“There is a boy who will go all the way home with us—G——. He is a prÆpostor. He is going as far as Newbury that day, where he is going to sleep, and go on in the Oxford coach to Winchester, where he stops. Would you think it any inconvenience to give him a bed? It is not, however, of the least consequence, only I think that being a stranger in those parts he would take it kindly, and be able to return the favour to Walter or Tom at Rugby. If you think it the least inconvenience pray tell me, for it does not signify one jot: I have not said a word to him on the subject yet. We begin to smell the approach of the holidays; the bills are being made up, the trunks brought down, the clothes cleaned, &c. &c. I shall take care to peep into the Museum on my road through Oxford, as I did not half satisfy my curiosity before. I am glad to hear that Dumple goes well in harness; also that the wild ducks “habitant in flumine nostro, quos ego, maxime gaudeo;” that Mr. Majendie has approved of my Lyric verses, which, however, I cannot think merit such commendation. There has been a great balloon mania in the school lately; everybody has been making a balloon. We set them off with spirits of wine lighted under them, and then run after them. They generally go about five miles, and we always recover them after a hard run. I have cut one out myself from tissue paper, and I will bring it home that I may have the pleasure of setting it off before Jenny. I think she would like to see it.”

“Rugby, March 16, 1836.

“I will now tell you what I was examined in for the scholarship; 1st, in composition, Latin theme; subject, ‘Est natura hominum novitatis avida,’ which, as you may imagine, was very easy; Latin verse, ‘The Battle of ThermopylÆ;’ English theme, ‘Painting,’ also very easy. In the Latin verse I did seventeen verses in two hours, which was more than any other of the candidates, and I quite satisfied myself in the other two subjects. In Latin construing we had a passage from Virgil and CÆsar, and in Greek, Homer’s Odyssey. We were also examined in St. Paul, and, thanks to your abbreviation, I answered all the questions. We have yet to be examined in Mackintosh, French, and mathematics.

“I think now I have satisfied you with respect to the work of the scholarship.”

“We are all quite well. I did not get the scholarship, but I was third. I have been promoted out of the lower into the middle fifth, and I am doing very well in it. We read Demosthenes, Thucydides, Cicero in Verrem, and the Antigone of Sophocles. The great examination at the end of the half is soon going to be set. The middle fifth and upper fifth are examined together, and if I do well in it I may be high up in the fifth at the end of the half.”

“June 6th, 1836.—I have got some good news for you. I have got an addition to your rosewood bookcase, alias a prize! It’s called ‘Rickman’s Architecture.’ It is very nicely bound, and has some nice pictures of abbeys and churches, with a description of all the fine cathedrals and large churches, amongst which I saw our old Uffington church. Donnington Castle was also mentioned.”

“I have got a nice double study to myself, but I wish I had some more books, since I think that nothing makes a study look so nice as books. I must bring some to Rugby next half; I can take care of them now. I have lately been engaged in making an English verse translation of a chorus in the Eumenides, and I will give it you, if you think it worth while reading. I wish you would criticize it as much as you can. I know it is very imperfect, but as it is the first regular copy of English verse I ever did, I think it is pretty good for me. Here it is,” &c.

“April 1837.—They are getting on very fast with the railroad, and I hear that it is to be finished in August. I intend going to-morrow to Kilsby to see a very large tunnel that they are making for the railroad there.

“There has been a row about fishing. Mr. Boughton Leigh’s keeper took away a rod from a fellow who was fishing in a part of the river that has always been given to the fellows to fish in, but which the keeper said was a preserve of Mr. Leigh’s. The fellows went in a body to Mr. Leigh’s house, but found he had gone to London; they are going to write a letter to him, asking the reason of taking the rod. The fellow who had his rod taken away has caught an immense quantity of pike, and this half he caught in one afternoon two, one 5 lbs., the other three.”

...

“June 1837.—I dare say you will be glad to hear that Stanley[4] has got the English verse; they say it is the best since Heber’s Palestine that has been written; some part of it was quoted in the ‘Standard.’ Vaughan[5] also has got the Porson’s Greek verse, and the Greek Ode and Epigrams.”

...

“September 1837.—There was a meeting at Rugby a little while ago, got up by some horrid Radicals, about paying Church rates, whether they should pay them or not: but there was a very large majority that they should pay them; although half the town are Dissenters, and another quarter Radicals.”

...

“November.—I suppose Tom has told you that I have been raised to the sixth form, and am now a prÆpostor. I do not find the work much harder than it was in the fifth. A Mr. Walker, philosophical lecturer, has just been here, and when he found the fellows would not come to his lectures, and heard that they were playing football, delivered himself of this elegant sentence, ‘Brutes, to prefer football to philosophy!’ which you may imagine caused a laugh, and did not at all further his object of procuring an audience. This same person afterwards caused an article to be put into the Northampton Herald complaining of the conduct of Dr. Arnold, in not allowing the boys to go without permission of their parents. Yesterday the school house, after a resistance of six days, were beaten; but it is not quite certain about whether it was a goal or not, and perhaps we shall play it again. The classing examination is just going to begin. I believe I am pretty well prepared. Clough has gone. Dr. Arnold has been away at London, at an examination of London University. Dr. Arnold’s two sons are now at Rugby, having left Winchester. I have changed my study, and have now a horribly dark place in the bottom passage, which it is the fate of the bottom prÆpostor in the house to have, but I shall leave it next half.”

...

“March 1838.—I write to tell you that I should like to write for one of the prizes, as I think it will be a good exercise for me; I have no particular choice, but I should prefer either the English prose, ‘On the increased facility of local communication, and its probable effects on society,’ or the Latin verse ‘On the abdication of Charles the Fifth;’ and I wish you would tell me which you think the best.

“The London and Birmingham Railroad has been opened from Rugby to Birmingham, and also from Stoney Stratford to London, but, in consequence of Kilsby tunnel falling in, it will not yet be opened the whole way: it is opened all the way now except thirty miles in the middle. I saw one of the trains go by yesterday for the first time in my life, and I was very much astonished.”

...

“June 1838.—Have you read Mr. Dickens’ ‘Nicholas Nickleby?’ I liked it very much, though I thought some parts of it are very much exaggerated and unnatural; particularly that about the school, if you have read it. I am sure no one could help laughing at it; but I think ‘Oliver Twist’ much superior.

“The Great London and Birmingham Railroad is to be opened throughout to-morrow week, I believe, so there will be no more coaches to bother us.”

“Sept. 1838.—’Tis pleasant, sure, to see oneself in print. I saw my production in Mr. Bentley’s last number by the side of much more deserving ones: I was very much amused with the last number, particularly with the report of the proceedings of the Mudfog Association. The idea of giving the young noblemen and gentlemen a place on purpose for their pranks was delightful, and likely I should think to knock that sort of thing on the head.”

“March 1839.—I then went and called on Mr. Barham, and we went for a walk, first up into St. Paul’s Library, where I saw some very fine books. We then went to Drury Lane Theatre, and Mr. Barham got us tickets for that night from Mr. Peake, who is, I believe, stage manager. It was curious to see the difference between the theatre in the day-time, and when it was lighted up at night. We then went to the Garrick Club and saw all the pictures there, which were very interesting. We went to Drury Lane that night and saw Mr. Van Amburgh and his lions, which was the only thing worth seeing in the evening. I saw some other lions, authors, &c. whom Mr. Barham knew; I am sure I think he knows everybody. I must not forget to tell you that we went through Alsatia, to a coal wharf Mr. Barham wanted to visit.

“Have you seen Sir Robert Peel’s speech about the Corn Laws? I should think he must have tired his legs and his lungs both, before he sat down: I don’t understand much about it, but it seems to cause a good deal of excitement.”

“I have received a letter from Dr. Arnold deserving attention, by which it appears that you have been remiss in your duties as a prÆposter, though he speaks fairly enough as to your own personal conduct. He alludes particularly to the letting off of fireworks, and the man whose images were broken, in neither of which you appear to have shown due diligence in discovering or reporting the boys concerned. Moreover, he thinks that those prÆposters who have been more active in enforcing the school routine have been unjustly treated with contempt and insult by the larger party of the boys—in fact, either bullied, or cut; and evidently he thinks that you have been amongst the cutters. Now, it is impossible for me to enter into the exact merits of the case at a distance; and possibly I may not be inclined to see it in all its details with the eye of a zealous schoolmaster; but, as you are now of a thinking age, I will treat the matter candidly to you, as a man of the world and a man of business, in which capacities I hope to see you efficient and respected in the course of a few years. Your own conduct seems to be gentlemanly and correct. Very good; this is satisfactory as far as it goes. But clearly, by the regulations of the school, you have certain duties to perform, the strict execution of which may in some cases be annoying to your own feelings, and to that esprit de corps which always exists among boys. Nevertheless, they must be performed. Those young men who have a real regard for the character of their school, which all of you are ready enough to stickle for when you get outside its walls, must not allow it to become a mere blackguard bear-garden, and to stink in the nostrils of other public schools, by tolerating, in those they are expected to govern, such things as they would not do themselves. When you grow a little older you will soon perceive that there is no situation in life worth having, and implying any respect, where moral firmness is not continually required, and unpleasant duties are to be performed. Were you now in the army, you would find that if you were not strict enough with your men, you would have a pack of drunkards and pilferers under your command, disgracing the regiment; and would receive a hint from your Colonel, in double quick time, to mend your vigilance or sell out. Ditto, if you were older and a college tutor. I remember a clever, amiable, and learned man, whom our young fellows used to laugh at behind his back, and play tricks on before his face, because he laboured under such a nervous gentlemanly scrupulousness that he could not say Bo to a goose, and therefore they learned little under him. I find myself that a magistrate has many harsh and disagreeable duties to perform, but he must perform them, or the law of the land becomes an old song, and his own person ridiculous. So that, in fact, I only urge you to conform yourself, like a sensible person, to the general condition of human life. I am inclined to think that the slackness in your case has arisen more from constitutional ease of temper than for fear of what a clique of disorderly fellows might say of you: for if it had been the latter motive, I am sure you had it not by inheritance from your mother or me. But this ease of temper may be carried to a fault. In a word, you must correct it forthwith in your conduct as a prÆposter, if you expect that I can treat you, as I wish to do, in the light of a young man, and a responsible person: as to my affection, you will always have that, so long as your own conduct is good. Now as to those crackers; you must have known the thing was childish and dangerous, and forbidden for good reasons. Remember poor Harrow.[7] Therefore you might have interposed in a firm and civil way, and prevented it on pain of instant report to the master, and no one could have complained that you did anything ungentlemanly. As to the fellows who broke the poor man’s images and would not fork out the damage, I wish you had been more successful, perhaps more active, in discovering them; if you had broken their heads I could not have blamed you. But on this I must write to Tom. So good bye; and if you really value my respect for your character, look sharper to your police department. Remember you are no longer a child.”

“I have heard an account of the affair of the images. You should have remembered, as a Christian, that to insult the poor is to despise the ordinance of God in making them so: and moreover, being well born and well bred, and having lived in good company at home, which, may be, has not been the privilege of all your schoolfellows, you should feel that it is the hereditary pride and duty of a gentleman to protect those who perhaps never sat down to a good meal in their lives. It would have been more manly and creditable if you had broken the head of ——, or some pompous country booby in your back settlement, than smashed the fooleries of this poor Pagan Jew, which were to him both funds and landed estate. This strict truth obliges me to say, though, if you had bought his whole stock to indulge the school with a cock-shy, I should only have said ‘A fool and his money are soon parted.’ It is impossible, however, to be angry with you, as you came forward like a lad of spirit and gentlemanly feeling to repair your share, and perhaps more than your share, of the damage. The anxiety the poor fellow had suffered you could not make up to him. And it is well that you did make such reparation as you did; had it not been the case, you never would have recovered the place you would have lost in my esteem. Remember, this sort of thing must never happen again if you value that esteem. And have no acquaintance you can avoid with the stingy cowards who shirked their share of the damage: they can be no fit company for you or any gentleman. I don’t know what the public opinion of Rugby says of them. We plain spoken old Westminsters, in the palmy days of the school, should have called them dirty dogs; and so much for them, more words than they are worth. I am glad to find that your general conduct is approved by the Doctor: and now that you have put your hand to the plough, don’t take it off; and God bless you.”

“Don’t cut, or look shy on, any of the prÆposters who have done their duty, if you do not think they are acting from private pique, or love of power. This question you have sense and honesty to decide for yourself. I have hinted to Arnold that it may be so, but cannot know it as well as you do, yea or nay. And if you do your own duty without flinching, your opinion will have weight with all whom it may concern. The Doctor evidently thinks you could be of essential use to him if you liked, and I am sure he is much too fair and honourable a man to want to make spies of his pupils. If you do not back him in what he has a right to enforce, you pass a tacit censure on a man you profess to esteem.”

“I like the tone of your vindication much. It shows the proper spirit which I wish to cultivate, and a correct sense of what your duties are as a member of society. Be assured that I hate as much as you do the character of a talebearer and meddler, and a fellow who takes advantage of a little brief authority to gratify his own spite and love of importance. And in my reply to Dr. Arnold I said, that having been bred up on the system of ‘study to be quiet and mind your own business,’ you might very likely have fallen into the extreme of non-interference; which I thought was the best extreme for a gentleman to follow. I also hinted that his pets might not be quite immaculate in their motives, or deserve the good opinion of the more gentlemanly boys of their own standing, who had a right to form their own judgment and limit their own acquaintance, though not to interfere with the discipline of the school. What you have said of the fellow who caused the expulsion (rustication I should call it) of the others, confirms me. His conduct, in fact, if his words could be proved, deserves a round robin to Arnold from the school; and if you are sure it is so, I will back you with my full sanction in cutting any such malicious rascal. I think you will see after this that I do not speak from the notions of a pedant or a disciplinarian, and that I do not care two straws how you stand in the opinion of Doctor this, or Doctor that, provided you deserve your own good opinion as a Christian and a gentleman, and do justice to good principles and good blood, for which things you are indebted to sources independent of Rugby. But with all this I do not abandon my position, of which indeed you seem convinced, that order must be enforced at the expense of disagreeable duties. All I wish is this: put Dr. A. out of the question if you please, and enter into the views of the parents of the junior boys as if they were your own family friends: with this view you will not only protect their sons in their little comforts and privileges, but steadily check those habits in them which might render them nuisances in general society, or involve them in scrapes at school. After all, Arnold was right as to the prevention of crackers in the quadrangle, and you ought to have stopped it; on this point you say nothing. As to the investigation of the image matter: if you were not there at the time, you may not be blameable for want of success, and if they expected you to pump Tom, or employ any underhand means in getting at the truth, they knew but little of your family habits. Albeit, I wish the thing could have been traced. It was mean and cowardly, and, if it happened often, ruinous to the character of the school, inasmuch as the fellows did not step forward at once in a manly way and say, ‘We were certainly wrong, and ready to pay for the cock-shy; but the parrots and Napoleons were irresistible.’ The Doctor would have laughed, and approved. I do not wonder he was sore on the subject, feeling like a gentleman for the character of his school, as Lord B—— would have done for the character of his own parish, had a stranger had his pocket picked in it. Nor do I want you to adopt all his views or partialities. Only suppose yourself in his place: fancy what you would have a right to expect, and remember that it cannot be done without the help of the prÆposters. This you seem inclined to do, and you may do it on your own independent footing, looking as coldly as you please on any clique whose motives may be different from your own. You have no need to court anybody’s favour if you cultivate the means of making yourself independent; and if you only fear God in the true sense, you may snap your fingers at everything else,—which ends all I have to say on this point. ‘Upright and downright’ is the true motto.”

“Foxhow, Jan. 6th, 1840.

“My dear Father and Mother,

“I will now give you a more lengthened account of my proceedings than I did in my last.

“Last Saturday week I reached Ambleside, as you know. As I was following my luggage to Foxhow I met Mrs. Arnold, and visited Stockgill force.

“Sunday.—I did nothing particular, although it was a splendid day, and we saw the mountains beautifully.

“Monday.—Hard frost. We went up Lufrigg, the mountain close by Foxhow, to try if we could get any skating, but it would not bear my weight. I and Matt Arnold then went down to a swampy sort of lake to shoot snipes: we found a good number, but it came on to rain, and before we got back from Elterwater (the name of the lake) we were well wet through.

“Tuesday—Wednesday.—Rain—rain!

“Thursday.—We were determined to do something, so Matt, Tom, and I took horse and rode to Keswick, and we had a most beautiful ride. We left Lady Fleming’s on the right, went along the shores of Rydale Lake, then from Rydale to Grasmere, then through the pass called High Rocae (I don’t know if that is rightly spelt), leaving a remarkable mountain called the Lion and the Lamb on the right—then to Thurlmere, leaving Helvellyn on the right. Thurlmere is a beautiful little lake: there is a very fine rock on the left bank called Ravenscrag, and on the right Helvellyn rises to an immense height. Then the view of Keswick was most beautiful: Keswick straight before us—Bassenthwaite beyond Keswick in the distance; Derwentwater on our left—Saddleback and Skiddaw on the right, one 2,780 and the other 3,000 feet high, and Helvellyn (3,070 feet) behind us. It was a rainy, misty day, so that we did not see so much as we might have done, and it was only at odd moments that we caught a glimpse of Helvellyn free from clouds, but we were lucky in seeing it at all; they gave us such a dinner at the inn (without our requiring anything grand) as would have made a Southern stare—all the delicacies of the season, potted char among the rest—and charging us only 2s. apiece.

“Friday.—Rainy. Walked into Ambleside to see Mr. Cotton off by the mail, and afterwards as the weather cleared up we went out on Windermere, and had a very pleasant afternoon.

“Saturday.—A fine day. Tom and I determined to do something ‘gordgeous,’ and so we set out to walk up Helvellyn, and we had some precious good walking before we got up. We started from the foot at a quarter past eleven, and reached the summit at a quarter to one. One hour and a half,—pretty good walking, considering three-quarters or more was as steep or steeper than the side of Beacon Hill[8] which we slide down. Although quite warm in the valley, the top of the mountain was a sheet of ice, and the wind blew quite a gale. It did not, however, prevent us from enjoying a view of nearly fifty miles on all sides. We saw Windermere, Coniston, and the sea towards the south, as far as Lancaster. Ulswater close on the north-east; Skiddaw and Saddleback and Bassenthwaite Lake on the north; on the west the range of mountains in which is Scawfell, 3,160 feet, the highest mountain in England. We saw into Scotland, Cumberland, Cheshire, Lancashire, and Yorkshire. It was a most splendid day, but there was a sort of mist in the very far distance which prevented our seeing quite as much as we should otherwise. Helvellyn on the side towards Ulswater descends in a precipice 1,000 feet, and a long narrow ridge, called, I think, Straddle Edge, from its narrowness, stretches out at right angles from the mountain, on the same side. There are innumerable places in which a person might break his neck, or be frozen to death without help, as few go up the mountain at this time of the year, it being a continual frost up there. We made ourselves very comfortable under the lee of a cairn, or heap of stones, which had been raised on the very highest point, round a tall upright pole. I got up, and put a stone at the top, and we put a newspaper which contained our grub into the middle of the heap, having first taken out a quantity of stones; how long it will stay there I don’t know. We then proceeded to grub with uncommon appetite,—some hard ‘unleavened bread,’ some tolerable cheese, and a lot of the common oat-cake they make in the country. We had some good fun, loosening and rolling masses of rock down the precipitous side into the ‘Red Tarn,’ a largish bit of water, and into the table-land below. We then came home by Gresdale Tarn and Grasmere, after a good long walk. This was last Saturday.

“Dr. and Mrs. Arnold are very kind, and I have spent a very pleasant week here. I go away on Tuesday to Escrick Park. Next Wednesday week, or about that time, I shall start for London again, and shall be with you about the 20th; till which time

“I remain, your affectionate son,

“G. E. Hughes.

“Love to all.”

“Harrow, May 23rd, 1872.

“My dear Hughes,

“I had seen so little of your brother George of late years that I seemed at first to have no business to write about his death; but now, as the days go on, I cannot resist the desire of saying a word about him, and of asking after his wife and children. Not two years ago I had a delightful day at Offley with him—the only time I ever was there; and all I saw of him then, and on the very rare occasions when we met by accident, confirmed my old remembrance of him—that he was one of the most delightful persons to be with I ever met, and that he had, more than almost anybody one met, the qualities which will stand wear. Everything about him seemed so sound; his bodily health and address were so felicitous that one thought of his moral and intellectual soundness as a kind of reflex from them; and now it is his bodily health which has given way! His death carries me back to old times, and the glory and exploits (which are now so often presented so as to bore one) of youth, and strength, and coolness, have their ideal for me in what I remember of him, and his era. His taking the easy lead at golf latterly, as he did in his old days at football and rowing, seemed to me quite affecting. Tell me about his poor wife; and what children has he left, and what are they doing?

“It will be a great loss to you too. Do you remember our ride together to Keswick some thirty-two years ago? We have all a common ground in the past. I have told Macmillan to send you a little book, of which the chief recommendation is that I believe it is the sort of book my father would have been impelled to make if he had had to do with schools for the poor. My kind regards to your wife.

“Affectionately yours,

“Matthew Arnold.”

“Dusseldorf, June 4th, 1872.

“My dear Mrs. Senior,

“Your very kind letter of the 20th May has just reached me here: and I cannot express in writing one tithe of what I feel. I had no idea of the news it had in store for me; for, having been travelling about lately, I had missed the announcement of the sad loss which we have all had; and so your letter fell on me as a thunderbolt. Poor dear old George! old in the language of affection, ever since we were all at Rugby. Oh! how much I regret now that I never found time in these last few idle years of my life to pay him a visit. And yet, to the brightness and pleasure of my recollections of him, nothing could be added. To the very last he was what he was at the very first: a giant, with a giant’s gentleness and firmness. You may perhaps none of you know that he always felt sure boating was too violent an exercise for anyone. I remember well (and now how sorrowfully) one conversation in which he told me how many of the best oars had fallen in the midst of apparent health and strength. How little did I then think he was to go! and yet I recollect I carried away with me from that conversation an idea that he suspected he had heart-complaint. Was this the case?

“But I will not trouble you to write out to me abroad; for I trust I may soon return to England, and then I shall take the liberty of writing to ask you to see me at Lavender Hill.

“You ask about his stopping the horses at Escrick. It was in 1840 or 1841. He had been left with my two eldest brothers to come home last; and whilst these two brothers were calling at our York Club, George was left sitting alone in the carriage. Suddenly the driver fell off the box in a fit, upon the horses, and they started off. George remembered that in the six-mile drive home there are two right-angled turns; so he determined to get out, run along the pole, and stop the horses. The first time he tried was in vain: steadying himself with his hand on the horses’ quarters, he only frightened them more; so he coolly returned into the carriage again and waited till they had lost some of their speed. He then crept through the window again; ran quicker along the pole, caught their bearing reins, turned them round, and brought back the carriage in triumph to my brothers, who were anxious enough by that time! And then the gentle modest look he had when we all praised him the next morning, I never can forget. Oh, he charmed all: a better creature never lived.

“Tell his boys from me he never could have dreamt even of any divergence from truth. As all men of power, he seemed silent and receptive rather than busy; and where you left him, you picked him up; though the interval might have been ever so long a one.

“I remain, your most sincerely,

“Stephen W. Lawley.”