THE YOUNG WEAVER'S" STUDY. 21 when he pronounced me ready for the Bible and Collection. I soon transmitted this news to my parents; but imagine my disappointment and grief when I was told there was no money to purchase the books, and that I must leave school, and give all my time to the pirn wheel! But grief was somewhat modified by my father assuring me he was glad to find that his effort to give me a few weeks at the school was not fruitless. I should have been thankful, and perhaps I was, but I was sorrowful too. Of this I am sure, I was anxious to retain what I had received of the ability to read. This was done by the purchasing of little story-books with the halfpence I had given me by those who came to see me at the wheel. It was my delight to follow out the 'magic paths of the nursery tales.' No miser could hunt for gold with deeper interest than I tried to trace what to me were the absorbing incidents of 'Jack, the Giant Killer,' 'Cock Robin,' the 'Babes in the Wood,' and all the other little books I could obtain." THE YOUNG WEAVER'S" STUDY. In the course of time our young friend was raised from the "weary wheel" to the dubious elevation of the "sickening loom." Here at the very outset of his "ascent in the labour scale," an almost insurmountable difficulty presented itself, but even as early as this, he proved the truth of one of his favourite phrases-that "difficulties are not impossibilities." He was so young and so little that he could not, without assistance, either reach the cloth and yarn beams or trample the treddles; but by the aid of an ingenious erection and heavy clogs he was able to proceed. It does not seem that this "elevation," from the wheel to the loom, added to his physical comfort; but it enabled him to help the family, and that was a gratification of no ordinary nature. Because of the sad state of his father's health, the family especially at this severe time, and after-were often reduced to the direst poverty. Referring to one of those "terrible times," our young friend says, "So severe were our sufferings, that I have known three weeks pass without a penny coming in save what I worked for. How could this keep life in a whole family? During such times of hard pressure I have worked twenty-four hours on ends-and that on a few tablespoonfuls of pease-meal made into what we called brose. Often have I heard my father groaning with pain while the poor children were crying in vain for food." And yet he, almost in the same breath, assures us, that "It was not all darkness;" that a ray of hope forced its way into this home, imparting a little grateful joy. His desire to learn was inextinguishable. Amid excessive toil and the severe pangs of starvation, he thought of self-culture and applied whatever likely means were within his reach. He had somewhere met with this couplet "Despair of nothing, good you would attain ; These words would come to him again and again, especially when greatly depressed and almost overcome, strengthening him for the unequal fight against all but overwhelming circumstances. Whenever there was the least opportunity—when the high pressure of cutting want would permit-he devoted to reading his few spare moments, and gradually became more and more interested in learning the elements of what is called school education. His description of his "first study" which he at this time occupied, is somewhat picturesque. He says, "Had you entered the village of Lochee, near Dundee, and gone along the South-road, till you came to a long row of low-roofed thatched houses, and entered the second door from the west, you would have seen a four-loomed shop in the one end, and HIS JUVENILE WAILINGS." 23 a kitchen in the other. This was my abode. Had you looked in at the kitchen door, you would have seen towards your right the form of a curtain bed and two chairs, not so good as they had been. Close to the wall, opposite to the bed, was a roughly-finished dresser over which was placed an old platerack, and on which were some crockery. To the right there was what was called the timmer bedstead, the lids of which were constantly kept close to keep out the tow dust which was flying everywhere. Beside this unhealthy bed was a chest of drawers minus the better-half of the handles, and on the top were a variety of school-books, the 'Life of Dr Franklin,' 'Self-culture,' other small works of a similar nature, and a number of the Anti-Bread Tax Society's Tracts, and the Chartist Circular. These made up my library. "Had you entered this sham of a house, this ill-ventilated hovel, between the long and short hours of twelve and one, when all, nine in number, were asleep save myself, you would have found me standing in front the said chest of drawers, sometimes writing, sometimes casting-up figures, and sometimes reading and taking a peep at history. "This was my 'study.' It can neither be commended for its elegance nor its comfort, yet there are associations connected with it that impart a kind of sweet melancholy which I cannot describe. In one sense, it was not a bad college in which to be trained." This same house, but now considerably improved, is called "Hillocks' College" to this day. 66 So he soon took to the midnight oil. Nor was he less active in the daytime, taxing himself with a given portion of work from early morning. When that portion was finished before the hour was up, he would rest and read till the time expired. These moments, he adds, "I devoted to the reading of the speeches and lectures of the great agitators of the day—a species of reading in which I took a great delight, and from which I derived much profit." But, as might have been expected, the health of our weaverstudent broke down under this truly hard and active life. It brought on a dangerous attack of inflammation which laid him aside for a time, yet he no sooner recovered than he started again as cheerful and as hopeful as ever. We should say, as hopeful and cheerful as the circumstances would permit; for it is evident that he has been subject to those strong emotions which bespeak a sensitive nature as well as an aspiring soul. And this has been from early youth, as appears in one of his "Juvenile Wailings." Speaking of the occasion which wrung from his heart the following verses, he says, "Then I was about half-way in my teens, as we say in Scotland. I felt very sad and wept bitterly, being cold and hungry, almost to fainting. But I sought a quiet nook wherein to pour out my grief in tears and rhyme; and afterwards called the lines 'My Mammy's Awa'' :— 'Cauld, cauld is the day, the frost nips my wee face; I'm heartless and sad, how waefu' my case! On my bare wee leggies the bitin' winds blaw Oh! hoo is a' this? My Mammy's awa'! • Baith laddies an' lassies are happy an' gay, They rin to the schule and then to their play; "They a' get braw claes, and their head fu' o' lear, But nae schulin' for me, nae learnin' ava'. "Yet onward I'll push, to get lear like the lave, THE BRIGHT SIXPENCE. 25 He adds, "These lines are all to be found of what was to be published under the title of 'My Juvenile Wailings.' They consisted of forty such pieces, selected from many more, by Mr Campbell, then English Teacher in the Dundee Seminaries, and author of some valuable school-books. But this collection was stolen when ready for the press, and have not been seen since. These four verses, however, had been previously sent to a newspaper, and hence preserved." We had not the pleasure of seeing these pieces, but Mr Hillocks agreed with Mr Campbell in regarding the theft as a loss; and so it was, if we may judge from his other poems, nearly all of which partake of that naïveté, sweet simplicity and child-heartedness which has been properly regarded as one of the leading causes of his success, especially as a teacher. THE BRIGHT SIXPENCE. his words-"Yet And while strug Immediately after this outflow of melting grief and noble resolution, he was seen suiting the action to onward I'll push to get lear like the lave." gling on against almost overwhelming odds, he perceived the "silver lining of the dark cloud" which had been standing over him for a long time. He says, "My poor dear father became so improved in health, that the family did not depend on my labours as before. And knowing my desire to get the aid of the living voice to tell me if my advances were genuine, he promised to give me sixpence per web-that is, sixpence per week; and this promise he kept as often as possible. This was a useful sixpence. It emitted a tiny ray of hope which greatly and pleasantly warmed and invigorated my heart. Upon this promised sixpence I read the words, 'It is possible.' It enabled me to get to the night-school." He was very fortunate in his teachers, such as Mr Barrie, the late Messrs Auchterlonie and Doctor, and Rev. George |