to deceive others, the latter because they deceive themselves, and think they are promoting the cause of religion while they magnify the miracle of their own conversion. Cowper was not one of those persons who gratify their spiritual pride by representing themselves as the vilest of sinners. Whatever he, in his deplorable state of mind, may have said or thought of his own childhood, it is certain that he had been an inoffensive, gentle boy. His temper was peculiarly mild and amiable, and his intimacies were formed with the most intellectual of his schoolfellows,.. with those who afterwards distinguished themselves in life by their attainments and their talents; these are never the worst boys,.. never those with whom a bad one becomes intimate. And when Cowper accused himself as a juvenile proficient in the "infernal art of lying," it may well be believed that he imposed upon himself in a far greater degree than he had ever imposed upon an usher, for lying is certainly not one of those vices which are either acquired or fostered at a public school. "Religion," he says, was neither known nor practised" in the family of the oculist with whom he was two years domesticated. Here, too, he seems to have looked back through the same distorting medium. His words can only mean that family prayers were not performed in that house. What the opinions of the family were, he could as little know as he was likely to inquire, farther than as to the place of worship which they frequented; and of their private devotions it was impossible that he could know any thing. He proceeds to say, that whatever seeds of religion he might carry to Westminster, were all marred and corrupted there, before his seven years' apprenticeship to the classics was expired; that the duty of the schoolboy swallowed up every other, and that he acquired Latin and Greek at the expense of much more important knowledge. It cannot be gainsaid that our boarding-schools are unfavourable to those devotional feelings, the seeds of which have been sown in early childhood, and destructive of those devotional habits which have been learned at home; that nothing which is not intentionally profane can be more irreligious than the forms of religion which are observed there, and that the attendance of schoolboys in a pack at public worship, is worse than perfunctory. This is one of the evils connected with public education, such as it long has been, still is, and is likely to continue, however earnestly endeavours may be made to amend it. It is a great evil; but Cowper did not reflect upon its natural and obvious causes, when he accounted for it by saying that the duty of the schoolboy swallowed up every other. In his days, and in my own, that duty left time enough for idleness, or recreation, or the pursuits of private study to those who were studiously disposed: the forcing system had not been introduced. But at no time has a schoolboy's life offered any encouragement, any inducement, any opportunity for devotion. Much might be done to prevent or diminish the mischief incident to such institutions; but of all those mischiefs which are to be set against the great advantages belonging to them, this would be the most difficult to reach. In the natural course of human life, an intercourse is maintained between all the different grades from infancy to old age, and each in that intercourse exercises a salutary influence upon the others: in schools boys are brought together in great numbers, and kept together apart from all influences except that of mere authority. Theirs is the stage in which, in the wise order of things. the animal part of our nature predominates over the intellectual, and in a still greater degree over the spiritual; but something more than scholastic authority is required for counteracting the effect of evil example, to which in such establishments they are inevitably exposed. It appears from Cowper's own statement that the only part of religious instruction which fell within the province of the master was carefully inculcated. "That I may do justice," he says, "to the place of my education, I must relate one mark of religious discipline, which, in my time, was observed at Westminster; I mean the pains which Dr. Nicholls took to prepare us for confirmation. The old man acquitted himself of this duty like one who had a deep sense of its importance; and I believe most of us were struck by his manner, and affected by his exhortations. Then, for the first time, I attempted to pray in secret; but being little accustomed to that exercise of the heart, and having very childish notions of religion, I found it a difficult and painful task, and was even then frightened at my own insensibility. This difficulty, though it did not subdue my good purposes till the ceremony of con firmation was passed, soon after entirely conquered them. I relapsed into a total forgetfulness of God, with all the disadvantages of being the more hardened, for being softened to no purpose." What he remembered as the second instance of his serious impressions occurred while he was here at school. Crossing St. Margaret's churchyard late one evening, a glimmering light in the midst of it excited his curiosity, and instead of quickening his speed, and whistling to keep his courage up the while, he went to see from whence it proceeded. A gravedigger was at work there by lantern-light; and just as Cowper came to the spot, he threw up a skull, which struck him on the leg. This gave an alarm to his conscience, and he remembered the incident as among the best religious documents which he received at Westminster. The impression, as might be expected, soon wore off. "I became," he says, "so forgetful of mortality, that, strange as it may seem, surveying my activity and strength, and observing the evenness of my pulse, I began to entertain, with no small complacency, a notion that perhaps I might never die.” Death, indeed, appears to us in boyhood almost as much like a dream, as life to those who are far advanced upon their mortal pilgrimage. This, however, was a very short-lived notion; for, he continues, "I was soon after struck with a lowness of spirits, uncommon at that age, and had frequently intimations of a consumptive habit. I had skill enough to understand their meaning, but could never prevail upon myself to disclose them to any one, for I thought every bodily infirmity a disgrace, especially a consumption. This messenger of the Lord, however, did his errand, and perfectly convinced me I was mortal." The symptoms of consumption were no doubt as completely fanciful as the total depravity at the same age of which he afterwards accused himself. The ailments must have been very slight which were not perceived by others, and which did not prevent him from excelling at cricket and foot-ball. It has been said that the treatment he endured at Westminster in all probability produced his insuperable aversion to public schools. But that aversion arose from what he saw and what he reflected on in after life, not from any ill usage which he experienced there. His recollections of Westminster were pleasurable. In one of his letters he says, "He who cannot 6 look forward with comfort, must find what comfort he can in looking backward. Upon this principle I the other day sent my imagination upon a trip thirty years behind me. She was very obedient, and very swift of foot, presently performed her journey, and at last set me down in the sixth form at Westminster. I fancied myself once more a schoolboy, a period of life in which, if I had never tasted true happiness, I was at least equally unacquainted with its contrary. No manufacturer of waking dreams ever succeeded better in his employment than I do; I can weave such a piece of tapestry in a few minutes as not only has all the charms of reality, but is embellished also with a variety of beauties, which, though they never existed, are more captivating than any that ever did. Accordingly I was a schoolboy in high favour with the master, received a silver groat for my exercise, and had the pleasure of seeing it sent from form to form for the admiration of all who were able to understand it." This passage alone might prove that the strong disapproba 6 So completely is the statement contradicted that the cruelty which he underwent at Westminster, "produced an indelible recollection upon his mind through life;" that it "affords, in part, the clue by which his future circumstances are to be explained ;" and that "occasional symptoms of derangement in his early youth, may, in some measure, be ascribed to the same cause." This is affirmed in the brief memoirs of Cowper, revised and recommended by Mr. Greatheed.' 7 This custom was not practised at Westminster in the days of Dr. Vincent. But "sweet remuneration" was still dispensed in silver pence; and those pence produced still "goodlier guerdon," by an established rate of exchange at which the mistress of the boarding house received them, and returned current coin in the proportion of six to one. My first literary profits were thus obtained, and, like Cowper, I remember the pleasure with which I received them. But there was this difference, that his rewards were probably for Latin verse, in which he excelled, and mine were always for English composition. Cowper alludes to these words in his TableTalk: At Westminster, where little poets strive To set a distich upon six and five, Where discipline helps opening buds of sense, And makes his pupils proud with silver pence, I was a poet too. He adds, "Do you wish to see this highly applauded performance? It follows on the other side." Whatever it was, it had been torn off from the letter, and has perished. This is to be regretted; for whether in prose or verse, it would have been a cheerful sketch of his boyhood. tion of public schools which Cowper expresses in his poems was not occasioned by any unhappiness that he had suffered at Westminster. Even when describing most forcibly the evils and dangers connected with them, he draws a picture which shows with how much pleasure he looked back upon that part of his boyhood. Be it a weakness, it deserves some praise, The very name we carved subsisting still; The bench on which we sat while deep employ'd, Playing our games, and on the very spot, The chalky ring, and knuckle-down at taw; So far indeed were the years which Cowper passed at Westminster from being years of misery, that they were probably the happiest in his life. They were years in which he was not disquieted with any foresight of the obstacles which afterwards impeded his happiness; neither had he any cause, real or imaginary, for regret, or self-reproach. He was exactly one of those boys who choose for themselves the good that may be gained at a public school, and eschew the evil, being preserved from it by their good instincts, or by the influence of virtuous principles inculcated in childhood. Being equally fond of his studies and his sports, he was a proficient in both. "When I was a boy," he says in one of his letters, "I excelled at cricket and football; but the fame I acquired by achievements that way is long since forgotten, and I do not know that I have made a figure in any thing else." The first 9 Tirocinium. |