“Three questions I put to you in recent letters. These, supposing me simply a common acquaintance, and in a position to ask the questions, should have been promptly answered, and it is but reasonable to claim what is due to any Mr. Jones or Mr. Jobson. Without self-command enough to be punctual and methodical, you cannot realize your plans as to more serious things than I now write about; nor, indeed, can you do anything effective in study without it. Read as much as you will, it will be like filling the sieve of the Danaids. But to drop fine metaphors and come to plain English, in heaven’s name begin to be wide awake to the common exigencies and observances of life. You can see distant and abstracted things well enough; but in such common things as are understood and practised by every boy behind a counter who is worth his salt, you are in the state of a blind puppy in the straw. I do not speak with the least anger on the subject; but, as a man of common worldly sense, I cannot too pointedly and forcibly urge on you, that without a complete alteration in this respect, everything of real importance which you attempt in the business of life will be an absolute failure. You swear by Scott. Recollect Athelstan the Unready. He gives ample proof of both[51] high valour and sound sense, and, when roused from his ruminative state, is even forcibly eloquent (where he floors the insolence of De Bracy). Yet he is the butt of the whole piece, because he is always ten minutes after time in thought and action; albeit he is by nature a finer character than Cedric, and twice as big and well-born. But everyone minds Cedric because he knows his own will and purpose, and carries it out promptly, with the power of seeing such things as are directly before his nose.”
George’s reply appears to have contained some statement as to his intentions in the matter of reading, as well as satisfactory answers to the neglected questions. Your grandfather, however, returns to the charge again:—
“I fully believe you have every desire and intention to follow up the course I wish, though your own experience in the vacation must have shown you that this desire is not enough unless backed by determination and method. I should not wish you to debar yourself of the full portion of healthy exercise desirable at your age, which is like ‘the meat and mass which hindereth no man,’ as our quaint old English expresses it. But I certainly wish you to recollect that the present year” [1838—he was seventeen] “is one of the most important in your life, as you are just of the age when the character forms itself one way or the other, and when time becomes valuable in a double degree. You told me of your own accord that your wish was to distinguish yourself at Oxford. If you are as certain as I am that this wish is a wise and desirable one, the next point is, to let it become one of those determinations which are only qualified by ‘Deo volente.’ With the foundation which has been already laid, the thing is undoubtedly in[52] your power, with life and health; and, if these fail us, the fault lies not in ourselves. The secret of attaining any point is, not so much in the quantity of time bestowed on it at regular and stated intervals, as in the strong will and inclination which makes it a matter of curiosity and interest, recurring to us at odds and ends of time, and never out of the mind; a labour of inclination rather than a matter of duty—a chase, as it were, of a wild duck” [we lived close to a river where wild ducks bred], “instead of a walk for the promotion of health and appetite. This sort of interest anyone may create on anything he pleases: for it is an artificial taste, not perhaps so easily understood at your time of life.... Industry in one’s vocation, when an honest and creditable one, is a Christian duty, although followed by persons indifferent to anything but self-interest. And it usually pleases God so to dispose of the course of events, that those best qualified to be useful to others in their generation have the best prospect of success in it.... The knowledge of history, divinity, and the dead languages, which you are now acquiring, are the basis of a liberal education, and play into each other as naturally as the hilt of a weapon fits the blade: these therefore are the points of leading interest in your life, in which your push should be made. Composition also is a valuable thing, in order to impart clearly to others what you know yourself, and prevent your candle from being hid under a bushel; and nothing bears a higher value in the world than this faculty. Mathematics are good, as they strengthen the attention and clear the head. In these I see you took a first class, and as I think you have a turn for them, I trust you will hold your present footing without sacrificing things which hereafter may be more essential. A fair progress in modern languages is not to be neglected; but the great points of interest are such as I have laid down, viz. knowledge of[53] the connexion, and leading features, of sacred and profane history; a true digestion of it in your head, and the power of clearly expressing whatever thoughts arise from it; and a critical acquaintance with the original languages from which the knowledge is derived. This, I have no doubt, will correspond with Dr. Arnold’s ideas as to the objects and direction of study in your case. In short, make up your mind what you will do, what you will be, and what portion of success you may fairly hope for by fairly pointing your nose to the desirable end; then keep it pointed there as steadily as the pin of the dial (‘gnomon’ if you want to be learned). And remember, that the more irksome any habit is in its formation, the more pleasantly and satisfactorily it sticks to you when formed. Order and clockwork in small things is what you want. Exempli gratia, the key of the pew-box gave us a long hunt the other day, till in going to church we found it sticking in the lock. Then, none of you ever put a book in its place again. N. S—— does, because he learned the habit from compulsion, and it has become second nature.”
“Donnington, 1839.
“Your mother and grandmother are both anxious that some destination should be early fixed for all of you; but on this I, who am more answerable, am rather cautious; feeling that much depends on what your own habits and predilections may be. At all events the right basis of every one’s education is this—to love God and your neighbour, and do your duty with diligence in whatever state of life circumstances may place you. No one can live in vain acting on these principles, and whatever tends not to their establishment is of very trifling importance. I have no time to pursue the subject further at present, as this is a busy morning, and your mother will want a good[54] share of this paper. I have begun another folio to Jack. N.B. You always have luck when I begin a letter, as I take a folio sheet in the spirit of foresight. Wat never brought his fishing-rod in; he is old enough now to cultivate orderly habits, and eschew (not chew) mouse pie. N.B. Eschew comes from Teutonic schauern, to shudder at.”
Again in 1840, referring to this indolent, easy-going habit, your grandfather writes:—
“The temper of mind which I mean is often allied (and in your case I trust and believe it is) to certain qualities, good in a social and Christian sense: candour, good nature, and a contented spirit; just as certain peculiar weeds are frequently the indication of a sound and wholesome staple of soil: but then they are weeds, and it is a Christian duty to eradicate them in the labourer responsible for the care of the soil. In this respect the children of this world are the wisest in their generation. We may safely take examples of skill, activity, and abiding interest in a purpose, from the worst and most selfish men; and those who are wise, as well as good, do take the example, and profit by it. Not but that young persons constitutionally indolent, if they are also conscientious in their duty to their friends, and correct in the general notion that industry in a calling is a duty, do complete their stated hours of study in an honest and competent manner. And this is precisely your case; a case which has put me in an awkward position in pointing out your deficiencies. It is an ungracious thing to tease and spur a tractable, good-tempered horse, who trots his seven miles an hour of his own accord, even when you know that he has the blood and power in him to go up to the best hounds with due training, and it is hard to treat[55] one’s son worse than one’s horse (or than one’s servants, for your mother truly taxes me with not keeping my household tightly up to their duties). These deficiencies nevertheless exist, and are indicated by many small traits. Now, indolence in my sense, and as applied to you, is exactly in the correct sense of the word—‘in’ (non) and ‘doleo,’ viz., as the Scots say, ‘canna be fashed’—cannot, unless led by some moral duty, or exigence of society, jump upon my legs and go about some little, teasing, but necessary five minutes’ errand, or turn my mind for the same time, by a sudden jerk, to something which breaks up the prevailing train of thought. This is a constitutional failing of my own, and I have been forced to establish rules in some things to break it through. But I never was tempted by it so as to leave anything to chance where any favourite project was concerned; here I expended perhaps too much accuracy and double diligence. Hence I fear the evil is more deeply seated in you. The last example is this:—On inspecting and laying up the two double guns, I found the inside of one rusty, the other black from careless cleaning. Now, no thoroughbred sportsman ever contents himself, when laying up his tools in ordinary, with trusting to his servant’s care, and not his own eye, in cleaning. Yet you are a good shot—doubtless because you like shooting, and employ while in the field all the power of your mind and body to attain your purpose. What is wanting is, the submission to dry detail (id quod dolet). But no one can be a thorough and efficient master of anything who cannot see to details. Pump away with all your might, and welcome, but your labour will be thrown away if you won’t submit to stop the leaks in your tub. It is exactly from the same temper that I have seen you take up a book in company when rather dull. True, the book is the more sensible companion, but the time and place prescribes ‘quod dolet,’ though not[56] so agreeable, or edifying. Thus it is in fifty things, all arguing a want of that order, and exactness, resulting from the due division of the mind. I could even argue it from the trifling trait of your never carrying a tassel to wipe your arrows with, and leaving your books open on the table for the maids to spill ink or dust on. I can prescribe for you in future in these respects, if you will trust yourself to me cheerfully, and not look aguish and woe-begone when spurred up to the mark by a word in season.”
And again in 1842:—
“As an illustration is necessary to a theme, suppose two garden engines of equal capacity, one leaky and loosely constructed, the other well staunched, which does not waste a drop of water. You may cobble and plug up the first pro tem., and by working it with a strong arm make it play well: anon it leaketh again, and without a strong and troublesome effort it is no go. The second is tight and compact at a moment’s notice, and throws its stream with precision, just as much as is wanted, and where it is wanted—
φων?ντα συνετο?σιν.
“I think there has been some improvement this year in your briskness and precision, but there is room for more. Straws show which way the wind blows. Videlicet, the not having looked in the calendar.[9] Then you keep your watch with your razors, and never can tell me what’s o’clock. With respect to your capacity for giving your might and main to a subject, when you are at it, I know enough to be well satisfied, and have no criticism to make.”
[9] As to sending in prize exercises at Oxford. A copy of his was too late.
[57]
The last reference of this kind which I find in your grandfather’s letters, which we’re always carefully preserved by George, occurs in 1846. After referring to an omission to notice the transfer of some money to his account, your grandfather goes on:—
“By the bye, I certainly am under the impression that you shrink from the trouble of details and cares of this kind; the same impression which I entertained five or six years ago. You must yourself know best whether I am right or not, and it is now of importance that you should candidly ask yourself the question, and, if self-convicted, turn completely over a new leaf, on account of having others soon to act and manage for, as master of a house. I need hardly tell you I suppose that, in all points of paramount importance, your character has formed in a manner which has given me thorough satisfaction, and that your friends and relatives have just reason for appreciating you highly as a member of society. I will also add, and with truth, that I know no man of your age, who, if placed in a difficult situation, would in my opinion act with more sense, firmness, and discretion; and this is much indeed. But the possession of a naturally decisive and influential character is just what requires digested method in small and necessary things; otherwise the defect is more ridiculously anomalous than in a scatter-brained fellow, whom no one looks up to, or consults. It is a godsend if a beggar is any better than barefoot, but what would you say to a well-dressed man otherwise, who had forgotten his feet, and came into a drawing-room with a pair of greasy slippers? Without buttering you up, yours happens to be a character which, to round it off consistently and properly, demands accuracy in small and irksome things. In some respects[58] I really think you have acquired this; in others, are acquiring it; and have no doubt that when ten years older, you will have progressed in a suitable degree. Meantime, if you are conscious that anything is wanting in these respects, it is high time now to put on the steam.”
As a slight illustration of the effect of these letters, I may add here, that to the end of his life, when he came in from shooting, my brother never rested until he had cleaned his gun with his own hands. When asked why he did not leave it to the keeper, he said he preferred its being done at once, and thoroughly; and the only way of being sure of that, was to do it himself. In some respects, however, he never got over his constitutional love of taking things easily, and avoiding bother and trouble.