In
fact, I have a distinct recollection of certain curls of which I was
vain, and of a conviction that I closely resembled that handsome,
courtly gentleman, Sir Herbert Oakley, who was vicar of our parish, and
who was as a god to us country folk, because he was occasionally visited
by the then Prince George of Cambridge. [4] I remember turning my
pinafore wrong side forwards in order to represent a surplice, and
preaching to my mother's maids in the kitchen as nearly as possible in
Sir Herbert's manner one Sunday morning when the rest of the family were
at church. That is the earliest indication I can call to mind of the
strong clerical affinities which my friend Mr. Herbert Spencer [5]
has always ascribed to me, though I fancy they have for the most part
remained in a latent state.
My regular school training was of the briefest, perhaps fortunately,
for though my way of life has made me acquainted with all sorts and
conditions of men, from the highest to the lowest, I deliberately affirm
that the society I fell into at school was the worst I have ever known.
We boys were average lads, with much the same inherent capacity for good
and evil as any others; but the people who were set over us cared
about as much for our intellectual and moral welfare as if they
were baby-farmers. We were left to the operation of the struggle
for existence among ourselves, and bullying was the least of the ill
practices current among us.
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