the doubts as to his own usefulness in the world, noticed in the last chapter, wore off naturally as he fell into the routine of country life; but it was the growth of the younger generation—of you for whom this sketch is written—which found him in work and interest during the last years of his life. i could never have envied him anything; but if there was one talent of his more than another which i have longed to share, it was his power of winning, not only the love, but the frank confidence, of his own, and all other boys. i think the secret was, that he was far more in sympathy with them; could realize more vividly their pleasures, and troubles, than almost any man of his age. and then, he had never given up athletic games altogether, and was still a far better cricketer and football player than most boys, and ready to join them in their sports whenever they seemed to wish it.
few things gave him more pleasure than taking up again the thread of intimate relations with his old school,[152] which he did when his eldest nephew entered there. he accompanied him, to give him confidence and a good start, and characteristically recounts that “we had a famous football match, and i got my legs kicked to my heart’s content, thereby vividly recalling old times.” he remarks also, at the same time, “rugby is charming; only there is rather too much what i call ‘drill,’ in the play as in the work—not spontaneous enough.” not long after, in 1866, his own eldest boy followed. he thus details that event to his mother:—
“offley, september 27, 1866.
“we went to rugby last thursday, and the new-comers were examined on friday and saturday. as we rather feared, herby failed to get into the middle school. we were rather disappointed, and he, poor boy, was in despair, as he was afraid arnold would not take him, and that he would have to go to mr. furness; however, arnold offered to make an exception in his case, and as we joyfully accepted it, master herby was duly installed in his uncle’s study, and we left him on monday morning very happy, and delighted with his new dignity of a public school boy. our visit to rugby was very pleasant, and not a little exciting. the school is much altered since my time—the boys are much more accurately dressed, less rollicking, and more decorous. the exceeding quiet of the town and playground struck me particularly. i should like to have seen a little more running about, and to have heard a little more shouting; in fact a jolly curly-haired youngster with whom i made a casual acquaintance, said to me, ‘i am sure, sir, you must have had much more fun in your time than we have.’ it is perhaps just as well that they should have[153] become quieter. the recognized name for the anxious parents who bring their boys up for examination is the ‘early fathers,’ because, i suppose, they take care to be at the schoolroom-door with their hopefuls a quarter of an hour before the examination begins. jenny lind’s boy has just gone to the school-house; he is, as boys say, awfully ’cute, and came out nearly head of the examination. jenny lind was at chapel herself on sunday; her husband has done much for the music of the school; the singing in chapel is exceedingly good, and the whole service very impressive. the last time i was in chapel there was in poor arnold’s time. the master of herby’s form, mr. buckoll, was my old master when i was in the shell thirty years ago! also mrs. jacomb, of the principal tuck shop, used to spoil our stomachs in my time. i felt myself rather boyish again, without the boisterous spirits and good stomach of boyhood.”
from this time he constantly visited the school, and kept his mother and sister informed of the progress of the boys. i add a few extracts from his letters:—
“november, 1866.—i was at rugby last saturday, and stayed over sunday. walter breakfasted with me on sunday morning, and very jolly he was. he and herby won’t see much of one another until they get higher in the school. junior boys never enter each other’s boarding-houses. this is very absurd, but no power on earth can alter boys’ fashions.”
“eaton socon, november 26th, 1867.
“boys’ letters get so full of school slang that it is hard to understand them. herbert says in his last that he got[154] 100 lines from chumley for tweaking. this was hebrew to us, as ‘tweaking’ was not a rugby word in my time. on referring the matter to ned, he immediately informed us that ‘tweaking’ in boys’ language was, shooting shot out of a catapult, or other warlike engine.”
“offley, 1868.
“we have excellent accounts from rugby. herbert is at the head of his form, and evidently finds his work easier, and is in a high state of encouragement. one of his schoolfellows has just shot himself in the leg with a ‘saloon,’ meaning a saloon pistol. hang all pistols, but boys will have them.”
“offley, october 7th, 1868.
“concerning schoolboys’ etiquette, it beats all other etiquette. public schools cultivate reserve, and so strongly that i think one never gets quite rid of it, although one gets better in after-life. i wish it was not so; it is one of the drawbacks of public schools, which are on the whole excellent institutions. one must take the sours with the sweets.
“herbert would not think of speaking to a schoolfellow (not on a par with himself), unless first spoken to. and in public schools the great ‘swells’ are those distinguished at cricket, football, &c. then come the sixth, by virtue of their legal power. then the great middle class, including clever, stupid, pleasant, unpleasant, &c., and then the new boys, and the very small boys. all the power and influence is in the hands of the athletes, and the sixth form, and all the rest pay them (the athletes) the greatest respect, and the most willing obedience. they obey the sixth (lawful authority) less willingly. all this is not quite satisfactory, but it might be worse. at all events temple, who is a tremendous radical, knows it and[155] allows, nay, encourages it. but i find that few people are radicals in their own departments.”
“offley, november 7th, 1868.
“i went for the day to see the old rug. match, and gave walter and herbert a dinner at the ‘shoes’ before going away. walter played in the match, and the young ones gave it the old rugs hot, much to my delight. walter seemed wonderfully well, and ditto herbert. he always looks pale at school, but he was in high spirits, and evidently enjoys school life. he is very different from me in some things; his study is awfully ’cute (that’s boys’ english, and means tidy and full of knick-knacks); in fact he is a bit of a dandy; i was not. also he must be a better boy than i was, for his character is really first-rate in everything; and the masters used always to row me for not doing as much as i could. that was the burden of their song.”
as a complement to these letters, i add here extracts from those to his eldest boy:—
“thank you much for your letter received this morning; you are very good in writing so regularly, and i hope you will keep up the habit, for (i repeat) there is no pleasure to us so great as to receive your letters. we are glad to hear you are ‘all right’ in your form. i have no objection to the rifle corps. it would be odd if i had, as i was a volunteer myself; only go into it heartily, and learn your drill well. it is capital exercise, and it will do you good to be ‘set up,’ as you stoop too much. i should not think, however, that temple would let the rugby volunteers go to windsor. if he thinks proper to do so, of course i have no objection. i suppose that as usual you are ‘hard up,’ so i send you a p.o. order. you must learn to exercise a little[156] forethought and self-denial about money matters: you spend more than your income. you must overcome this habit, for it would embarrass and, perhaps, ruin you hereafter.”
the next extract refers to some help in his work which his father sent him from time to time:—
“i depend upon your looking out all the words, and working it out for yourself with the help of my translation. you promised me to do this, and i know you are a boy of your word, otherwise i shouldn’t think it right to help you. your tutor may ask if you have any assistance. if he does you must say you found it very hard (which it really is for a boy of your age), and asked me to help you. there is nothing like being open and truth-telling with your masters, and every one. if he objects to my helping you, you must do the best you can without it, like a man; but i don’t think he will object. your place in the form seems very satisfactory: if you do get out we shall be very much pleased, but don’t make yourself anxious about it, only do your best....”
again at the beginning of the following half-year:—
“the reason you give for having lost a few places is no doubt the right one—that you have not got yet into the swing—it will be all right in a week or two. i have no doubt you will get your remove at the end of term easily enough. the exam. (if i understand rightly) consists of subjects which you prepare during term, and there is not much ‘unseen.’ this will be an advantage to you over the idle ones who don’t prepare their work. i shall be delighted to help you in any way, if you will only let me know, and give me due notice. perhaps you won’t believe me when i assure you again, that latin prose will come to[157] you as well as cricket and football in good time; but it is the truth nevertheless. at your age i often felt the same discouragement which you feel. i had rather overgrown myself like you, and was longer ‘ripening’ (to use an expressive phrase) than many fellows who did not grow so fast; but it all came right in my case, as it will in yours. therefore en avant and don’t be discouraged....”
“we are very glad to hear that you are in upper-middle one, and it will make us very happy if you can get another remove at christmas. it is to be done if you like, and as you cannot play football just now (worse luck) you will have more time. don’t you want some help in your tutor work? if so, send me the book; or is there anything else in which i can help you? you are now rapidly becoming a young man, and have probably some influence in the school, and will have more. be kind to the new boys and juniors; even if they are ‘scrubby,’ your business is to polish them, and you will do this much better by a little kind advice than by making their lives a burden (i don’t say, mind, that you are unkind to them). don’t ‘bosh’ your masters. remember that they are gentlemen like yourself, and that it is insulting them to ‘bosh’ them when they are taking trouble with you. as to the sixth form, i don’t quite approve of all the customs thereof, but it is an institution of the school, and, on the whole, beneficial, and it is no use kicking against it. now i have done with my preaching. i don’t know that it is necessary, but it can do you no harm, and i know you respect my opinion. your mother is horrified at your signing yourself ‘hughes,’ tout court (as the french say), so to please her don’t forget to put in ‘your affectionate son’ (as i know you are). god bless you.
“yours most affectionately,
“g. e. hughes.”
[158]
“i was much pleased by your writing so openly to me. it will make me very happy if you will treat me with perfect confidence in all matters. you need have no fear that i shall not understand and sympathise with you, for although (as we have said in joke) i was a rugbeian in the time of the ancient britons, when we had no breeches, and painted ourselves blue for decency’s sake, it seems to me a very short time since i was as you are, and i have a very vivid recollection of my youth, feelings, prejudices, faults, and all the rest of it.”
and then, after some advice about his matriculation at oxford, his father goes on:—
“i am not going to preach to you about billiards. if there had been a table at rugby in my time (there was none), i might very possibly have played myself; although, like you, i should certainly not have made a habit of it, preferring, as i did and do, more active amusements. don’t play again at rugby; it would be childish, as well as wrong, to risk leaving the school under a cloud, for such a paltry gratification. i don’t agree with you in comparing billiards to your school games: billiards (public) generally involve smoking, and a certain amount of drinking, and losing money (or winning, which is worse); and engender a sort of lounging habit. i am afraid you have rather a fast lot at rugby, and what you tell me about card-playing makes me rather anxious about jack. it is altogether abominably bad form, and i wish you would get up an opposition to it. it ought to be put down for the credit of the school. i must say that there was no such card-playing in my time. having said my say, i must leave you to do what you can, in concert with any other big[159] fellows in the house, who may be brought to see the matter in my light.”
the “jack” referred to in the last letter was his third boy, who was now in his first term at a preparatory school for rugby. this chapter may fitly close with his letters to this, the youngest of his boys whom he lived to see launched at school. he was a favourite subject of study to his father, who writes of him at pau, years before: “jack will be, i think, the strongest of the lot. he always clears his plate, fat and all, and always clears his lesson, however disagreeable;” and again, to his sister, who was the boy’s godmother:—
“your favourite jack is always running after me, and is a very good boy, and surprisingly good company too. he has not quite forgotten how to ‘beak’ himself when he feels insulted. about a week ago the children had some shrimps for tea, and jack was offended because he was presented with a ‘baby’ shrimp instead of a big one; so he pushed his chair from the table, and prostrated himself on his knees, with his nose in the carpet. after remaining for five minutes in that position, he felt better. it is a more amusing way of getting rid of steam than crying. children have the funniest fancies in the world. there is a scotch terrier next door to us, with a grave and venerable face, and a long grey beard. jack said one day, ‘that doggy like moses coming down de mountain;’ and so he really is like moses, in one of those little woodcuts in which children delight, but i should never have thought of such a ridiculous comparison.”
[160]
“westward ho, october 1871.
“dearest old boy,
“here we are all right, and i wish we had your jolly face at the other end of the table, for we miss you very much. i have begun golf, but there are not many golfers here yet; however, there is one very good player named oliphant, so i have not much chance of the medal. your friends the molesworths are both gone to radley school, near oxford. there are only 100 boys there, but it is a nice place, and being near the thames, they get plenty of rowing; in fact, that is their chief amusement. ned plays golf with me, but has not got into his play yet. you are a good old boy for writing so often, and i hope you will continue it. nothing gives us so much pleasure as your letters and herbert’s, and don’t think that anything that happens to you is too trifling to tell us of. now about your letter. i always thought that you would find the lessons rather a grind at first: you see it is your first school, and you have had no experience in working with a lot of other boys, perhaps making a row, and idling around you. never mind. it will get easier every day, and besides, i believe that you have something of the bull-dog about you, and won’t be discouraged by a little hardship and difficulty at first. i hope you will be one of your fifteen, for then i shall come up to see you play, but anyhow i am as certain as i can be of anything that you will be first-rate at football some day, and a first-rate scholar too, i hope. the two things often go together. all well, and send best love. mamma and argy hope your shoulder is not much hurt, and i have no doubt it is all right again. god bless you.
“yours most affectionately,
“g. e. h.
“p.s.—i shall never think anything that you write awful ‘bosh.’”
[161]
“offley, westward ho, 1871.
“dearest jack,
“thank you for your letters, which interest us immensely. boys make the most absurd customs, as you will find out: it is better to give way to their customs in a good-tempered way; new boys are not admitted at once to the full privileges. it does not much matter, as i hope you won’t be long at ——. boys think it very fine and manly not to prepare their lessons, whereas in fact nothing can be more childish. take your own way, and never mind them. it is half pretence with them, and they will respect you more if they see you have your own way. you need not stand being ‘sat upon,’ and yet you can be good-tempered and obliging, but, above all, don’t forget what i said to you when we parted. don’t forget the lessons you have learnt at home (i don’t mean latin and greek). god bless you. write as often as you have time.
“yours most affectionately,
“g. e. h.”
“october 1871.
“dearest old boy,
“thank you for your letters. they are well written and spelt, and creditable to you in every way. although it is not pleasant to us to hear that you are miserable (or rather uncomfortable, for ‘miserable’ is a strong word), yet we always like to hear exactly what you feel. i don’t think you can be exactly miserable, for i believe that you are doing your best. god will not suffer us to be miserable (at least not for any time) whilst we do our duty. don’t be discouraged about your work; you see it is your first plunge into school. all your schoolfellows have had more experience than you: practice will give you the quickness and accuracy that you want.
[162]
“your feelings towards us are quite natural: when you are at home, perfectly happy, although you do not love us less, you do not feel it so much; when you are thrown among a lot of people who do not much care about you, you find out the value of our love for you, and think more of us. however, you have herbert, and i daresay you think that you love him better now than ever you did at home. as we are all sinful and imperfect creatures, i have no doubt that you have sometimes done and said things which we should be sorry to hear of. you must ask god to help you to do better in future; but i must say that i have always found you good and obedient, and you have never given us any anxiety. there is one lesson which you ought to learn from your present feelings of discomfort and worry; when you are a big boy at rugby, and see any poor little fellow worried and uncomfortable, you must say a kind word to him (remembering what you once felt yourself); you have no idea how much good a kind word from a big fellow (what you call a swell) will do to a poor little beggar. you remember how kind gardner was, and how much he was liked at rugby for it. all are well, and send best love. i fully intend to come to see you when i get back to offley—perhaps to the old rug. match. god bless you.
“yours most affectionately,
“g. e. hughes.”
“november, 1871.
“dearest old boy,
“i know why you feel rather down in the mouth just now. you have (to use a phrase in athletics) lost your first wind, and haven’t yet got your second wind. the novelty of excitement of school life has gone off, and you are too new to it yet to enjoy what there is enjoyable in it. courage! i know your feelings well, having experienced[163] them myself. so has herbert: so, in short, has everyone who has ever been at school. you will soon get over it all, and like your school life, although of course it is not so pleasant as home. most schoolboys are selfish and bad-mannered, and there are always plenty of snobs and bullies amongst them; but there is always a minority of nice fellows. i am inclined to believe that as you go so often to arnold’s, you have not made much acquaintance with your schoolfellows. perhaps it would be better to cultivate their acquaintance more. don’t be afraid about not getting into rugby. you ought to have heard herbert’s doleful forebodings about never being able to get out of lower school: he was much more doleful than you, but if you were to remind him of it, he would probably not remember it at all; neither will you a year hence. if you are hungry, can’t you buy grub in the town? i mean something like sausage-rolls, or hard eggs. i will give you the money for it; or can you suggest any way in which we can supply you? what do you do on sundays? and to what church do you go? i wish we could have you with us occasionally, just as much as you do. all are well, and join in best love. god bless you.
“yours most affectionately,
“g. e. hughes.”
“offley.
“dearest old boy,
“i believe your mamma has written to you, but i must give you a few lines to say how much we were pleased with your report which came this morning. there is no happiness in this world so great to us as the assurance that you and your brothers are doing well. i am very sorry that you were down in the mouth at my departure. i should like to have you always with me, but you (being a boy of good sense) must know very[164] well that it cannot be: you must (like all others) fly from the nest some time or other, and school is the preparation for a longer flight. i have no doubt that now you are all right again. you won’t be down-hearted long, if you only work well and do your duty. at your age the spirits are very elastic, and soon recover any depression.
“we shall be anxious to hear about your cough and sharp’s opinion. god bless you,
“yours most affectionately,
“g. e. h.”
“offley, sunday, nov. 26th, 1871.
“dearest old boy,
“i have nothing particular to tell you, but must write a line in return for your jolly letters, which are very pleasant to us. i am very sorry that your cough is not better. i am afraid that you will not get rid of it until we get you at home, and nurse you properly. you will soon be with us now; in the meantime take care of yourself, and make the most of your time (i don’t think i need tell you to work, as you seem so well inclined already). i will write about your coming home, and also about your going up for the entrance exam. after christmas. i wish very much that you should go up. i really don’t see why you should go to rugby three days before the exam.; but if they insist upon it, i suppose it must be so. i hope you won your match yesterday. it is very unfortunate that you could not play as you would have done but for this unlucky cough. never mind, you have plenty of time before you for football. all are well, and join in best love to you. god bless you.
“yours most affectionately,
“g. e. hughes.
“the hounds come to wellbury to-morrow. i hope your game was good. let us know.”
[165]
at the beginning of the next term jack went to rugby, and almost the first letter he received from his father was the following valentine, which species of missive appears to have become popular amongst boys:—
“february 23, 1872.
“this is the month when little cu-
-pid robs us of our senses, oh!
’tis he inspires me to renew
my doleful strains of love to you,
oh, charming, fascinating cru-
-el walter jacky mansfield hugh-
-es, schol? rugbeiensis, oh!
“i learn to dance and sew, while you
are learning latin tenses, oh!
how i should like to dance with you,
instead of with my frightful grew-
-some governess, oh! charming cru-
-el walter jacky mansfield hugh-
-es, schol? rugbeiensis, oh!
“i’m sure the least that you can do
to calm my nerves and senses, oh!
is (though ’tis slightly overdue)
to take this little billet-doux,
and be the valentine so true
of her who signs herself your su-
-san, charming, fascinating cru-
-el walter jacky mansfield hugh-
-es, schol? rugbeiensis, oh!
“your susan.”
[166]
in explanation of an allusion in the next letter, i insert an extract of the same date, from one to his sister:—
“jack is in high force, but has been having extra lessons (with all his schoolfellows), in consequence of (what he calls) a ‘towel fight,’ and subsequent ‘war dance,’ in which the school indulged in an irrepressible burst of youthful spirits. what geese boys are!”
“offley, march 1872.
“dearest jack,
“i hope you got the hamper all right, and that the ‘grub’ was good and of the right sort. your ‘war dance’ amused us excessively, and of course there is no harm in a war dance; but, if it is forbidden, what an old goose you are to risk having impositions and extra lessons for it! but schoolboys are always the same, and i can’t expect you to be wiser than the rest.
“if you can’t make out why your copies are wrong, why don’t you ask one of your schoolfellows? i suppose some of them are good fellows, and would tell you your mistake; or say openly to the master that you can’t find out, and i should think he would enlighten you. at least, he ought. we shall have you home in about three weeks, and right glad we shall be. go at it hard for the remainder of the term, for remember the entrance exam. you must work a little in the holidays to keep up what you know. the boys are better, and have been playing football vigorously. best love to herbert; ask him whether he wants any cricket practice. i mean hughes to bowl. god bless you.
“yours most affectionately,
“g. e. h.”
westward ho, from which several of the preceding letters were written, had become his favourite watering-place. he[167] had gone there at first by chance, and, finding links and a golf club, had taken to the game with his usual success. at pau he had played a little, but certainly never handled a club till he was past forty. nevertheless, though it is a game in which, i am told, early training and constant practice is almost an essential condition of success, he entered for, and succeeded in winning the champion’s medal in the annual gathering of 1870. soon after his return from the meeting he wrote to me.
“we spent three very pleasant weeks at westward ho. i wish that i could infect you with ‘golfomania.’ golf is the middle-aged man’s game. i mean by the middle-aged man, the man who could once, but cannot now, get down upon a leg shooter. we had a dozen hard-worked men from the city, besides doctors, lawyers, soldiers on leave, etc., all perfectly mad whilst it lasted. i was quite as mad as the rest, and having now ‘relapsed’ into sanity, i am able to look back upon it with the most intense amusement. the humour of the whole thing was positively sublime. you have heard squires at their wine after a good run—bless you, they can’t hold a candle to golfers. most of the players were scotch, and the earnestness with which the scotch ‘play’ is a caution. i think of trying my hand at a rhapsody about golf.”
the rhapsody was, i believe, never written, but he continued to like and practise the game till his death, which indeed is, in my mind, rather painfully connected with it. my last visit to offley was in the short easter vacation of this year, and i thought i had never seen him better, or[168] in more full vigour of body and mind. on the 30th of march he mounted me, and i rode with him and two of his boys to a meet near offley. we had a run early in the day, and got home to a late lunch, after which he went out into his plantations and worked till dark. indeed, when i left the same evening by the mail train for the north, i beguiled my journey by thinking that the whole kingdom might be searched in vain to find a finer specimen of a man. on that day four weeks i received a telegram from hoylake to say that he was lying there very dangerously ill. he had gone on there, after leaving his boys at rugby, to take part in the golf tournament. he went down with a bad cold, but paid no attention to it, and went round the links with some friends on the first evening. the next day he became much worse, and was obliged to take to his bed, from which he never got up. the cold had settled on his lungs, and violent inflammation was set up. his wife and children were summoned at once, and his mother and sister and myself two days later. when i arrived, the lower part of the lungs had suppurated, and the medical man gave very slight hopes of his recovery. he could only speak with exceeding difficulty, but retained his strength, and the grip of his hand was as strong as ever. he met death with the same courage as he had shown throughout life, giving me a few clear instructions for a codicil to his will, while his youngest boy lay with his head on his shoulder, crying bitterly, and almost with his[169] last breath regretting the trouble he was giving his nurse. on the afternoon of may 1st he received the sacrament with all of us, and at four on the morning of the 2nd passed away, leaving behind him, i am proud to think, no braver or better man. but you shall have better testimony than mine on this point. out of the many letters to the same purpose which i received, and two of which have found a place in the earlier part of this memoir, i select an extract from one written by bishop macdougal, who, thirty years ago, had rowed behind him in the university boat.
“i must just write a line to express my heartfelt sympathy with you in your sad, sad bereavement. dear old george! what an irreparable loss to you and all his old friends! i have myself been heavy-hearted ever since i heard he had been called away from us, and shall never think of his cheery voice, his hearty greeting, his kindly, loving words, without a sharp pang of regret that i shall no more in this life meet with him i loved so well, and admired as the finest specimen of the high-minded, earnest, true-hearted english gentleman it has been my lot to meet with. he was too good for this hard, selfish generation, and he is in god’s mercy called away to that better world, where love and truth and peace dwell undisturbed in the presence of our blessed lord. may we, my dear tom, have grace given us so to fight the good fight of truth and faith, that when our work is done we may be called thither to join your dear brother and our other loved ones, who have gained the victory over self and the world, and have been called to their rest before us.”
