In spite of ghosts and muddy water Anthony worshipped Hurrell, a
born leader of men, who had a fascination for his brothers and
sisters, though not perhaps of the most wholesome kind. The
Archdeacon 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.