"Let
Nature be your teacher:
Sweet is the lore which Nature brings.
Our meddling intellect
Misshapes the beauteous forms of things.
We murder to dissect.
Enough of Science and of Art:
Close up those barren leaves;
Come forth, and bring with you a heart
That watches and receives."
WORDSWORTH.
About six
weeks after the beginning
of the half, as Tom
and Arthur were sitting one
night before supper beginning
their verses, Arthur suddenly
stopped, and looked up, and
said, "Tom, do you know
anything of Martin?"
"Yes," said Tom,
taking his hand out of his
back hair, and delighted to
throw his Gradus ad Parnassum
on to the sofa; "I know
him pretty well. He's a very
good fellow, but as mad as
a hatter. He's called Madman,
you know. And never was such
a fellow for getting all sorts
of rum things about him. He
tamed two snakes last half,
and used to carry them about
in his pocket; and I'll be
bound he's got some hedgehogs
and rats in his cupboard now,
and no one knows what besides."
"I should like very much
to know him," said Arthur; "he
was next to me in the form
to-day, and he'd lost his book
and looked over mine, and he
seemed so kind and gentle that
I liked him very much."
"Ah, poor old Madman,
he's always losing his books," said
Tom, "and getting called
up and floored because he hasn't
got them."
"I like him all the better," said
Arthur.
"Well, he's great fun,
I can tell you," said
Tom, throwing himself back
on the sofa, and chuckling
at the remembrance. "We
had such a game with him one
day last half. He had been
kicking up horrid stinks for
some time in his study, till
I suppose some fellow told
Mary, and she told the Doctor.
Anyhow, one day a little before
dinner, when he came down from
the library, the Doctor, instead
of going home, came striding
into the hall. East and I and
five or six other fellows were
at the fire, and preciously
we stared, for he don't come
in like that once a year, unless
it is a wet day and there's
a fight in the hall. 'East,'
says he, 'just come and show
me Martin's study.' 'Oh, here's
a game,' whispered the rest
of us; and we all cut upstairs
after the Doctor, East leading.
As we got into the New Row,
which was hardly wide enough
to hold the Doctor and his
gown, click, click, click,
we heard in the old Madman's
den. Then that stopped all
of a sudden, and the bolts
went to like fun. The Madman
knew East's step, and thought
there was going to be a siege.
"'It's
the Doctor, Martin. He's
here and wants to see
you,' sings out East.
"Then
the bolts went back slowly,
and the door opened,
and there was the old Madman
standing, looking precious
scared - his jacket off, his
shirt-sleeves up to his elbows,
and his long skinny arms all
covered with anchors and arrows
and letters, tattooed in with
gunpowder like a sailor-boy's,
and a stink fit to knock you
down coming out. 'Twas all
the Doctor could do to stand
his ground, and East and I,
who were looking in under his
arms, held our noses tight.
The old magpie was standing
on the window-sill, all his
feathers drooping, and looking
disgusted and half-poisoned.
"'What
can you be about, Martin?'
says the Doctor. 'You
really mustn't go on in this
way; you're a nuisance to the
whole passage.'
"'Please, sir, I was
only mixing up this powder;
there isn't any harm in it.
And the Madman seized nervously
on his pestle and mortar, to
show the Doctor the harmlessness
of his pursuits, and went on
pounding - click, click, click.
He hadn't given six clicks
before, puff! up went the whole
into a great blaze, away went
the pestle and mortar across
the study, and back we tumbled
into the passage. The magpie
fluttered down into the court,
swearing, and the Madman danced
out, howling, with his fingers
in his mouth. The Doctor caught
hold of him, and called to
us to fetch some water. 'There,
you silly fellow,' said he,
quite pleased, though, to find
he wasn't much hurt, 'you see
you don't know the least what
you're doing with all these
things; and now, mind, you
must give up practising chemistry
by yourself.' Then he took
hold of his arm and looked
at it, and I saw he had to
bite his lip, and his eyes
twinkled; but he said, quite
grave, 'Here, you see, you've
been making all these foolish
marks on yourself, which you
can never get out, and you'll
be very sorry for it in a year
or two. Now come down to the
housekeeper's room, and let
us see if you are hurt.' And
away went the two, and we all
stayed and had a regular turn-out
of the den, till Martin came
back with his hand bandaged
and turned us out. However,
I'll go and see what he's after,
and tell him to come in after
prayers to supper." And
away went Tom to find the boy
in question, who dwelt in a
little study by himself, in
New Row.
The aforesaid Martin, whom
Arthur had taken such a fancy
for, was one of those unfortunates
who were at that time of day
(and are, I fear, still) quite
out of their places at a public
school. If we knew how to use
our boys, Martin would have
been seized upon and educated
as a natural philosopher. He
had a passion for birds, beasts,
and insects, and knew more
of them and their habits than
any one in Rugby - except perhaps
the Doctor, who knew everything.
He was also an experimental
chemist on a small scale, and
had made unto himself an electric
machine, from which it was
his greatest pleasure and glory
to administer small shocks
to any small boys who were
rash enough to venture into
his study. And this was by
no means an adventure free
from excitement; for besides
the probability of a snake
dropping on to your head or
twining lovingly up your leg,
or a rat getting into your
breeches-pocket in search of
food, there was the animal
and chemical odour to be faced,
which always hung about the
den, and the chance of being
blown up in some of the many
experiments which Martin was
always trying, with the most
wondrous results in the shape
of explosions and smells that
mortal boy ever heard of. Of
course, poor Martin, in consequence
of his pursuits, had become
an Ishmaelite in the house.
In the first place, he half-poisoned
all his neighbours, and they
in turn were always on the
lookout to pounce upon any
of his numerous live-stock,
and drive him frantic by enticing
his pet old magpie out of his
window into a neighbouring
study, and making the disreputable
old bird drunk on toast soaked
in beer and sugar. Then Martin,
for his sins, inhabited a study
looking into a small court
some ten feet across, the window
of which was completely commanded
by those of the studies opposite
in the Sick-room Row, these
latter being at a slightly
higher elevation. East, and
another boy of an equally tormenting
and ingenious turn of mind,
now lived exactly opposite,
and had expended huge pains
and time in the preparation
of instruments of annoyance
for the behoof of Martin and
his live colony. One morning
an old basket made its appearance,
suspended by a short cord outside
Martin's window, in which were
deposited an amateur nest containing
four young hungry jackdaws,
the pride and glory of Martin's
life, for the time being, and
which he was currently asserted
to have hatched upon his own
person. Early in the morning
and late at night he was to
be seen half out of window,
administering to the varied
wants of his callow brood.
After deep cogitation, East
and his chum had spliced a
knife on to the end of a fishing-rod;
and having watched Martin out,
had, after half an hour's severe
sawing, cut the string by which
the basket was suspended, and
tumbled it on to the pavement
below, with hideous remonstrance
from the occupants. Poor Martin,
returning from his short absence,
collected the fragments and
replaced his brood (except
one whose neck had been broken
in the descent) in their old
location, suspending them this
time by string and wire twisted
together, defiant of any sharp
instrument which his persecutors
could command. But, like the
Russian engineers at Sebastopol,
East and his chum had an answer
for every move of the adversary,
and the next day had mounted
a gun in the shape of a pea-shooter
upon the ledge of their window,
trained so as to bear exactly
upon the spot which Martin
had to occupy while tending
his nurslings. The moment he
began to feed they began to
shoot. In vain did the enemy
himself invest in a pea- shooter,
and endeavour to answer the
fire while he fed the young
birds with his other hand;
his attention was divided,
and his shots flew wild, while
every one of theirs told on
his face and hands, and drove
him into howlings and imprecations.
He had been driven to ensconce
the nest in a corner of his
already too- well-filled den.
His door was barricaded by
a set of ingenious bolts of
his own invention, for the
sieges were frequent by the
neighbours when any unusually
ambrosial odour spread itself
from the den to the neighbouring
studies. The door panels were
in a normal state of smash,
but the frame of the door resisted
all besiegers, and behind it
the owner carried on his varied
pursuits - much in the same
state of mind, I should fancy,
as a border-farmer lived in,
in the days of the moss-troopers,
when his hold might be summoned
or his cattle carried off at
any minute of night or day.
"Open,
Martin, old boy; it's only
I, Tom Brown."
"Oh, very well; stop
a moment." One bolt went
back. "You're sure East
isn't there?"
"No, no; hang it, open." Tom
gave a kick, the other bolt
creaked, and he entered the
den.
Den indeed it was - about
five feet six inches long by
five wide, and seven feet high.
About six tattered school-books,
and a few chemical books, Taxidermy,
Stanley on Birds, and an odd
volume of Bewick, the latter
in much better preservation,
occupied the top shelves. The
other shelves, where they had
not been cut away and used
by the owner for other purposes,
were fitted up for the abiding-places
of birds, beasts, and reptiles.
There was no attempt at carpet
or curtain. The table was entirely
occupied by the great work
of Martin, the electric machine,
which was covered carefully
with the remains of his table-cloth.
The jackdaw cage occupied one
wall; and the other was adorned
by a small hatchet, a pair
of climbing irons, and his
tin candle-box, in which he
was for the time being endeavouring
to raise a hopeful young family
of field-mice. As nothing should
be let to lie useless, it was
well that the candle-box was
thus occupied, for candles
Martin never had. A pound was
issued to him weekly, as to
the other boys; but as candles
were available capital, and
easily exchangeable for birds'
eggs or young birds, Martin's
pound invariably found its
way in a few hours to Howlett's
the bird-fancier's, in the
Bilton road, who would give
a hawk's or nightingale's egg
or young linnet in exchange.
Martin's ingenuity was therefore
for ever on the rack to supply
himself with a light. Just
now he had hit upon a grand
invention, and the den was
lighted by a flaring cotton
wick issuing from a ginger-beer
bottle full of some doleful
composition. When light altogether
failed him, Martin would loaf
about by the fires in the passages
or hall, after the manner of
Diggs, and try to do his verses
or learn his lines by the firelight.
"Well,
old boy, you haven't got
any sweeter in the den
this half. How that stuff in
the bottle stinks! Never mind;
I ain't going to stop; but
you come up after prayers to
our study. You know young Arthur.
We've got Gray's study. We'll
have a good supper and talk
about bird-nesting."
Martin was evidently highly
pleased at the invitation,
and promised to be up without
fail.
As soon as
prayers were over, and the
sixth and fifth form
boys had withdrawn to the aristocratic
seclusion of their own room,
and the rest, or democracy,
had sat down to their supper
in the hall, Tom and Arthur,
having secured their allowances
of bread and cheese, started
on their feet to catch the
eye of the prepostor of the
week, who remained in charge
during supper, walking up and
down the hall. He happened
to be an easy-going fellow,
so they got a pleasant nod
to their "Please may I
go out?" and away they
scrambled to prepare for Martin
a sumptuous banquet. This Tom
had insisted on, for he was
in great delight on the occasion,
the reason of which delight
must be expounded. The fact
was that this was the first
attempt at a friendship of
his own which Arthur had made,
and Tom hailed it as a grand
step. The ease with which he
himself became hail-fellow-well-
met with anybody, and blundered
into and out of twenty friendships
a half-year, made him sometimes
sorry and sometimes angry at
Arthur's reserve and loneliness.
True, Arthur was always pleasant,
and even jolly, with any boys
who came with Tom to their
study; but Tom felt that it
was only through him, as it
were, that his chum associated
with others, and that but for
him Arthur would have been
dwelling in a wilderness. This
increased his consciousness
of responsibility; and though
he hadn't reasoned it out and
made it clear to himself yet
somehow he knew that this responsibility,
this trust which he had taken
on him without thinking about
it, head over heels in fact,
was the centre and turning-point
of his school-life, that which
was to make him or mar him,
his appointed work and trial
for the time being. And Tom
was becoming a new boy, though
with frequent tumbles in the
dirt and perpetual hard battle
with himself, and was daily
growing in manfulness and thoughtfulness,
as every high-couraged and
well-principled boy must, when
he finds himself for the first
time consciously at grips with
self and the devil. Already
he could turn almost without
a sigh from the School-gates,
from which had just scampered
off East and three or four
others of his own particular
set, bound for some jolly lark
not quite according to law,
and involving probably a row
with louts, keepers, or farm-labourers,
the skipping dinner or calling-over,
some of Phoebe Jennings's beer,
and a very possible flogging
at the end of all as a relish.
He had quite got over the stage
in which he would grumble to
himself - "Well, hang
it, it's very hard of the Doctor
to have saddled me with Arthur.
Why couldn't he have chummed
him with Fogey, or Thomkin,
or any of the fellows who never
do anything but walk round
the close, and finish their
copies the first day they're
set?" But although all
this was past, he longed, and
felt that he was right in longing,
for more time for the legitimate
pastimes of cricket, fives,
bathing, and fishing, within
bounds, in which Arthur could
not yet be his companion; and
he felt that when the "young
un" (as he now generally
called him) had found a pursuit
and some other friend for himself,
he should be able to give more
time to the education of his
own body with a clear conscience.
And now what
he so wished for had come
to pass; he almost
hailed it as a special providence
(as indeed it was, but not
for the reasons he gave for
it - what providences are?)
that Arthur should have singled
out Martin of all fellows for
a friend. "The old Madman
is the very fellow," thought
he; "he will take him
scrambling over half the country
after birds' eggs and flowers,
make him run and swim and climb
like an Indian, and not teach
him a word of anything bad,
or keep him from his lessons.
What luck!" And so, with
more than his usual heartiness,
he dived into his cupboard,
and hauled out an old knuckle-bone
of ham, and two or three bottles
of beer, together with the
solemn pewter only used on
state occasions; while Arthur,
equally elated at the easy
accomplishment of his first
act of volition in the joint
establishment, produced from
his side a bottle of pickles
and a pot of jam, and cleared
the table. In a minute or two
the noise of the boys coming
up from supper was heard, and
Martin knocked and was admitted,
bearing his bread and cheese;
and the three fell to with
hearty good-will upon the viands,
talking faster than they ate,
for all shyness disappeared
in a moment before Tom's bottled-beer
and hospitable ways. "Here's
Arthur, a regular young town-mouse,
with a natural taste for the
woods, Martin, longing to break
his neck climbing trees, and
with a passion for young snakes."
"Well, I say," sputtered
out Martin eagerly, "will
you come to- morrow, both of
you, to Caldecott's Spinney
then? for I know of a kestrel's
nest, up a fir-tree. I can't
get at it without help; and,
Brown, you can climb against
any one."
"Oh yes, do let us go," said
Arthur; "I never saw a
hawk's nest nor a hawk's egg."
"You just come down to
my study, then, and I'll show
you five sorts," said
Martin.
"Ay, the old Madman has
got the best collection in
the house, out and out," said
Tom; and then Martin, warming
with unaccustomed good cheer
and the chance of a convert,
launched out into a proposed
bird-nesting campaign, betraying
all manner of important secrets
- a golden-crested wren's nest
near Butlin's Mound, a moor-hen
who was sitting on nine eggs
in a pond down the Barby road,
and a kingfisher's nest in
a corner of the old canal above
Brownsover Mill. He had heard,
he said, that no one had ever
got a kingfisher's nest out
perfect, and that the British
Museum, or the Government,
or somebody, had offered 100
pounds to any one who could
bring them a nest and eggs
not damaged. In the middle
of which astounding announcement,
to which the others were listening
with open ears, and already
considering the application
of the 100 pounds, a knock
came to the door, and East's
voice was heard craving admittance.
"There's Harry," said
Tom; "we'll let him in.
I'll keep him steady, Martin.
I thought the old boy would
smell out the supper."
The fact was, that Tom's heart
had already smitten him for
not asking his fidus Achates
to the feast, although only
an extempore affair; and though
prudence and the desire to
get Martin and Arthur together
alone at first had overcome
his scruples, he was now heartily
glad to open the door, broach
another bottle of beer, and
hand over the old ham-knuckle
to the searching of his old
friend's pocket-knife.
"Ah, you greedy vagabonds," said
East, with his mouth full, "I
knew there was something going
on when I saw you cut off out
of hall so quick with your
suppers. What a stunning tap,
Tom! You are a wunner for bottling
the swipes."
"I've
had practice enough for the
sixth in my time, and
it's hard if I haven't picked
up a wrinkle or two for my
own benefit."
"Well,
old Madman, and how goes
the bird-nesting campaign?
How's Howlett? I expect the
young rooks'll be out in another
fortnight, and then my turn
comes."
"There'll be no young
rooks fit for pies for a month
yet; shows how much you know
about it," rejoined Martin,
who, though very good friends
with East, regarded him with
considerable suspicion for
his propensity to practical
jokes.
"Scud knows nothing and
cares for nothing but grub
and mischief," said Tom; "but
young rook pie, specially when
you've had to climb for them,
is very pretty eating. - However,
I say, Scud, we're all going
after a hawk's nest to-morrow,
in Caldecott's Spinney; and
if you'll come and behave yourself,
we'll have a stunning climb."
"And
a bathe in Aganippe. Hooray!
I'm your man."
"No,
no; no bathing in Aganippe;
that's where our
betters go."
"Well,
well, never mind. I'm for
the hawk's nest, and
anything that turns up."
And the bottled-beer
being finished, and his hunger
appeased,
East departed to his study, "that
sneak Jones," as he informed
them, who had just got into
the sixth, and occupied the
next study, having instituted
a nightly visitation upon East
and his chum, to their no small
discomfort.
When he was
gone Martin rose to follow,
but Tom stopped
him. "No one goes near
New Row," said he, "so
you may just as well stop here
and do your verses, and then
we'll have some more talk.
We'll be no end quiet. Besides,
no prepostor comes here now.
We haven't been visited once
this half."
So the table was cleared,
the cloth restored, and the
three fell to work with Gradus
and dictionary upon the morning's
vulgus.
They were three very fair
examples of the way in which
such tasks were done at Rugby,
in the consulship of Plancus.
And doubtless the method is
little changed, for there is
nothing new under the sun,
especially at schools.
Now be it known unto all you
boys who are at schools which
do not rejoice in the time-honoured
institution of the vulgus (commonly
supposed to have been established
by William of Wykeham at Winchester,
and imported to Rugby by Arnold
more for the sake of the lines
which were learnt by heart
with it than for its own intrinsic
value, as I've always understood),
that it is a short exercise
in Greek or Latin verse, on
a given subject, the minimum
number of lines being fixed
for each form.
The master
of the form gave out at fourth
lesson on the
previous day the subject for
next morning's vulgus, and
at first lesson each boy had
to bring his vulgus ready to
be looked over; and with the
vulgus, a certain number of
lines from one of the Latin
or Greek poets then being construed
in the form had to be got by
heart. The master at first
lesson called up each boy in
the form in order, and put
him on in the lines. If he
couldn't say them, or seem
to say them, by reading them
off the master's or some other
boy's book who stood near,
he was sent back, and went
below all the boys who did
so say or seem to say them;
but in either case his vulgus
was looked over by the master,
who gave and entered in his
book, to the credit or discredit
of the boy, so many marks as
the composition merited. At
Rugby vulgus and lines were
the first lesson every other
day in the week, on Tuesdays,
Thursdays, and Saturdays; and
as there were thirty- eight
weeks in the school year, it
is obvious to the meanest capacity
that the master of each form
had to set one hundred and
fourteen subjects every year,
two hundred and twenty-eight
every two years, and so on.
Now, to persons of moderate
invention this was a considerable
task, and human nature being
prone to repeat itself, it
will not be wondered that the
masters gave the same subjects
sometimes over again after
a certain lapse of time. To
meet and rebuke this bad habit
of the masters, the schoolboy
mind, with its accustomed ingenuity,
had invented an elaborate system
of tradition. Almost every
boy kept his own vulgus written
out in a book, and these books
were duly handed down from
boy to boy, till (if the tradition
has gone on till now) I suppose
the popular boys, in whose
hands bequeathed vulgus-books
have accumulated, are prepared
with three or four vulguses
on any subject in heaven or
earth, or in "more worlds
than one," which an unfortunate
master can pitch upon. At any
rate, such lucky fellows had
generally one for themselves
and one for a friend in my
time. The only objection to
the traditionary method of
doing your vulguses was the
risk that the successions might
have become confused, and so
that you and another follower
of traditions should show up
the same identical vulgus some
fine morning; in which case,
when it happened, considerable
grief was the result. But when
did such risk hinder boys or
men from short cuts and pleasant
paths?
Now in the
study that night Tom was
the upholder of the
traditionary method of vulgus
doing. He carefully produced
two large vulgus-books, and
began diving into them, and
picking out a line here, and
an ending there (tags, as they
were vulgarly called), till
he had gotten all that he thought
he could make fit. He then
proceeded to patch his tags
together with the help of his
Gradus, producing an incongruous
and feeble result of eight
elegiac lines, the minimum
quantity for his form, and
finishing up with two highly
moral lines extra, making ten
in all, which he cribbed entire
from one of his books, beginning "O
genus humanum," and which
he himself must have used a
dozen times before, whenever
an unfortunate or wicked hero,
of whatever nation or language
under the sun, was the subject.
Indeed he began to have great
doubts whether the master wouldn't
remember them, and so only
throw them in as extra lines,
because in any case they would
call off attention from the
other tags, and if detected,
being extra lines, he wouldn't
be sent back to do more in
their place, while if they
passed muster again he would
get marks for them.
The second method, pursued
by Martin, may be called the
dogged or prosaic method. He,
no more than Tom, took any
pleasure in the task, but having
no old vulgus-books of his
own, or any one's else, could
not follow the traditionary
method, for which too, as Tom
remarked, he hadn't the genius.
Martin then proceeded to write
down eight lines in English,
of the most matter-of-fact
kind, the first that came into
his head; and to convert these,
line by line, by main force
of Gradus and dictionary into
Latin that would scan. This
was all he cared for - to produce
eight lines with no false quantities
or concords: whether the words
were apt, or what the sense
was, mattered nothing; and
as the article was all new,
not a line beyond the minimum
did the followers of the dogged
method ever produce.
The third, or artistic method,
was Arthur's. He considered
first what point in the character
or event which was the subject
could most neatly be brought
out within the limits of a
vulgus, trying always to get
his idea into the eight lines,
but not binding himself to
ten or even twelve lines if
he couldn't do this. He then
set to work as much as possible
without Gradus or other help,
to clothe his idea in appropriate
Latin or Greek, and would not
be satisfied till he had polished
it well up with the aptest
and most poetic words and phrases
he could get at.
A fourth method, indeed, was
used in the school, but of
too simple a kind to require
a comment. It may be called
the vicarious method, obtained
amongst big boys of lazy or
bullying habits, and consisted
simply in making clever boys
whom they could thrash do their
whole vulgus for them, and
construe it to them afterwards;
which latter is a method not
to be encouraged, and which
I strongly advise you all not
to practise. Of the others,
you will find the traditionary
most troublesome, unless you
can steal your vulguses whole
(experto crede), and that the
artistic method pays the best
both in marks and other ways.
The vulguses being finished
by nine o'clock, and Martin
having rejoiced above measure
in the abundance of light,
and of Gradus and dictionary,
and other conveniences almost
unknown to him for getting
through the work, and having
been pressed by Arthur to come
and do his verses there whenever
he liked, the three boys went
down to Martin's den, and Arthur
was initiated into the lore
of birds' eggs, to his great
delight. The exquisite colouring
and forms astonished and charmed
him, who had scarcely ever
seen any but a hen's egg or
an ostrich's, and by the time
he was lugged away to bed he
had learned the names of at
least twenty sorts, and dreamed
of the glorious perils of tree-
climbing, and that he had found
a roc's egg in the island as
big as Sinbad's, and clouded
like a tit-lark's, in blowing
which Martin and he had nearly
been drowned in the yolk.
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