinner by the pot-boy from a neighboring public-house. Until Robert came they had been in the habit of reading it by turns, but now, as his time was less valuable than theirs, the office of reader was permanently handed over to him. This duty was of much service to him, for the information he gained by reading disciplined his young mind to close and continuous thought, and enlarged his knowledge of his own language. The simple account, given by his brother George, of these social readings in the cobblers’ workroom, and other means of instruction of which Robert availed himself, is full of interest. George Bloomfield says: “He frequently met with words that he was unacquainted with; of this he often complained. I one day happened at a book-stall to see a small dictionary which had been very ill-used. I bought it for him for fourpence. By the help of this he in a little time could read and comprehend the long and beautiful speeches of Burke, Fox, or North.” And again: “One Sunday, after a whole day’s stroll in the country, we by accident went into a Dissenting meeting-house in the Old Jewry, where a gentleman was lecturing. This man filled Robert with astonishment. The house was amazingly crowded with the most genteel people; and though we were forced to stand in the aisle, and were much pressed, yet Robert always quickened his steps to get into the town on a Sunday evening soon enough to attend this lecture. The preacher’s name was Fawcet. His language was just such as the ‘Rambler’ is written in.... Of him Robert learned to accent what he called hard words, and otherwise to improve himself, and gained the most enlarged notions of Providence.”
Bloomfield’s reading was not very extensive nor diversified during these early years of his London life, yet it was sufficient to whet his appetite for mental improvement, and give him no small degree of literary taste and skill. The brothers took, in sixpenny numbers, such works as a “History of England,” “The British Traveller,” and a “Treatise on Geography.” These were read aloud to the little company of busy listeners, several hours of the day being occupied with the task. His first poetic impulse was awakened by the perusal of the London Magazine, which found its way at this time into the cobblers’ garret. Robert always read it with zest, carefully scanning the reviews of books, and never failing to look into the “Poets’ Corner.” One day he surprised his brother by repeating a song which he had composed after the manner of Burns and so many other graceful songsters, “to an old tune.” George was as much delighted as surprised at his young brother’s smooth and easy verses, and encouraged him to try the experiment of sending them to the editor. This he did with many fears and hopes, and nervously awaited the issue of the next number. To his intense delight, and the pardonable pride of the whole company, the verses appeared in print. As a specimen of his first literary attempt, every youth will deem them worth recording, and will read them with pleasure. They bear the modest title “A Village Girl,” and are signed with the letters R. B.
“Hail May! lovely May! how replenished my pails,
The young dawn o’erspreads the broad east streaked with gold!
My glad heart beats time to the laugh of the vales,
And Colin’s voice rings through the wood from the fold,
The wood to the mountain submissively bends,
Whose blue misty summit first glows with the sun;