The Life of Froude | Page 4

himself had no crotchets. He was a religious man, to whom religion
meant duty rather than dogma, a light to the feet, and a lantern for the
path. A Tory and a Churchman, he was yet a moderate Tory and a
moderate Churchman; prudent, sensible, a man of the world. To Hurrell
Dissenters were rogues and idiots, a Liberal was half an infidel, a
Radical was, at least in intention, a thief. From the effect of this
nonsense Anthony was saved for a time by his first school. At the age
of nine he was sent to Buckfastleigh, five miles up the River Dart,
where Mr. Lowndes, the rector and patron of the living, took boarders
and taught them, mostly Devonshire boys. Buckfastleigh was not a bad
school for the period. There was plenty of caning, but no bullying, and
Latin was well taught. Froude was a gentle, amiable child, "such a very
good-tempered little fellow that, in spite of his sawneyness, he is sure
to be liked," as his eldest brother wrote in 1828. He suffered at this time
from an internal weakness, which made games impossible. His passion,
which he never lost, was for Greek, and especially for Homer. With a
precocity which Mill or Macaulay might have envied, he had read both
the Iliad and the Odyssey twice before he was eleven. The standard of
accuracy at Buckfastleigh was not high, and Froude's scholarship was
inexact. What he learnt there was to enjoy Homer, to feel on friendly
terms with the Greeks and Trojans, at ease with the everlasting
wanderer in the best story-book composed by man. Anthony's holidays
were not altogether happy. He was made to work instead of amusing
himself, and forced into an unwholesome precocity. Then at eleven he
was sent to Westminster.
In 1830 the reputation of Westminster stood high. The boarding-
houses were well managed, the lagging in them was light, and their
tone was good. Unhappily, in spite of the head master's remonstrances,
Froude's father, who had spent a great deal of money on his other sons'
education, insisted on placing him in college, which was then far too

rough for a boy of his age and strength. On account of what he had read,
rather than what he had learnt, at Buckfastleigh, he took a very high
place, and was put with boys far older than himself. The lagging was
excessively severe. The bullying was gross and unchecked. The
sanitary accommodation was abominable. The language of the
dormitory was indecent and profane. Froude, whose health prevented
him from the effective use of nature's weapons, was woke by the hot
points of cigars burning holes in his face, made drunk by being forced
to swallow brandy punch, and repeatedly thrashed. He was also more
than half starved, because the big fellows had the pick of the joints at
dinner, and left the small fellows little besides the bone. Ox-tail soup at
the pastrycook's took the place of a meal which the authorities were
bound to provide. Scandalous as all this may have been, it was not
peculiar to Westminster. The state of college at Winchester, and at Eton,
was in many respects as bad. Public schools had not yet felt the
influence of Arnold and of the reforming spirit. Head masters
considered domestic details beneath them, and parents, if they felt any
responsibility at all, persuaded themselves that boys were all the better
for roughing it as a preparation for the discipline of the world. The case
of Froude, however, was a peculiarly bad one. He was suffering from
hernia, and the treatment might well have killed him. Although his
lagging only lasted for a year, he was persistently bullied and
tormented, until he forgot what he had learned, instead of adding to it.
When the body is starved and ill- treated, the mind will not work. The
head master, Dr. Williamson, was disappointed in a boy of whom he
had expected so much, and wrote unfavourable reports. After enduring
undeserved and disabling hardships for three years and a half, Froude
was taken away from Westminster at the age of fifteen.
To escape from such a den of horrors was at first a relief. But he soon
found that his miseries were not over. He came home in disgrace. His
misfortunes were regarded as his faults, and the worst construction was
put upon everything he said or did. His clothes and books had been
freely stolen in the big, unregulated dormitory. He was accused of
having pawned them, and his denials were not believed. If he had had a
mother, all might have been well, for no woman with a heart would
assume that her child was lying. The Archdeacon, without a particle of

evidence, assumed it at once, and beat the wretched