Chapter X

.) took part.

Bourchier was celebrated for his imitations of Masters, about the most amusing of which was an impersonation of a certain squeaky-voiced tutor after he had been cut over by an imaginary cricket ball. As luck would have it, the latter, whilst playing in an eleven of Masters against boys, one of whom was Bourchier, did happen to sustain a painful injury, with the result that he proceeded to give an almost exact reproduction of himself as portrayed by his imitator, who could not help being convulsed with laughter as he led the sufferer off the ground. Later on, the victim, who, of course, had no idea of the real cause of this merriment, said to a colleague, “What hurt me more than the pain was the brutality of the boy Bourchier.”

[SN: “UNDER THE CLOCK”]

In course of time Bourchier formed his imitations into a sketch, entitled _Under the Clock_, which depicted a number of Eton Masters at Lord’s, and before he left the late Mr. R. A. H. Mitchell arranged that this should be heard by the individuals concerned, whom he posted behind trees in Poet’s Walk whilst the author gave his performance close by. They were all very much amused, and when it was over came forward to congratulate the youthful aspirant to dramatic fame, whom they shook warmly by the hand and wished him all success in his future career.

To return to the story of College--the pleasures as well as the trials of Long Chamber came to an end in 1845, for in September of that year the new buildings were opened and the old days of College became mere memories of an obsolete age. The discomforts and hardships of Long Chamber were then forgotten by most of the boys who had slept there. In spite of the far better conditions they chafed at the lack of freedom and the end of “Fire-place” with its suppers and choruses. The Chamber itself, though not pulled down, was entirely remodelled, cubicles for a limited number of boys being constructed and the whole place made habitable and clean.

Election Saturday, the glories of which have now departed for ever, was a great day not only for those in College, whom it more immediately concerned, but for the whole school. At two o’clock the Provost of King’s College, Cambridge, attended by two examiners called “Posers,” drove into Weston’s Yard. The arrival of his yellow coach, drawn by four smoking horses, always produced great excitement. Meeting the Provost of Eton, a kiss of peace was exchanged (abandoned in Dr. Hawtrey’s days for a handshake). A speech was then made in Latin by the captain of the school under the archway of Lupton’s Tower, its main purport being the offering of congratulations to the Provost on his arrival at the College. The rest of the programme was much the same as that still gone through on the 4th of June--speeches in the Upper School at eleven, banquet of dons in the College Hall at two, processions of the boats in the evening to Surly Hall, with fireworks off the Eyot on the return, and finally, sock suppers in all the houses. The fun on Election Saturday, however, was always more fast and furious than on the 4th of June, because the school was to break up on the following Monday, and the boys who were going to leave looked upon themselves as already emancipated. For this reason turbulent spirits did not scruple to commit all sorts of extravagances, being pretty sure that just preceding the holidays they would escape unpunished.

[SN: THE POSERS]

On the Tuesday and Wednesday following, candidates for College were examined, as well as scholars seeking election to King’s. The “Posers,” or examining chaplains, were terrific gentlemen in the eyes of the boys; whilst examination took place, Election-chamber was to most an awful room, then rendered somewhat weird and uncanny by the light filtering through an immense red curtain, let down at the large oriel window, which imparted a sort of devilish appearance to the “Posers.”

A very quaint old usage existed in connection with these “Posers,” each of them being attended by a Colleger, who waited upon him in Hall and elsewhere if required, for which the boy--quaintly called the “Poser’s child”--received a fee of a guinea, selection for the office by the Headmaster being regarded as being a sort of minor honour. The existence of this curious custom, which of course died a natural death with the “Posers” themselves, has generally, I think, escaped mention in books dealing with Eton. It was brought to my notice by my old tutor, Mr. H. W. Mozley (Newcastle Scholar, 1860), who in this and other ways has given me valuable information which I here acknowledge; he himself had been “Poser’s child” in 1859.

The days following Election Saturday were always particularly depressing and gloomy, and the poor King’s scholars had a melancholy time. The gentlemen, as the tradespeople had the impertinence to call the Oppidans, went home on the Monday, whilst Collegers had to wait until the Thursday. All the shops were shut up, and scarcely any one about.

Collegers, like Oppidans, then remained at Eton longer than at present--as late as 1874 there was a King’s Scholar, Tuck by name, who was said to have been nine years at the school. In the days when such a close connection existed between Eton and King’s, a Colleger leaving to go to Cambridge used to go through the old form known as “Ripping.” This was performed at the Provost’s Lodge. The two folds of the Colleger’s serge gown were sewn together in front, and the Provost “ripped” them asunder, pronouncing some Latin formula, after which he congratulated the embryo scholar of King’s, and gave him good advice as to his future career. The gown, it must be remembered, was then an essential part of the Colleger’s equipment out of as well as in school. Although the rule was not strictly adhered to, they were even supposed to wear their gowns whilst playing games.

[SN: ETON’S DIVORCE FROM KINGS]

All the picturesque features of Election disappeared in the sixties, when new statutes were substituted for those of the Founder, and the relations between King’s College, Cambridge, and Eton entirely changed. In 1861 William Austen Leigh and Felix Cobbold were elected to King’s. With them ended the ancient succession of Eton scholars after it had continued, with few if any interruptions, under the statutes of Henry VI., for the period of four hundred and nineteen years, William Hatecliffe (1443), afterwards Secretary to King Edward IV., and Felix Thornley Cobbold (1862) being the first and last scholars. The right of the latter to a scholarship at King’s was, it should be added, disputed, as was that of William Austen Leigh, the Provost and Fellows of the Cambridge College urging that the new statutes were already in operation. This question, which never ought to have been raised, inasmuch as the names of these boys were on the indenture before the existence of the new statutes, was submitted to legal opinion and then to the “Visitor.” It was eventually justly decided that the two Eton scholars were entitled to scholarships at King’s College, with all their rights, emoluments, and consequences, and with this terminated the ancient and sisterly connection between the two Foundations.

The new statutes provided that four scholarships at King’s should be annually offered for competition to the scholars of Eton, tenable for six years, value £80 per annum, with tuition, rooms, and commons free. The injury done to the interests of Eton by the new arrangements was very great, for four scholarships per annum did not amount to the average of the old succession, which ranged from four and a half to five, while the difference between a scholarship of six years’ tenure and one which led to a Fellowship that might be held for life was so great as to be difficult to calculate. The remarkable features in these iniquitous changes were the earnestness with which they were pressed by King’s, which seemingly was anxious to rid itself of its connection with Eton--that is, as far as it could--and the weakness of Eton and its dereliction of duty to itself and its scholars in acquiescing in them without any attempt to obtain any mitigation or revision which might certainly have been effected. Henry Norris Churton, the first Colleger to be affected by the new state of affairs, declined to accept the scholarship at King’s to which he was elected in July, but Richard Durnford, elected in the same month, did accept, and thus became the first Eton scholar who went to King’s under the new statutes.

A few years later--in 1871--the repeal of the entire code of statutes which had regulated Eton since the 21st December, 1443, did a good deal more towards nullifying the wishes of Henry VI. The old statutes laid down that there should be seventy _poor_ scholars--an important clause which the new ones abolished. At present, directly contrary to the Founder’s intention, there is nothing to prevent the son of a multi-millionaire from competing for an Eton scholarship.

[Illustration: Sixth-Form Bench. _Lithograph lent by the Earl of Rosebery, K.G._]

FOOTNOTE:

[9] This appeared in the _Illustrated London News_ during the forties of the last century.

VIII SCHOOL WORK

Whilst Eton has occasionally produced some very fine scholars--the Marquis Wellesley was a case in point--it cannot be said that the traditions of the school are very favourable to learning, which to a large proportion of Etonians has seemed of less importance than the acquisition of worldly wisdom. More than a hundred years ago De Quincey noted the peculiar tone which prevailed amongst Eton boys, who showed a premature knowledge of the world far exceeding that possessed by the scholars at any other school. The graceful self-possession of the boys attracted his attention, but he thought them lacking in self-restraint. Such an accusation, however, could not justly be made in more modern days, when a sort of genial unconcern has come to be regarded as one of the principal characteristics of the typical Etonian, who, preferring anecdote to argument, is profoundly convinced that amongst human institutions his school stands easily first.

With respect to most modern criticisms which have been levelled against the system of education, it must be remembered that in their efforts to teach, the masters are handicapped by one or two fundamental difficulties not easy to surmount.

Eton, in a much larger proportion than any other school, has contained, and does contain, the children of rich parents, boys of good birth and large expectations, most of whom realise very early in life that there is no absolute necessity for them to work; consequently something like a leaven of indolence permeates the school, the tone of which it is, perhaps unjustly, said has of late years been impaired by an increasing number of sons of millionaire parvenus, who are allowed extravagant sums by parents anxious to forward the social success of their offspring by any kind of means. Such parents for the most part have no real wish that their boys should be educated at all, and send them to Eton simply to form friendships and to be turned into gentlemen; or perhaps merely because Eton enjoys the reputation of being a fashionable school. Be this as it may, the number of rich boys sprung from the commercial, or rather financial, classes has undoubtedly increased, whilst foreigners now flock to Eton in ever-swelling numbers. As a result tales, probably untrue, have been circulated of wealthy boys achieving a spurious popularity owing to their pockets being constantly replenished from home, whilst, according to one incredible rumour, the sons of certain rich speculators, imbued with an hereditary faculty for money-making, have, on occasions, not hesitated to loan portions of their abundant funds at an extravagant rate of interest. The writer, be it understood, does not for a moment say that such a state of affairs really exists, but the fact remains that such things have been whispered, of course with no increase to the prestige of the school. It is not healthy for boys to be allowed unlimited pocket-money, and men of moderate means--belonging to what may be called “old Eton families”--do not care to expose their sons to the contamination of mingling with schoolmates of alien blood whose sole claim to consideration lies in their parent’s enormous wealth. In addition to this, quite a number of foreign boys are sent to be educated at Eton, which has occasionally not proved altogether advantageous to the best interests of the school.

[SN: MODERN ETON]

Modern Eton as it is to-day may be said to have originated from the recommendations of the Public School Commission, which began its work in 1861, at which time a wind of change was blowing about old places in England, with the result that many a weather-worn relic went down before it. As a result of the labours of this body, the charm of the school’s celestial quiet was broken, some of the evidence taken having revealed an unsatisfactory state of affairs which seemed to call for drastic change. It was, for instance, conclusively shown that the masters had more on their hands than they could do, and some did not make any scruple about complaining. “We are enormously overworked,” said one. “There is no time,” said another, “for society, for meeting each other, for relaxation, and no time, I may say, for private reading, and I consider that prejudicial to the school.” In fact, as Mr. Commissioner Vaughan put it, it seemed a characteristic of the Eton system that “the masters did too much for the boys, and the boys did too little for themselves.” The real state of affairs at Eton at that time was that an immense deal of work was got out of the masters, and little out of the boys. Since those days the number of masters has swelled to the very adequate number of sixty-five or more, exclusive of the Head and Lower Master, but the tutorial system, which has at various times aroused a good deal of adverse criticism, remains unchanged, and in all probability will continue to flourish as long as Eton lasts.

[SN: DEAD AND LIVING TONGUES]

Half a century ago it was urged that the main mistake in the Eton system lay in the retention of the dead languages as the staple of school work, whilst the panacea put forward for the admitted ignorance of Young England was the adoption by the majority of boys of what is known as a “special education.” With some justice it was urged that as a boy when he goes out into the great world is unlikely to read much Greek, and even less likely to write much Latin verse, his school days had much better be occupied in learning something which is practical and useful. Whilst the classics are still the main feature of the school curriculum, a boy may now, on having reached a certain standard (usually attained about the age of 16-1/2), learn modern languages, science, history, mathematics, or continue to study Greek and Latin, according as he, or rather his parents, may decide. In addition to this, the Army class provides an alternative course of study for those about to enter upon a military career.

An entirely new feature is that a number of boys going to Eton now enter for the foundation examination, though without any idea of becoming King’s scholars should they pass. In July 1910 three of the nineteen scholars who passed into Eton entered as “Oppidan scholars.”

With regard to the modern languages mentioned above, it is to be hoped that the old Eton method of teaching has been discarded. In the past the time set apart for French was too often merely a farcical interlude, during which boys devoted all their energies to teasing the master! The old classical system would be preferable if anything of the sort survives, for, after all, even a slight knowledge of the classics is better than an imperfectly assimilated smattering of a modern tongue. In old days very thorough methods were adopted in connection with Latin and Greek. One luckless lad in Keate’s division construed _Exegi_, I have eaten; _monumentum_, a monument; _perennius_, harder; _aere_, than brass. “Oh, you have, have you?” said the Doctor; “then you’ll stay afterwards, and I’ll give you something to help digest it,” and he did. On the whole, educational authorities are still loth to exclude Latin and Greek. The Commission of fifty years ago, after hearing much evidence, were of this opinion. The Commissioners reported:--

We believe that for the instruction of boys, especially when collected in a large school, it is material that there should be some one principal branch of study, invested with a recognised and, if possible, a traditional importance, to which the principal weight should be assigned and the largest share of time and attention given. We believe that this is necessary in order to concentrate attention, to stimulate industry, to supply to the whole school a common ground of literary interest, and a common path of promotion.... We are of opinion that the classical languages and literature should continue to hold, as they do now, the principal place in public school education.

There is certainly much to be said for Latin as an aid to the acquirement of “exact expression,” but Greek is another matter altogether. According to the writer’s own experience, the majority of boys never obtained any real grip upon that defunct tongue, besides which, for all but an infinitesimal number, in after life Greek, as Mr. Andrew Carnegie has somewhat bluntly put it, “is of no more use than Choctaw.”

The old Eton system was largely composed of paradoxical omissions, and by an extraordinary fiction boys were supposed to be thoroughly acquainted with subjects such as modern geography and arithmetic, of which, in reality, they knew nothing at all.

[SN: MATHEMATICS]

Within comparatively recent years mathematics had no regular place in the curriculum of the school. It is true that there was an “extra” master or two who was allowed to take those who liked to be taught and charged, but he had no means of enforcing discipline, and, however irritated he might be, had no right to complain to the Headmaster. In Mr. Gladstone’s Eton days Major Hexter, who kept a boarding-house, and was styled the writing-master, taught mathematics. Only the Lower boys, however, went to him, and when they were certified as proficient in long division the Major troubled them no more. When in 1836 the Rev. Stephen Hawtrey came to the school as mathematical master he was only allowed to give his lessons as “extras,” and to the first thirty boys in the school, because Major Hexter was supposed to have a vested interest in the ignorance of the remainder. The whole thing ended in Mr. Hawtrey paying the Major a pension of £200 a year, so that the latter’s opposition to the teaching of Euclid and algebra might be withdrawn.

Even after he had obtained a more or less regular position, Mr. Stephen Hawtrey’s lot was none too happy, and this most kindly man passed many irritating half-hours in the round theatrical-looking building which some called the “Station House.” Those boys whose parents desired it were entered on the books of this establishment, but the time spent there was one rather of recreation than of study. Mischievous boys were constantly turning off the gas or letting off squibs and crackers, especially in November, which was a particularly merry season. Besides this, the unfortunate master did not receive much sympathy or commiseration from his classical superiors, being in a measure regarded as an interloper and an enemy to versification.

The last writing-master as provided for by the ancient statutes was a Mr. Harris, who always resented not being allowed to wear a cap and gown like the other masters. Highly tenacious of such privileges as he could contrive to obtain, he was always well pleased when small boys touched their hats to him in the street, punctiliously returning such salutations with a grand sweep of the arm. A hater of steel pens, one of his principal occupations was mending quills and trying their nibs on his thumb-nail. He had always a quill behind one of his ears, occasionally behind both; and, being a little absent-minded, would sometimes, to the general delight, sally forth from school with his hat on and a pair of fresh-mended quills sticking out underneath. Mr. Harris taught only Lower boys, but big ones, whose bad hand-writing had attracted attention, were sometimes sent to him to learn how to write properly; this, needless to say, was looked upon as a great humiliation.

The old Eton system could not, of course, fit a boy for a commercial or business career--as a matter of fact it was never intended to do so. The modern system, on the other hand, makes something more than a pretence of equipping Etonians for any profession they may select, though, considering the traditions of the school, this is no easy task. The old idea was that, exclusive of the Collegers, a number of whom were always fine scholars, it did not much matter if the boys were taught Sanscrit or Chinese, the main purpose of an Eton education being not so much to inculcate what was vulgarly called “book-learning,” as to fit Etonians to take their place in the great world outside.

[SN: “TARDY-BOOK”]

Of late years, however, the authorities have made real progress in their efforts to convert “an Eton education” into more of a reality. The facilities for study at Eton have always been good, and within recent years much has been done to improve them, with, it would seem, satisfactory results. White tickets have been invented as a final supreme punishment when yellow tickets have failed to make a culprit realise his own shortcomings, whilst the quaintly named “Tardy-book,” an institution of entirely modern origin, has been devised to strike terror into those who make a practice of being late for school.

The old haphazard methods which formerly prevailed have been discarded in favour of more business-like ways, the school office, which undertakes the distribution of much connected with the work of the school, being a thoroughly workmanlike and efficient institution. In its early days, however, a few things somehow got mislaid, which, of course, furnished unscrupulous boys who had failed to do any punishment with the plausible excuse that their lines had got lost there.

Much less idleness seems now to prevail, the boys being certainly forced to work more than was the case in the writer’s day, when so many of them, it must be admitted, learnt very little indeed, contriving to go through the school with a really surprising lack of mental effort. To such as these the only real time of danger was Trials, when they were absolutely obliged to make some attempt at working. Most idlers, however, took such an ordeal very lightly, occasionally supplementing their defective memories by various ingenious contrivances. An expert once, it is said, equipped himself as follows: Right waistcoat pocket, Greek verbs; left waistcoat pocket, Latin verbs; breast pocket, crib to Horace; right tail pocket, crib to Virgil; left tail pocket, crib to Homer; finger-nails, important dates. His ingenuity, however, was all wasted, for he was plucked. The amount of application and intelligence needful to take a good place in such examinations was formerly quite moderate.

Cunning boys had all sorts of ways of avoiding work. Some could calculate to a nicety when they were likely to be put on to construe, and learnt only a particular bit. One master for a long time made it a practice to call upon each boy in turn right through his division, with the result that they confined themselves to learning only about a dozen lines or so apiece. At last, however, the trick was discovered, and one fatal morning the master caused consternation by putting on the first boy at the end instead of the beginning. A general collapse ensued, boy after boy standing dumbfoundered and speechless, instead of rattling off his portion with glib proficiency.

[SN: SUNDAY QUESTIONS]

Thirty or forty years ago, it may safely be affirmed, any boy of ordinary intelligence who had received a good grounding at a private school could manage to make his way up to the higher forms without once “muffing Trials,” and yet not increase his stock of learning in the very slightest degree. He lived, as it were, upon a capital of knowledge imbibed in the very different atmosphere of some hard-working preparatory school. The enthusiasm for learning which inspired many a boy fresh from such modest seminaries was too often quickly cooled by the banks of the Thames. It was, indeed, admitted by not a few that the longer a boy remained at Eton the more lazy he became. One cheeky lad, indeed, being lectured for idleness by his tutor, who at the same time eulogised the industry of a comparatively new comer, was met by the answer, “Well, sir, I have been here three years and he only one.” The tone, at least amongst the majority of the Oppidans, was not encouraging to enthusiasm of any kind, besides which the frank absurdity of certain portions of the Eton curriculum was calculated merely to depress a boy gifted with even average intelligence. Sunday questions, for instance, instituted by Dr. Goodford about 1854, usually resembled nothing so much as a page of acrostics, the correct solution of which, whilst involving a vast amount of trouble, conduced to anything but a love of the Bible. As an aid to holy living, for which purpose, I believe, they were supposed to be devised, no more pitiful failure ever existed, the sole effects produced being unmitigated boredom and much bad language. In modern days they may have been improved, but in their original form these questions, a number of which dealt with the genealogies of Hebrew kings, were a most unstimulating exercise for the youthful brain.

In many other respects the school-work was idiotically useless and bad, a great part of it having seemingly been devised to entail a maximum of drudgery with a minimum of useful information. Above all, it lacked elasticity, little or no effort being made to encourage a boy in any particular subject for which he exhibited aptitude.

Some features of the curriculum might have been modelled upon the ancient Chinese system. What could have been more ridiculous than to make boys who could scarcely construe a simple sentence attempt to turn out Latin verse? It would have been far better to teach greater Eton--that is, the mass of more or less ignorant dunces--how to write a good letter in their own language, or driven into their brains some knowledge of modern geography, yet nothing of the sort was ever attempted.

The writing of Latin verse was one of the most time-honoured Eton traditions which had to be undertaken by every boy who emerged from the Lower Forms of the school, and every week a copy of verses was set by the masters who took the divisions of the Fifth Form. These verses had to be done by the boys as best they could, being submitted for correction to the tutors, who got the verses into shape, eliminating “false quantities” and all other mistakes, in the course of which operation they themselves often composed a good deal of Latin poetry. The revised copy was then returned to the boy, who wrote a “fair copy” out of school, and afterwards showed up both copies to the Division Master. The strain on the tutors was at times great, and unscrupulous boys, with the additional help of a clever friend, would sometimes go through the whole of their Eton career without in the least understanding anything at all about verse-writing.

[SN: “TUGS” AND “SAPS”]

Such a state of affairs exerted a demoralising effect upon the minds of earnest, well-meaning boys, who gradually came to see that certain features of their education were entirely futile. Besides this, owing to the general tone of the school, a large part of which regarded school-work as being merely a sort of useless way of wasting time, their estimation of the value of effort of all kind lessened, whilst the conviction was forced upon them that no particular _kudos_ was to be gained by conscientious study, which they came to look upon as the peculiar appanage of “Tugs” and “Saps.”

No feat of learning on the part of a King’s scholar ever aroused the slightest surprise, it being generally assumed that “Tugs,” unlike the rest of the school, having been born “Saps,” or always made to work, could master every kind of learning with the greatest ease. The Newcastle Scholar, always a boy of high intellectual attainments, excited no interest amongst the mass of the school--the majority indeed scarcely knew who had won it, and, if asked, would generally reply, “Oh, some Colleger or other.” No aspirations to gain Balliol scholarships or places in the class-lists disturbed the serenity of the Oppidan’s mind. Such petty ambitions might excite the miserable rivalry of boys at other schools, vain mortals toiling in the lower world of scholarship, “vying with and outrunning and outwitting one another.” In such contests Eton could afford to look calmly on, secure in that “repose of character” which has for so many generations marked her students. There existed, indeed, a sort of tacit understanding that it was the business of the Collegers to do the intellectual work and to win the school and University honours, whilst the Oppidans were to prove victorious at Henley and, if possible, beat Harrow and Winchester at cricket. A great portion of the school, assuming a natural licence to be idle, had a deeply implanted conviction that reading was not in their line, and at heart believed it was rather a slow thing to do.

The general result of this unsatisfactory standard of course yielded bad results. Calmly secure in the conviction that to be in the eight or eleven was to have reached the highest pinnacle of boyish ambition, those who excelled in athletics became naturally prone to undervalue intellectual effort and attainments.

[SN: GAMES, NOT WORK]

To excel at games, not at work, was the ideal set before their youthful eyes; no wonder that for one who persevered in conscientious preparation of his school-work ten succumbed and became content to sink lower and lower in Trials, till at last they just scraped through a few places from the bottom. Admiration for athletics indeed was carried to an almost absurd extreme. Whilst there can be no doubt that exercise and an indulgence in manly games and healthful forms of relaxation are excellent for schoolboys, they should be regarded from a sane and proper point of view, and not held up as the sole end and aim of human existence. Curiously enough, scarcely any great men have been keen athletes during their youthful days, whilst a large proportion of those who have excelled in the cricket field or on the river have been utterly unheard of in after life, where capacity to propel a boat through the water at high speed or drive a cricket ball to the boundary counts scarcely at all. An entire absorption in games to the exclusion of practically all other interests cannot be called a healthy feature of education. Loafing, every one agrees, is a slovenly and demoralising habit, but fanatical interest in cricket, football, or the river is bad in another way, for though it may produce muscle, it may also, when carried to an extreme, produce atrophy of the brain.

In the rough old days, though sporting pursuits, like fighting, were in high repute, games do not appear to have been taken very seriously at Eton, where there was nothing approaching the modern spirit which makes heroes of the eight and the eleven. In the eighteenth century, though games were played, not a few of the more clever boys would appear to have viewed them with something of good-humoured contempt.

“I can’t say I’m sorry that I was never quite a schoolboy,” wrote Horace Walpole; “an expedition against Bargemen, or a match at cricket may be very pretty things to recollect; but, thank my stars, I can remember things that are very near as pretty.”

[SN: HOOPS]

His friend Gray, though in his famous ode he touched upon the school games, expressed no particular enthusiasm for athletics:--

What idle progeny succeed To chase the rolling circle’s speed. Or urge the flying ball?

Gray, it should be added, originally wrote

To chase the hoop’s elusive speed,

for, extraordinary as it may appear to the modern Etonian, the hoop was formerly in high favour with Eton boys. Trundling a hoop has long been recognised as one of the best forms of exercise; indeed, the writer has been told that the present Headmaster of Eton, in his day an athlete of high distinction, being once abroad where no games could be played, in order to keep himself fit purchased a hoop and took to trundling it with great zest.

As late as the early part of the nineteenth century, during the October half, the majority of Lower School used to indulge in the somewhat infantile delights of trundling a hoop with a stout stick. The Eton hoop was made differently from the ones still used by children, being formed out of a strong ash lathe with a remnant of bark upon its surface. The inevitable collisions of hoops and their trundlers not infrequently led to hostilities, and on several occasions regular pitched battles occurred between Collegers and Oppidans. A famous encounter once took place at the end of the wall near the Chapel door, about twenty boys being on each side, one Saturday after four, big boys in front, little ones behind. Thanks to their gowns, which they adroitly twisted round one arm, the Collegers had the best of the encounter, though the Oppidans were able to draw off without having been definitely beaten. The contest excited great interest, a crowd of people watching the battle, and though the masters were fully aware of what was going on, no attempt was made to interfere. For some reason or other, however, there was no more hoop-trundling till the following year.

[Illustration:

_“Say Father Thames, for thou hast seen Full many a sprightly race. Disporting on thy margent green. The paths of pleasure trace.” GRAY’S ODE._

_From a scarce print in the possession of the Earl of Rosebery, K.G._]

In long-past days another form of amusement, generally associated with childhood--marbles--enjoyed an occasional popularity amongst Lower boys, many of whom prided themselves on the variegated colours contained in their collections, whilst for a time “Bandalore”--which, as “Diabolo,” quite recently enjoyed a great vogue all over England--quite captivated the school.

Peg-tops were once in great favour, Weight, who kept a grocer’s shop and was known as “Old Tallow Weight,” doing a brisk business in such tops and the whip-cord necessary to spin them. The Rev. E. D. Stone (see page 61) says that in his day, under Hawtrey, backgammon and knuckle bones were popular in College.

About 1770 the games[10] popular at Eton were “Cricket, Fives, Shirking Walls, Scrambling Walls, Bally-cally, Battledores, Pegtop, Peg in the ring, Goals, Hopscotch, Heading, Conquering Lobs, Hoops, Marbles, Trap-ball, Steal-baggage, Puss in the corner, Cat-gallows, Kites, Cloyster and Flyer gigs, Tops, Humming-Tops, Hunt the Hare, Hunt the dark lanthorn, Chuck, Sinks, Store-Caps, Hustle-cap.” Of football, it will be observed, there is no mention; nevertheless it was played, though not in very good repute. Fives, of course, was then played between the buttresses of the Chapel, the favourite time being before eleven-o’clock school, when a ring of spectators would assemble to watch good players. As every one knows, the pepper-box of the modern fives court takes its origin from the stone termination of the steps leading up to the Chapel door, which was copied in the first regular fives court built at Eton in 1847.

It would seem that the old Eton authorities, whilst not disapproving of games, did not attach any very considerable importance to them. In theory, indeed, boating on the Thames was forbidden, but in practice even Keate tolerated the joys of the river, though he made violent efforts to prevent any rowing before Easter, in order to prevent the boys from catching chills.

[SN: HOCKEY]

In the ’forties of the last century foot races and the three-mile steeplechase, with its almost impossible jumps and immersions, were a source of considerable interest just before Easter. The winter games were then football and hockey, the latter of which, however, only held its ground for a time, during which it was patronised by many of the swells. There was then a tradition, which still seems to exist, that it had been from time to time forbidden as dangerous; nevertheless it was played for years without either injury or any reprimand. The sticks were not rough, but smoothed and artificially bent, with blades about a foot long. There were two clubs, called upper and lower hockey; but football gradually superseded it, and the game entirely disappeared about the year 1853. With regard to the prohibition, a writer mentions (in 1832) hockey and football as the chief winter games at Eton, and says that more came away “hobbling” from the latter than from the former, but speaks further on of a boy having in his room “an illegal hockey-stick.” He observes that this fine old game had died out in England, except at Eton and Sandhurst, and adds quaintly: “It is one of the most elegant and gentlemanly exercises, being susceptible of very graceful attitudes, and requiring great speed of foot.”

As time went on, athletics began to exercise more and more influence, till in the ’sixties they attained to much the same preponderant position as they hold at Eton to-day. A few, however, viewed the growing worship of skilfully trained brute force with unconcealed dislike. In the early ’seventies of the last century a little magazine, called the _Adventurer_, contained an article signed E. G. R. called “Eton as it is,” which scathingly attacked the growing deification of muscle rather than brain:--

“While in the world around us, for which we are here preparing ourselves, a vast worship of intellect universally prevails, at Eton it is the worship of the body which enslaves the whole community. What, in our estimation, is mind, intellect, hard and successful cultivation of the faculties? Nothing. What is cricket, rowing, athletics, football? Everything. And our School is meanwhile being degraded almost to the level of an Athletic Club.... Idleness holds sway everywhere, and _such_ idleness! As a man who has never had dealings with the Chinese can have but a faint idea of what swindling is, so a man who has never been at Eton has but a poor conception of what idleness is.”

[SN: “POP”]

This protest was not, however, well received by the school, the _Adventurer_ being expelled from the rooms of “Pop,” which, curiously enough, on its foundation in 1811 by Charles Fox Townshend as a political and literary society, had only elected the captain of the boats in order to show that the members _had no prejudice_ against athletics.

Its tone was distinctly Conservative. Fourteen years later, in Mr. Gladstone’s day, only one member, a Colleger, was suspected of having Liberal tendencies. Originally “Pop” was located in the upper room of Mother Hatton’s “sock shop.” In 1846, when the house, together with another, was formed into Drury’s, “Pop” migrated to the yard of the old Christopher. The site of Drury’s is now covered by part of that huge and incongruous building--the “Memorial Hall.”

The early members of “Pop,” it is curious to find, were originally known as the Literati, their first debate, held on February 9, 1811, dealing with the question of whether the passage of the Andes by Pizarro or the passage of the Alps by Hannibal was the greater exploit. No political event within fifty years was permitted as a subject for debate. Mr. Gladstone, who was elected a member in 1825, made his maiden speech before this Society, the subject being “Is the Education of the Poor on the whole Beneficial?”

The future Prime Minister took great pains to improve himself as an orator, going, it is said, to rehearse his “Pop” speeches in Trotman’s gardens, on the site of which the old fives courts were afterwards built. To the end of his days he continued to take great interest in the “Eton Society.” His correspondence as to its records, in which every speaker has written his speech, has been amusingly described by Lord Rosebery, who on succeeding the great statesman in office one day received a letter in which the Grand Old Man expressed himself much distressed because during a recent visit to the rooms of “Pop” he had seen a picture of a recent Derby winner over the chimney-piece. A generation, wrote Mr. Gladstone, which had such depraved tastes could not, in his opinion, be fitted to have the custody of the invaluable records of the Eton Society, and he therefore begged Lord Rosebery to address the authorities at Eton on the subject. The state of affairs of which Mr. Gladstone complained, did not cause the recipient of his appeal so much disquiet, for the Derby winner which hung over the “Pop” mantelpiece was Lord Rosebery’s own horse, Ladas, which won the great classic race in 1894.

Lord Rosebery, who, even in his Eton days, was a most effective debater, is another member of “Pop” who has risen to high distinction. Retaining a singularly keen interest in everything connected with his old school, he it was who made the most eloquent and witty speech at the dinner in the Memorial Hall, where, on July 14, 1911, 400 Etonians, the vast majority old members of “Pop,” met to commemorate the 100th anniversary of the Society’s foundation. In the aforesaid speech he very happily described “Pop” as being a noble companionship like the Garter, not always given for merit, but a high companionship with illustrious tradition to which anybody might be proud to belong.

[SN: ETON VICEROYS]

Though athleticism has now in a great measure dominated the “Eton Society,” it must be confessed, as another distinguished old Etonian, Lord Curzon, said at the same dinner, that neither title, means, nor athletic distinction _per se_ ever enabled a man to get inside the walls of “Pop.” There must be something else--he must be what the world calls “a good sort,” and it is well that this happy state of affairs still remains unchanged. On the same occasion Lord Curzon pointed out that Eton had laid a vigorous hand on India, six out of the last seven Viceroys having been old Eton boys, whilst that illustrious veteran Lord Roberts was also an old Etonian.

In the course of the nineteenth century the importance of the captain of the boats has gradually grown, and at the present day his personality dominates Eton. He occupies a unique position, being envied and admired by the Upper part of the school and regarded as a sort of superior being by Lower boys.

When, about half a century ago, a Royal Commission was taking evidence as to the state of affairs prevailing at Eton, it was elicited in evidence that “the captains of the boats and the eleven were scarcely ever distinguished in scholarship or mathematics.” One master indeed declared that he had “not observed any boys, during a short experience, distinguished both in intellect and athletic pursuits.” Young Lord Boringdon, himself one of the “eight” for two years, was “afraid that the crews of the boats were generally distinguished for want of industrious habits.” Cricket the Commission pronounced to have been found “hardly compatible with high scholarship.” Although the Collegers formed the larger proportion of the oldest boys in the school, they were seldom in the eleven, because they were unwilling to spare so much time from the school work as was considered necessary for practice.

In my own Eton days, thirty years ago, the captain of the school--head of Sixth Form--was nobody at all in the eyes of the Oppidans. Few of them indeed knew him by sight, and fewer still felt any curiosity to do so. As far as I remember he enjoyed no particular privileges except the right of presenting a new Headmaster with a birch tied up with ribbon of Eton blue. The captain of the Oppidans held a slightly better position, a sort of idea prevailing that there must have been something extraordinary about him or he would not have risen so high in the school, Oppidans as a rule not being generally considered very clever or apt to work.

[SN: “SWAGGERS”]

Next to the captain of the boats in popular estimation came the captain of the eleven, who in his own circle commanded a good deal of attention, and of course stood infinitely higher than any boy distinguished only for intellectual attainments. The members of the eight and eleven followed after, together with a few other “swaggers,” who on account of their prowess at football, rackets, running, fives, and sometimes even rifle shooting, were regarded with a certain degree of reverential awe.

Of late years, however, a more satisfactory state of affairs has prevailed, not a few prominent athletes and oarsmen having shown considerable mental capacity.

FOOTNOTE:

[10] This list is the one given in _Nugae Etonenses_.

IX ROWING AND GAMES

The early history of Eton rowing is somewhat obscure, but it is perfectly clear that the Oppidans have always had control of all rowing arrangements. In former times, indeed, Collegers only boated below Bridge, and were rarely seen above; indeed if they did go up stream they were more than likely to be molested by Oppidans, who claimed that part of the river as their own watery domain.

[SN: THE BOATS]

Though boating must have gone on at Eton ever since the foundation of the College, there would appear to have been no attempt at a regular organisation till the middle of the eighteenth century. In 1762 there were three long boats, the “Snake,” the “Piper’s Green,” and “My Guineas Lion.” Then, as now, a captain of the boats presided over the crews. In the early days of Keate’s reign (1811-1814), however, there seem to have been six boats--one 10-oar (the “Monarch,” as now), three 8-oars, and two 6-oars, later on changed to four 8-oars and one 6-oar. At that time, as has been the case in later years, the “Monarch,” though it stood first on the list, and took precedence of all the other boats, was by no means the best manned, being, as has been the case in later years, something of a refuge for swagger boys who might not be exceptionally fine oars. For this reason, though it was scarcely regarded with contempt, yet it could never either be looked up to as affording a pattern for the other crews. A place in it, however, was a good thing to be secured.

In 1829[11] the Upper boats were the “Monarch,” “Britannia,” and “Etonian”; the Lower, “Victory,” “Thetis,” “Defiance,” “St. George,” and “Dreadnought.” The “Thetis,” it should be added, replaced the “Hibernia,” which disappeared as the “Trafalgar” had done. In 1830, however, one of the Lower boats was called the “Nelson.” At that time, it should be added, the Lower boats were made up of Lower boys and Fifth Form indiscriminately. The revival of the “Nelson” in 1830 was due to a revolt of the Lower boys in a dame’s house against the Fifth Form, which ended in the former putting a boat on the river in order to escape compulsory cricket. The boats used were clinker built, and either gig or wherry fashion, the eights mostly of the former. They had rowlocks, but not outriggers, and must have been heavy as compared with modern clinker-built eights. The oars were of the old type, square loomed, with a button nailed on.

The original practice in the Lower boats was to employ watermen (known as “cads”) as strokes and steerers. Jack Haverley, for instance, who in 1861 became the head waterman employed by the school, steered the “Defiance” as late as 1830. Another old custom practised on great occasions was for each boat to have in it some visitor to Eton. When, as sometimes happened, the honoured guest chanced to be a demure gentleman in black, he looked singularly out of place amidst the gay costumes of the crew. In old-fashioned times this “sitter,” as he was called, sat in the centre of the boat to keep it steady, but in later years he reclined in the stern, usually with a large hamper of champagne in front of him, it being the custom for a sitter to make the boys a present of wine. In those far-distant days little check would seem to have been placed upon the boys indulging freely in alcohol. The writer’s uncle, who as Lord Walpole steered the “Etonian” in 1830, often told of the glorious bowls of punch which he and his friends used to consume. From the account he gave, the Upper boys at least were then allowed in most respects to do pretty much as they liked.

[SN: A TRICK]

The authorities did not in any way interfere with anything connected with boating, of the very existence of which, however, according to a curious convention, they were supposed to be unaware. Dr. Keate indeed carried the practice of ignoring rowing to such an extent that when Eton beat Westminster at Maidenhead in 1831, he only heard of it because the news of the victory was forced upon him. Dr. Hawtrey, however, did recognise boating as an authorised institution; nevertheless he did nothing to remove the absurd custom of regarding boys going to the river as being out of bounds. In Keate’s day, as has elsewhere been said, the river was really forbidden before Easter, owing to an idea that the cold, chilly weather would produce illness amongst the boys. Some mischievous “wet bobs,” taking advantage of this prohibition, in 1829 played an amusing trick on the masters. The weather just before Easter happened to be very bad, and “the water” in consequence was forbidden. Nevertheless, the boats went up until a grand capture of rebellious spirits was meditated by the authorities. By some means this purpose became known, and the wags masked and dressed up eight “cads” to represent Upper boys. They had not reached Upper Hope before the scheme began to take effect. “Foolish boys! I know you all. Come ashore,” sounded from one bank. “Come here, or you all will be expelled,” re-echoed from the other. At last, after a great deal of shouting and galloping, the masks were dropped and the joke explained.

[SN: SURLY HALL]

In old days, on certain evenings chosen by the captain of the boats, the Upper crews had regular feasts at Surly, known as “Duck and Green Pea” nights, where there was much conviviality, the crews being usually elated on the return journey, on which it was the custom to pull leisurely at first. As, however, they passed Boveney Church (there was then no lock) they drew in their oars, and the watermen who pulled stroke were called on for songs, which they sang solo, the boys joining in the chorus. After the watermen were dispensed with, the same customs continued. This entertainment was kept up from Boveney to the Rushes, and then the pulling was “Hard all!” for fear of being late for Absence, or, as it was then called, for fear of being “out afresh.” It was on the voyage up, however, that the rivalry between the boats mostly took place; but whenever they rowed “Hard all!” silence was kept, and each boat tried to make a race of it with the one in front or behind. After the feast at Surly, songs were sung till the time when “Oars” was called, when the crews rushed off to their boats in order to get back before Lock-Up. The Lower boats, which only escorted the Upper ones up to Easy Bridge above the Rushes, met them on their return and took part in the procession down to the Bridge.

These “Duck and Green Pea” nights afterwards developed into the “Check” nights (supposed to be so called from the shirts of the rowers) which Dr. Goodford abolished in 1860. “Check” nights took place on every alternate Saturday after the 4th of June, at the end of the summer half, and to the last the crews of the Upper boats maintained the traditional fare of duck and green peas for which Surly Hall was celebrated. The old place, which saw so many generations of Etonians swallow copious libations of champagne, though it long survived the abolition of “Check” nights, is now itself but a memory of the past, having been pulled down in 1902.

In former days, on such evenings as boat-racing had taken place, Eton was very lively indeed, the crews on their way home stopping to drink the winners’ healths at the Christopher, and then walking down arm-in-arm until they reached the school, where a crowd had collected. As in later times, the winners were “hoisted” and carried along by the wall amidst cheers. Windsor Bridge was then the winning-post of all races, the starting-point as a rule, it would appear, the Firework Eyot, which in old maps figures as Cooper’s Ait. The races, it should be added, were always for money, a good part of which in all probability was spent in drink.

The 4th of June and Election Saturday were celebrated by the Procession of Boats in gala dress and by fireworks from the Eyot. Previous to 1814 all the rowers in each boat had a fancy dress appropriate to the boat. In after years the crews wore blue jackets with anchors embroidered on the outside arm, clad in which they pulled all the way up to Surly. In 1828 checked shirts were introduced, and this fashion has continued ever since. On special days the boats had tillers fashioned as serpents, and garlanded with oak leaves, instead of the ordinary wooden tiller or the rudder lines and yokes which they used in the races. On the 4th of June and on Election Saturday the crews donned a special costume, the main features of which were a dark-blue jacket with brass buttons, hanging loose in front in order to show the distinctive pattern of the shirt, over which the silken handkerchief worn round the neck hung. Up to about 1828 the coxswains of boats on such great days wore fancy costumes, but after that date every coxswain was dressed as a naval officer, increasing in rank according to the precedence to which his boat was entitled, and this custom is still followed on the 4th of June. A somewhat curious coincidence in connection with the boats is that Lord Rosebery, Lord St. Aldwyn, and Lord Coventry in their Eton days all rowed bow in the _Monarch_--the ten-oar which seems always to have been one of the boats.

The great event for Eton oarsmen was formerly the annual race against Westminster, which in the early part of the nineteenth century excited the greatest interest. The proceedings in connection with the selection of the eight which was to try conclusions with the London school provoked much the same interest and enthusiasm as that now evoked with regard to the Eton crew to be sent to Henley. The series of contests with Westminster seems to have commenced in 1829 with a race for £100 a side. A regular course of training was always undergone, and for a number of years the match was the great event of the summer half. As time went on, however, it was discontinued, though revived in 1860 as part of certain concessions made by the then headmaster, Dr. Goodford, in consideration of the abolition of “Check” nights and “Oppidan Dinner.”

[SN: “OPPIDAN DINNER”]

“Oppidan Dinner” was a survival of the eighteenth century, and seemingly originated at the old Christopher. In later days, however, it was held at the White Hart at Windsor, the number of boys sitting down being usually about fifty, each of whom paid something like eighteen shillings a head, which charge included wine. The time for this dinner was at the end of the summer half, and those who took part in it were members of the Upper boats’ eleven and Sixth Form and a few other Upper boys. The captain of the boats managed everything, and sat at the head of the long table in a room which stretched right through the inn, one end looking out upon the castle. The dinner began at four in the afternoon, an adjournment to Eton taking place for six o’clock Absence, after which, about 6.30, the boys returned to the White Hart for what was called “dessert,” though every one expected to drink rather than to eat. The chief show on the table consisted of decanters and glasses, all of a very cheap sort, it being well understood that few would survive the wholesale breakage which almost invariably followed the annual feast. Toasts were then given, the captain of the boats rising first of all to propose “The Queen.” This was drunk standing, amidst an accompaniment of cheers. “The Prince of Wales and the rest of the Royal Family” followed, after which the boys waited eagerly for the toasts which had more immediate reference to their own particular interests and the songs which formed part of the evening’s programme. The proceedings invariably closed with “Floreat Etona,” the drinking of which was the signal for breaking up. This toast not unnaturally evoked wild enthusiasm, and at one time it was the custom for every one to fling their glasses down and dash them to pieces on the table. About half-past eight the diners returned to Eton in very hilarious mood, the captain of the boats and other popular athletes being generally subjected to a very enthusiastic “hoisting.”

[SN: CHANGES]

The Eton authorities, though perfectly aware of this somewhat Bacchanalian feast, never took any notice of it till it was abolished in 1860. As, however, old drinking customs decreased, it became clear that Oppidan Dinner was destined to disappear, and its existence was threatened years before it was done away with. It was notorious that as a result of this banquet a number of boys came to Absence in a very fuddled condition, and the headmaster, when calling over the names, had to keep his eyes well fixed on the list for fear of seeing behaviour of which he would have been obliged to take notice. At Lock-Up time things were worse still, and of the reeling crowd who surged down the High Street some occasionally became so violent that it took six or seven boys to get them to bed.

The last Oppidan Dinner of 1859, however, was by all accounts the most sober on record. Indeed an aged waiter at the White Hart was moved almost to tears at the small amount which had been drunk. Those who took part in it were of more serious disposition and mind than their rollicking predecessors of former days, and most people agreed that the dinner had become an anachronism. When, however, in the following year R. H. Blake-Humfrey, captain of the boats, in unison with the present Provost, Mr. Warre (who had then just come to Eton as a master), concurred in its suppression, not a few were taken by surprise, whilst many an old Etonian of the old school shook his head and murmured that Eton was going to the dogs.

In return for the abolition of “Oppidan Dinner” and “Check” nights, it was agreed that the eight should be allowed annually to row at Henley, whilst “boating bills” were instituted so as to put aquatics on the same footing as cricket with respect to exemptions from six o’clock Absence. It was also laid down that, on days in the summer half when there was no five o’clock school, the crews of two eight oars should be excused from “Absence” on condition of their undertaking to row to within sight of Cookham Lock. The “strokes” of the two boats were made responsible, on their words of honour, to see that the conditions were fulfilled. In addition to this, the whole of the High Street, as far as Windsor Bridge, was placed within bounds, so that boys going to the “Brocas” or returning from it were no longer obliged to “shirk” when they met masters. Finally the annual boat race with Westminster was to be revived. That very year a race was duly rowed between Eton and Westminster at Putney, in which Eton won very easily. There was, however, nothing extraordinary about this, for since the old days when Eton and Westminster had been rival schools the former had greatly increased in size. Westminster had in reality barely a chance, for it had been only with considerable difficulty that an eight had been got together at all. Though some of the Westminster oars were good men, the crews that rowed against Eton from 1860 to 1864 were entirely outmatched in weight and strength. In addition to which, in 1861 and 1862 the Eton eight possessed a tower of strength in their captain and stroke, Mr. R. H. Blake-Humfrey, who, it should be added, has, in his introduction to the _Eton Boating Book_, given such a clear and excellent account of the early history of Eton rowing. The race between the two schools did not take place in 1863; instead, the Westminster boys came down to Eton on Election Saturday and had supper with the Eton crews in the meadow opposite Surly Hall. Rowing back to Windsor, the visitors very nearly became involved in what might have been a serious catastrophe, for the cox of the Westminster eight, not being used to the river, steered the wrong side of the posts above Boveney Lock, and but for the warning shout of the steerer of the Eton eight, the Westminster boat would probably have gone over the Weir. The match of 1864, in which Eton won by 27 seconds, was the last occasion upon which the two eights met. Since then the schools have developed in different directions, with the result that the old cordial relations are now in all probability for ever at an end.

Modern Eton has produced several famous oarsmen--notably Mr. S. D. Muttlebury, whose first triumph was winning the “Lower boy pulling” with S. S. Sharpe in 1881. The present boating colours are the Eight, Upper Boat Choices, Upper Boats, Lower Boat Choices, Lower Boats, the latter of which all adopted the old Defiance colour in 1885. For this and other information I have to thank Mr. F. F. V. Scrulton, the present captain of the boats.

[SN: SWIMMING]

Swimming has always been in great favour with Eton boys, but in old days the authorities paid no attention to it, and no effort was made to check boys who could not swim from risking their lives. There appears, however, to have been some regular bathing-place as long ago as 1529, for it is chronicled that in that year a boy was drowned at “le watering place,” the site of which, however, is unknown. The first teacher apparently was a Frenchman named Champeau, nicknamed by the boys Slipgibbet, who about 1829 taught swimming with corks, which state of affairs continued till all unauthorised teachers of natation were swept away. Champeau, also playfully known as Shampoo, gave his lessons at the spot opposite to “Athens.” The old Frenchman must have been a competent teacher, for three miles was often accomplished by some of his pupils, and headers off Windsor Bridge were not uncommon. Nevertheless, fatal accidents intermittently occurred. In the early part of the nineteenth century a boy was drowned close to Boveney Meads, in the presence of many big schoolfellows, of whom not one could dive to bring up the body, though it could be plainly seen by those who stooped over the sides of the boats--fortunately at that time broad of beam, otherwise more boys would probably have perished. Sixty or seventy years earlier young Barnard (afterwards Dr. Barnard, Headmaster and Provost) had only escaped a watery grave owing to the successful efforts of his schoolfellow, Jacob Bryant, a delicate boy but a good swimmer. In later years Bryant became a scholar and philologist well in advance of his age. The average of deaths from drowning was once, it is said, about one boy in three years. This bad state of affairs was ended in 1840 when George Augustus Selwyn, with William Evans, organised swimming and instituted the “passing” at “Cuckoo Weir,” which has now become one of the regular features of a “wet bob’s” career.

The Upper Collegers at one time bathed at the oak in the playing fields, the Lower at a spot not far away, which bore the significant name of “Deadman’s Hole.” Near by was the old wharf, done away with in 1840, where the Collegers used to keep their boats. In those days, however, they went but little on the river, preferring to concentrate their energies in preparing for the annual matches at cricket and football with the Oppidans. The rivalry was then very keen, and in winter was even shown by fierce snowball fights, in which both sides often suffered severely. It may seem strange that seventy boys could face six hundred, but some of the biggest boys in the school were Collegers, as they were not superannuated until they were nineteen.

About 1828 the annual matches, both at cricket and football, between the Oppidans and Collegers were done away with. They were always the most stoutly contested games of the year, and put both parties on their mettle far beyond the excitement of any other match. A good deal of bitterness was sometimes displayed, and now and then a smack on the head or a designed “shin” were given and received; but, on the whole, these matches did something to draw Oppidans and Collegers together, and their abolition is to be deplored, though, in the present age, the great excess of Oppidans would, it must be confessed, have rendered their continuance difficult.

[SN: ST. ANDREW’S DAY]

Of all the various contests which formerly took place between Collegers and Oppidans the annual match at the wall on St. Andrew’s Day alone survives, and has lost none of its interest, though the two elevens are chosen from seventy Collegers and from close on a thousand Oppidans. In reality the chances of victory are in a great degree equalised owing to the fact that whilst the Collegers have every opportunity of playing the game during the whole of the time--usually about six years--during which they remain at Eton, only a small number of Oppidans play at all till within two years of their leaving school. It would here be superfluous to enter upon any detailed description of the game. [SN: THE “WALL”] Suffice it to say that it is played within a narrow strip of ground some twenty feet wide and close up against the old wall built in 1717, the goals being the tree with a white mark at the end towards Slough, and the door of Weston’s Yard at the Eton end. The origin of this peculiar form of football is very obscure. Mr. E. C. Benthall, K.S., Keeper of the Wall in the present year, 1911, who has most obligingly furnished me with some interesting information, believes that it originated from “passage football,” and doubts if it was ever played very seriously till about one hundred years ago, at which time it was an entirely different game from what it is now. In spite of its quaint terms, it would seem to be of no great antiquity, at least in anything like its present form. The wall itself dates from 1717, but about the earliest record of any regular game there dates from the first decade of the nineteenth century, at which time any one who chose seems to have been allowed to play, with the result that there were usually eighteen or twenty a side. It was then practically the only form of football popular at Eton, though occasionally something approaching to the modern “Field Game” was played in the open. Till 1841, however, such forms of relaxation were discouraged by the masters. Nevertheless, on the piece of grass between the path and the river in Lower Club the Collegers, up till about 1863, played a variety known as “Lower College.” This was probably a link between the field and wall games, for it had “shies” and “goals.” In early days the wall game was played on a much wider strip of ground than is at present the case. The bully was not its essential feature, and the ball was often run down the whole length of the wall. Sixty years or so ago matches of Dames _v._ Tutors were occasionally played, and during one of these the ball somehow was pitched right on the top of the wall, along which it ran for some eight yards before coming to a dead standstill on the top.

The rules were then, of course, more elastic than those now in use, and since they were drawn up in 1849 the game has undergone various minor changes, including the curtailment of the space at the wall to its present limits and the toleration (about 1851) of “furking” the ball back in calx.

At one time considerable savagery seems to have been displayed by the rival teams, in consequence of which Dr. Hawtrey once suspended all play for three weeks, and in 1851 it was actually proposed to abolish the annual match on St. Andrew’s Day on account of the ill-feeling which was said to be engendered between Oppidans and Collegers. Of late years, however, the historic contest is remarkable for the good-humour shown by both sides. A quaint figure at the annual match from 1847 up to 1888, the year before he fell ill, was old Powell, whose old-fashioned velveteen coat and high top-hat were survivals of another age. During his long superintendence of the wall he had seen many generations of Collegers and Oppidans contending for goals and shies. After ten years of confinement and suffering he died in 1899.

The wall game is as different from any other form of football as it is possible to imagine. To one unacquainted with its intricacies, nothing can be more curious than the bully close up against the wall, and the efforts of those forming it to prevent kicks sending the ball out--that is to say, beyond the line marked as the limit within which play takes place. The rules really amount to a sort of complicated creed, which has been handed on from one generation of Collegers to another. A good deal of the game is mystifying to a spectator unacquainted with its intricacies. A “calx bully,” for instance, is highly difficult to explain, whilst the necessary preliminaries for a “shy” at goals are often, owing to the confusion of the struggle, visible only to the umpire. The summit of a wall-player’s ambition is to throw a “goal,” which feat, in the annual St. Andrew’s Day match, has only been accomplished three times within the last hundred years--in every case by a Colleger. W. Marcon threw one in 1842, when College won by a goal and 19 shies, 17 of which were got by H. Phillott in rapid succession. H. J. Mordaunt, captain of the eleven in 1886, threw another in 1885, when he hit the door just at the bottom. [SN: A HISTORIC GOAL] The name of this fine athlete, the writer (who knew him at Eton) is informed, is still a household word in College, where his goal is held in greater reverence than that scored in 1909. Mordaunt’s was an unaided effort, whilst the latter seems to have been rather lucky. Nevertheless, Finlay and Creasy deserved the greatest credit for their presence of mind. In 1858, it should be added, a throw by Hollingworth was disputed.

Though of all pastimes the wall game is least adapted for summer, time-honoured usage prescribed--and after a discontinuance for four years now once again prescribes--that at six o’clock on the morning of Ascension Day a mixed team of Collegers and Oppidans should meet at the “Wall.” The origin of this custom I have been unable to ascertain. Like the game played on the last evening of last summer half, it probably took its rise from boyish enthusiasm.

In connection with the wall game, the name of James Kenneth Stephen--the gifted J. K. S., who in his prime was so unfortunately snatched away by death--will never be forgotten. Captain of the College team in 1876-1877, he was a great supporter of “noster ludus muralis,” as he has left on record in his “Quo Musa Tendis,” one stanza of which runs--

There’s another wall with a field beside it, A wall not wholly unknown to fame, For a game’s played there which most who’ve tried it Declare is a truly noble game.

College, it is pleasant to know, seems unlikely ever to forget this true son of Eton, for on the evening of St. Andrew’s Day each of the wall team in turn drinks “In piam memoriam, J. K. S.,” every raising of the cup as it is passed around being followed by a cheer.

A brilliant young contemporary of J. K. S. who played at the wall in 1880 is happily still left to us. This is Mr. A. C. Benson, whose fine intellect and delightful achievements in the fields of literature have rendered his name well known to that greater public which joins with Etonians in admiration of his work.

College may well be proud of having produced two such men as these.

Till the middle of the fifties in the last century the wall game was also played at the red brick wall in front of the boys’ entrance to the house which about 1790 was built overlooking the Timbralls. For nearly a quarter of a century after play had ceased to take place there, the calces marked in chalk could still be discerned. The field game is a rather modern institution. As has before been said, ordinary football does not seem to have been very popular amongst Etonians of a hundred years ago, though in the last century it gradually rose in favour. A curious character of other days was old Strugnal, who was celebrated for tightening the bladder of a football by means of blowing through a piece of tobacco pipe placed in his mouth. On the whole, the annals of Eton football, a primitive form of which in the eighteenth century was known as “goals,” with the exception of some exciting house matches, do not possess any great interest.

[SN: CRICKET]

Cricket, unlike football, was popular at Eton over two hundred years ago, having been played as early as 1706, and in high favour in Horace Walpole’s day. About the first great Etonian cricketer was the eighth Lord Winchilsea, who afterwards became chief patron of the famous Hambledon Club. At one time he made an attempt to introduce an innovation by increasing the stumps to four, but the change was never popular, though in the match between the Gentlemen and Players in 1837, in order to equalise the contest, the latter undertook to defend four stumps instead of three. In 1751 three matches for £1500 were played between the Gentlemen of England and Eton College, Past and Present; the former won the stakes, winning two out of the three matches. The players were dressed in silk jackets, trousers, and velvet caps. In 1791 Lord Winchilsea made 54 runs in a contest between Old Etonians _versus_ the Gentlemen of England. This was played at old “Lord’s,” where Dorset Square now stands. In the same year the school beat the Maidenhead Club by four wickets. Keate was one of the seven Collegers playing, and scored 0 and 4, while in the second innings Way “nipped himself out” for 11. Five years later a match seems to have taken place against Westminster on Hounslow Heath, in defiance of the Headmaster’s strict orders; it resulted in the defeat of Eton and the flogging of all the Eleven!

In those days there was a good deal of jollity in connection with the cricket in the playing fields, and the boys were allowed to do many things which would be thought very reprehensible to-day. Up to about 1827, for instance, a beer tent used to be allowed when cricket matches were played. Two or three years later Eton cricket for some reason or other admittedly deteriorated, a disastrous state of affairs which was thus explained by one of the “cads” who used to hover about the shooting fields: “Lord, sir, they never has won a match since the beer tent got the sack, and never will no more.” This tent, where “beer and baccy” were the order of the day before it gave offence to the higher powers, was kept, at every match, by the veteran Jem Miller for the accommodation of the “cads,” Broconalian Club, and other loungers, and loudly and lustily did they cheer the boys with their stentorian lungs. It was from this tent that one of the best bowlers and batters Eton ever produced--in after years a prominent divine at King’s--was encouraged by the deafening shouts of “Goo it, my dear Harding; goo it, my dear boy,” when he scored 86 runs off his own bat against Messrs. Ward, Vigne, Tanner, and others of the Epsom Club. It was on this memorable day, too, that he made a tremendous hit over the shooting-field trees, high in the air, of course, when a bargeman from the tent, lost in amazement at the hit, thundered out, “There she goes for Chessy [Chertsey] Church, by Jingo!” it being a prominent mark on the river for the bargees.

[SN: “WATER BOILS,” “MAKE TEA”]

According to all accounts, cricket in those less strenuous days was not taken any too seriously. Boys did not change their clothing to play it, though they did so for football. Once during a match in Upper Club a fight was reported to be going on in the playing fields, and in a few minutes gentlemen, spectators, and cricketers not actually playing scampered over Sheep’s Bridge, eager to witness the contest. Formerly tea in Upper Club was made by fags. The well-known cries of “Water boils!” “Make tea!” originated during this now obsolete state of affairs.

Though all Bacchanalian gaiety had disappeared from the playing fields by the middle of the last century, a somewhat free-and-easy spirit still prevailed, and on the occasion of school matches there was usually a good deal of fun, especially when Billy Boland--a celebrated character and _bon vivant_ of the past, who was supposed to have been the original of Fred Bayham in Thackeray’s novel of _The Newcomes_--was present. He it was who once, after lunch during a cricket match between the school and I Zingari, presented Dr. Hawtrey, the then headmaster, with the Freedom of the Club in a deal box, and wound up a mock speech with the toast: “Floreat Etona et vivat ‘Nitidissimus’ Hawtrey!” This was peculiarly appropriate, for with his velvet-collared coat the Doctor was the smartest of men and wore the best-varnished boots in the world.

[SN: THE FIRST MATCH AT LORD’S]

The first regular match played by Eton against a public school appears to have taken place in 1799, when an Eton eleven met Westminster at old Lord’s. On this occasion Eton in their innings made only 47 runs. Westminster then went in and scored 13, when the stumps were drawn, with five wickets to fall. The match was said to be “postponed,” but there is no account to be found of its ever having been resumed. Next year Eton had an easy victory, making a score of 213 in one innings, against Westminster’s 54 and 31. Curiously enough, the Collegers at that time constituted the strength of the eleven and made the biggest scores. Benjamin Drury, afterwards an assistant master, Joseph Thackeray, and Thomas Lloyd, elder brother of the bishop, were the bowlers. Poor Lloyd, who beat the Westminster innings off his own bat, died after the holidays from the effects of a chill which he caught during the match. This would seem to have been the last match with Westminster.

The first Eton and Harrow contest took place in 1805 at Lord’s, when Eton won in a single innings. On this occasion Byron made 7 and 2 for the beaten school. Eight of the winning eleven (among whom was Lord Stratford de Redcliffe) were King’s scholars. After this no authentic record exists of any match till 1818, when Harrow beat Eton. Apparently the whole thing was rather a fiasco; only two of the best Eton men were present at Lord’s, the rest of the eleven being made up of such Etonians as could be collected on the ground. In the following year, however, Eton beat Harrow in one innings; in 1822 Harrow beat Eton. In 1832 Eton scored a great triumph, beating Harrow and Winchester each in one innings. The match of 1841 was remarkable for the great innings of Emilius Bayley, who made 153, up to then the highest score ever achieved by any player in a public school match. Oddly enough, however, that same year Eton was beaten hollow by Winchester. In 1846 Eton repeated the great performance of 1832 and again vanquished Harrow and Winchester each in a single innings. One of the eleven on this occasion was J. W. Chitty (in after life the Rt. Hon. Lord Justice Chitty), who played four years for Eton, in the last of which--1847--he was captain of the eleven.

A great character well known to Eton cricketers of the forties was M’Niven minor, who, Mr. Coleridge declares, in his interesting recollections, was in Sixth Form, the football team, and the eight, as well as in the eleven. Commonly called “Snivey,” this fine athlete seems to have been very notorious for his wild eccentricities and oddities of dress, which, however, in nowise impaired a universal popularity.

During the fifties of the last century Eton cricket was not in a very flourishing state. The smart thing was to be in the boats, and “dry-bobs” were rather looked down upon till 1860, when a strenuous effort began to be made to end the long series of reverses which the school had sustained in its annual matches against Harrow. The engagement of a professional cricketer and improvements in Upper Club aroused great interest, and so much excitement was the result that when in that year Eton made rather a good fight at Lord’s, all sorts of absurd rumours were born of the indignation provoked by defeat. It was said, for instance, that Daniel, the Harrow captain, was really a professional in disguise--this was because he wore whiskers and a straw hat!

[SN: “POCKETS”]

In 1861, when the late Mr. R. A. H. Mitchell, who afterwards as a master did so much for Eton cricket, was captain, the match was unfinished, and only in the next year did Eton score its first victory against Harrow since 1850. The finish (like that of 1910) gave rise to much excitement, and feeling ran very high, both sides indulging in merciless chaff. The report that the Harrow headmaster--Dr. Butler--had shortly before issued an order that all side-pockets were to be sewn up, with a view to prevent slouching, gave the Eton boys an opportunity of which they were not slow to take advantage, and accordingly the ground resounded with yells of “Pockets” throughout the day. The hero of the day was A. S. Teape, whose bowling did so much to win the match, at the close of which he was accorded an enthusiastic ovation. A large proportion of the spectators were quite carried away by excitement, and several fights took place between members of the rival schools, whilst two well-known Eton and Harrow “cads,” both pretty well “sprung,” started a little mill on their own account, much to the amusement of the onlookers. Probably the encounter was a prearranged affair, for the old rascals took good care not to hurt each other, and reaped a considerable harvest by sending the hat round afterwards. One of the winning team that year was Mr. Alfred Lubbock, the great Eton cricketer who became captain in 1863, in which year he made the magnificent score of 174, not out, against Winchester. Every old Etonian should read the book written by him some little time ago, one chapter of which was contributed by his son, Mr. Robin Lubbock, K.S., a member of the eleven of 1896-1897. A young man of high promise, he most unfortunately met with an early death through a sad accident in the hunting-field. The names of Lubbock, Lyttelton, and Studd will always be associated with the history of Eton cricket. For six successive years--1861 to 1866--there was always a Lubbock in the eleven, whilst three Lytteltons (one of whom was the present Headmaster) played at Lord’s in 1872, and three Studds in 1877.

[SN: A CURIOUS “RAG”]

In former days there was often much rowdiness after an Eton and Harrow match, which, for some unknown reason, seemed to send a certain amount of hot-blooded youngsters almost mad. In the early eighties of the last century the present writer witnessed a curious development of this spirit. Returning to Eton in the evening after the match was over, he found himself in a railway carriage filled with a number of boys he did not know, together with one old Etonian, apparently a newly joined subaltern of some cavalry regiment. For a little time after the train had started the party more or less calmly discussed the match, but all of a sudden the old Etonian, who was in a most excited state, began to smash up the carriage, tearing down the hat-racks and breaking the windows, in which work of destruction he was cheerfully seconded by his companions, who eventually, when the train came to the bridge over the river near Windsor, threw most of the cushions and all the advertisement placards, which they had wrenched off, into the river. The writer was the more struck by this scene on account of the party not in any way suggesting that he should join in it; and as a matter of fact, reading a paper and smoking (nearly every boy then smoked when going to or leaving Eton), he sat undisturbed upon the only cushion not thrown out of window. He was a very small boy at the time, and the wreckers, who were big ones, treated him throughout with great courtesy. The damage, owing to the great crowd of boys returning to Eton, was apparently not discovered by the station officials on the arrival of the train at Windsor, nor was anything heard of it afterwards by the school, though the writer has reason to believe that some other carriages were also wrecked on the same train. In all probability the authorities, aware of the impossibility of detecting the offenders, preferred to let the whole matter rest. It was a curious instance of the passion for destruction which occasionally takes possession of youth.

The first match between Eton and Winchester seems to have been played in 1826, when Winchester won. Afterwards, up to 1854, it was played at Lord’s. Success was pretty evenly divided till 1845, when a tie produced great interest and excitement. In that year the late Provost, Dr. Hornby, was a member of the Eton team. In old days the Winchester boys played in tall white beaver hats, but the Etonians wore straw. In 1856 the match was played at Winchester, neither school being allowed to come to town, and since then the elevens have met on the Eton and Winchester ground alternately.

Sixpenny, which appears to have taken its name from the Sixpenny Club, founded for Lower boys by G. J. Boudier, 1832-1838, captain of the eleven, an Etonian who is said to once have thrashed a bargee three times his own size, was formerly a much-coveted Lower boy colour. It was, however, done away with in 1898, but Upper Sixpenny is still an important cricket colour for Uppers who are also Juniors, as it is now the first colour a young cricketer can obtain at Eton, where, if you once get a name as a promising bat, bowler, or field, it is difficult to lose it, whereas if a boy does not start well, little attention is afterwards paid to him.

A curious modern Eton cricket institution is “Second Upper Club,” nominally the second game in the school, but in reality consisting of Upper boys who are distinguished in the school, mostly in some other line than cricket, though a number of quite good players also belong. A few years ago some of the games played by Second Upper Club degenerated into huge “rags,” ending with an early adjournment to little Brown’s, whence, after a huge tea had been partaken of, every one went off to bathe.

[SN: AGAR’S PLOUGH]

A feature of modern Eton is “Agar’s Plough,” just across Datchet Lane, well laid out for the purposes of the school games. This large tract of land was saved from the speculative builder by purchase in 1895, and here, eight years later, for the first time was played the Eton and Winchester match. As a cricket ground Agar’s Plough possesses several advantages over the historic Upper Club, known in the distant past as the Upper Shooting Fields. One of the chief gains is, of course, the absence of big trees to confuse the light. Whether, however, Upper Club is discarded for school matches or not, it will always remain a hallowed spot in the recollection of old Etonians who as boys knew it in its summer glory. Full of picturesque associations and shaded by stately elms planted in the days of the Commonwealth, the beautiful old ground has seen many a generation of Eton boys pass o’er its pleasant sward of green. Besides Agar’s Plough modern Eton possesses other facilities for games undreamt of in less luxurious days. Amongst these are the new racquets courts near the gasworks which in 1902-3 took the place of those down Keate’s Lane.

At the present day there is no tennis at Eton, but a tennis court appears to have existed between 1600 and 1603, though, curiously enough, its site has never been ascertained. Near the new racquets courts thirty-eight new fives courts have been built since 1870.

The excellent game of fives, which has now attained a comparatively widespread popularity, originated in the spaces between the Chapel buttresses being utilised for play. The one next the flight of steps, with its so-called pepper-box, is the model from which all modern fives courts are built. The first of these were constructed at Eton in Trotman’s gardens in 1847, and enjoyed great popularity in their early days. Since, however, the number of fives courts has been largely augmented, the old courts seem to have fallen into great disrepute. In the writer’s day, although such new courts as existed were naturally the most in request, boys still ran to obtain one of the old ones. It was a rule that no court could be considered taken unless there was some one actually upon it, to claim it by the right of occupancy. The consequence was that they always became the reward of the swift, or of those who were let out of school earlier than the rest; keen struggles ensued, and the stream of runners flying down Keate’s Lane day after day testified to the eagerness of spirit which could prompt boys to exhaust themselves merely to obtain the chance of getting a game. It was then the custom for the boy first in a court to mark his right of possession by putting down his hat in it. The original fives court between the buttresses of the Chapel had been long unused, though there was sometimes a knock-up between Lower boys waiting to go into school.

[SN: COLOURS]

Colours at Eton, except those of the eleven and of the eight, which in some form or other probably existed as far back as the eighteenth century, are of modern origin. The parti-coloured scarlet and Eton blue shirt of the field only dates from 1860, and the dark blue and red of the wall from 1861. A year later saw the birth of house colours. About the same time a great craze for wearing colours on every possible occasion made itself felt. In old days boys had been supposed to shirk masters when in change clothes, but now a tendency to run into an opposite extreme produced an agitation in favour of greater laxity regarding dress. The authorities, however, rightly deeming that Eton should retain its old traditions as to tall hats and the like, stood firm, every reasonable concession having long before that date been granted. Only quite recently indeed have boys been allowed to answer their names at Absence in change clothes, an innovation which many an old Etonian, mindful of the ancient traditions of the school, must surely deplore.

This chapter cannot be concluded without some reference to the Eton Hunt, as the beagles have sometimes been facetiously called. The pack in question would appear to have first been started about 1840 under the auspices of Anstruther-Thompson, in after life one of the best-known and most popular Masters of Hounds in England. For some years later its existence was rather precarious, at times resembling that of a contemporary College pack which was once declared to consist of a single long-backed Scotch terrier. From the earliest days of the hunt, however, there appears to have been some attempt at a regular organisation. The whips, for instance, had E.C.H. on the buttons of their coats, which Dr. Hawtrey (Edward Craven), who of course knew of the existence of the hunt, though he did not recognise it, interpreted as a delicate compliment to himself. At one time the Collegers and Oppidans each had a separate pack of their own, but these were amalgamated in 1866.

[SN: HYSTERICAL SENTIMENT]

Drag hunts were formerly rather popular with the followers of the Eton beagles, and sometimes very good runs were enjoyed. One of the “cads” about the wall, known as Polly Green, an active fellow who used to go across country uncommonly well, afforded very good sport. At that time the beagles had not been recognised by the authorities, and were kept more or less secretly a good way out of bounds, in a small kennel at the corner of the Brocas near the river. Eventually, however, the pack became known to every one, including the masters, who, with great good sense, far from discouraging it, gave it encouragement and approval, and thereby raised the character of the sport whilst increasing its popularity in the school. In 1884 the mastership of Lord Newtown-Butler--now Major the Earl of Lanesborough--was particularly successful, this gallant and popular Guardsman having ever been the incarnation of geniality and good-natured fun. There is no need to deal here with the absurd agitation of so-called humanitarians for the pack’s suppression. Suffice it to say that the greatest credit is due to the present Headmaster for having refused to listen to the voice of hysterical sentimentalism. May his successors be equally firm!

FOOTNOTE:

[11] Those interested in this period should not fail to read _Eton in 1829-1830_, a translation of a boating diary written in Greek by Thomas Selwyn. The translator and editor, the present Provost of Eton, Dr. Warre, D.D., M.V.O., well known to several generations of Etonians as Assistant and Headmaster, did more than any one else to improve Eton rowing.

X YESTERDAY AND TO-DAY

The old type of Eton Masters and Fellows is now practically extinct, but thirty or forty years ago quite a number of them were still flourishing. Not a few were quaint and eccentric figures both in their appearance and their ways. About the quaintest of all was the Rev. F. E. Durnford, universally known as “Judy,” who was Lower master from 1864 to 1877. He has been aptly described as “a sort of Ancient Mariner in academic garb,” for he had a strange weather-beaten aspect, the result, no doubt, of having for many years battled with successive hordes of impish Lower boys--“nahty, nahty boys,” as he called them--much of whose time was occupied in giving the good old man all the trouble they could. Mr. Durnford, though he could never master the pronunciation of French, was somewhat fond of interlarding Gallicisms in his discourse, which, of course, never failed to arouse unbridled merriment. He himself was perfectly aware of his imperfections as a linguist, and would at times attempt to allay such outbursts by the somewhat pathetic remark, “Ah, boys, it’s my misfortune, not my fault.” He was a very good-natured old man, whose main failing perhaps was being inclined towards an excess of leniency, in which respect his successor, the Rev. J. L. Joynes, erred far less.

[SN: “OLD JIMMY”]

This pedagogue, though the most kindly of men, would stand no nonsense. Many will remember him in Lower School, with the picturesque interior of which, full of old woodwork cut with the names of vanished generations, his personality accorded so well. He had rather a peculiar voice, and pronounced words like “tutor” and “nuisance,” “tootor” and “noosance.” Rather a better preacher than most of his colleagues, his sermons in “old Lower Chapel” were sometimes marked by a certain originality which caused them to be listened to with interest and attention. In his school days “Jimmy Joynes,” or “old Jimmy,” as he was affectionately called, had been captain of the College team at the wall and a fine fives player, and as a master he continued to take great interest in the latter game, giving a cup to be played for by the house over which he presided before becoming Lower Master. In the latter capacity, though an extremely kind-hearted man, he could, as was well known to the boys under his charge, be severe enough upon occasion, and the writer well remembers seeing him administer what was considered a tremendous flogging to a delinquent, who afterwards had a distinguished military career. This consisted of some thirty-two cuts laid on with two birches, to the great astonishment of a number of Lower boys present at the execution. The victim, a boy of great pluck, was little disturbed by this castigation, though it was very much more serious than most of the many floggings he had suffered before. As a matter of fact, it was only the swishings of the Lower master which inflicted any real physical pain, the few strokes which the Head, Dr. Hornby, administered being generally more in the nature of a formal reproof than anything else--at least that was the experience of the present writer, who well remembers that on retiring from the torture-chamber next Upper School he reflected that if one was to be flogged at all, the thing could not be conducted in a more pleasant and dignified way.

[SN: DR. HORNBY]

In his relations with the boys Dr. Hornby was ever a great gentleman, as the following incident, which occurred during the writer’s Eton days, will show. Two of the sons of a celebrated potentate were then at the school, and Queen Victoria took the warmest interest in them; the eldest, in particular, was a great favourite of hers. One day, owing to some untruthfulness in connection with work, this young Prince was complained of, and though he might have got off by claiming “first fault” owing to forgetfulness, was soundly swished. At the same time he received a severe, though kindly lecture, in which the “Head” pointed out how such behaviour would pain his parents and the Queen, were it ever to reach her ears. Curiously enough, that very evening Dr. Hornby happened to be dining at Windsor, and as usual his Royal hostess did not fail to make particular inquiry as to how her protégé was getting on. What was the surprise of the young Prince during the following morning to find himself once again summoned to the “library,” and as he wended his way to the grim scene of correction, he wondered what he could have done to be whipped again so soon. All unpleasant anticipations were, however, quickly dispelled. In those gently modulated tones which so many old Etonians will remember, Dr. Hornby described how, on the previous evening, a certain great lady had asked after her favourite Eton boy, and desired to be informed as to how he had been getting on in the school. “I told you yesterday,” Dr. Hornby went on to say, “that one lie always leads to another, and I am sorry to say in the present instance this adage has not failed to hold good, for,” added he, “I am ashamed to say that, instead of telling Her Majesty of the disgraceful behaviour for which but a few hours before I had been obliged to punish you, I said that you were getting on very well. Under these circumstances I feel sure that you will do all you can to give no further trouble, and so, by causing my words to come true, make amends for the falsehoods which we have both of us uttered.” The kindly admonition made a considerable impression upon the culprit’s mind. Nevertheless, he could not help being amused when the next Sunday, in Chapel, he heard the Doctor take as his text, “All men are liars.”

In appearance Dr. Hornby was the absolutely perfect type of an Eton Headmaster. Immaculately dressed, and of fine presence, he possessed a natural dignity which even impressed boys totally lacking in reverence for all other institutions of the school. His voice, low and not unpleasant even when delivering a stem admonition, was essentially the voice of an English gentleman of the fine old school. It was a real pleasure to hear him call “Absence,” owing to the dignity which he imparted to this tedious duty. Curiously enough, this Headmaster, who in his latter years, at least, might have been called the incarnation of the best kind of Eton Conservatism, had on his appointment been regarded as a Radical. The first Oppidan, I believe, ever chosen Headmaster, he had succeeded Dr. Balston in 1868, when the latter had relinquished the post from disapproval of the various innovations and changes which resulted from the recommendations of the Public School Commission, the labours of which extended over seven years.

The growing worship of athleticism was in some measure responsible for the appointment of the new Headmaster, though Dr. Hornby, besides having been in the eleven, was also a fine scholar. When he first came to Eton the school, used to the patriarchal sway of his predecessor, who had strictly followed the traditions of the past, were rather inclined to regard him as a dangerous reformer, but before long it was realised that such Radical proclivities as the new Headmaster possessed were not very likely seriously to impair the traditional round of Eton life, and the school gradually subsided into a tranquil consciousness that nothing outrageous would be perpetrated under the new “Head,” who long before his retirement grew to be far more Conservative than some of his subordinates; indeed, during his tenure of the Headmastership, which lasted sixteen years, four Assistant Masters are said to have left Eton owing to Dr. Hornby disapproving of some of their ideas. One of these exiles was young Mr. Joynes, whose socialistic tendencies obviously unfitted him for the post of an Eton master; another, Mr. Oscar Browning, whose clever and genial personality is so well known to numbers of old Etonians.

[SN: DR. BALSTON]

Dr. Balston remained at Eton as Vice-Provost, and I remember that we regarded him with a good deal of sympathy as having preferred to resign rather than to yield to meddling on the part of the governing body, then still looked upon as rather a new-fangled affair. During his short term of office he had refused to sanction any alterations at all. Possessed of an unlimited respect for old traditions and ways, his conception of a Headmaster was that he should exercise a sort of dignified and patriarchal sway, whilst carrying out a solemn trust to maintain things as they had always been. Whilst Head he had borne himself with unbending dignity, being almost never seen out of academic dress, in which, it was said, he even went to bed. The same story, I believe, had been current in the days when Dr. Goodford, familiarly known as “Old Goody,” ruled the school. Some indeed declared that a gown and cassock were all he wore. As Provost, however, the latter was seen about Eton in ordinary costume and invariably carrying an umbrella. A quaint, queer figure this survivor of a past era looked with his hat at the back of his head and hands covered with unbuttoned black gloves much too big for him.

At that time the old Fellows who were still alive used to preach the most lengthy and incomprehensible sermons in Chapel, but in that line Dr. Goodford easily held his own against all. Owing to a peculiar intonation, his mouth always seemed to be full of pebbles, and it was practically impossible to make out one sentence of the vast number which trickled from his lips. Nevertheless we rather liked the good old man, whose curious sing-song induced sleep rather than irritation. Dr. Goodford’s entry into Chapel with the aged verger, who on account of the silver wand he bore was called the “Holy Poker,” was a thing which many Etonians will recall to mind.

Amongst the Assistant Masters of some thirty years ago, about the most conspicuous figure, owing to a long flowing beard, was the Rev. C. C. James, for some reason or other known as “Stiggins.” He enjoyed no great measure of popularity out of his house, where, it should be added, he fed his boys better than almost any other tutor or dame. At one period of his career he had narrowly escaped being thrown over Barnes Pool Bridge by a riotous party of boys, and though no one seemed to know the exact reason of this, with later generations it undoubtedly led to his being regarded with a certain rather unjust suspicion.

[SN: “BADGER HALE”]

A far more sympathetic figure was the Rev. E. Hale, known to the boys as “Badger Hale,” probably on account of his hair bearing some remote resemblance to the coat of that animal. Besides being a cleric, Mr. Hale was an officer of the Eton Volunteers. He was of great girth, and when in uniform presented a really stupendous appearance, in which the boys took great delight. At that time the Volunteers were perhaps not taken so seriously as is the present Officers’ Training Corps, with its more workman-like appearance and ways. Though there were occasional field-days, the principal evolution of the 2nd Bucks was to march, headed by its band, to the playing-fields. Founded in 1860, by the late ’seventies it had abandoned a good deal of its splendours, blue worsted cord having taken the place of the original silver lace, whilst the colours presented by Mrs. Goodford had ceased to be carried, the Eton Volunteers being at that time a rifle corps. Now, however, that it has become the Officers’ Training Corps, they have once more been taken into use. The silver bugle given by Lady Carrington is presumably still carried.

[SN: DR. WARRE]

The chief support of the Corps has always been its present Honorary Colonel, the Rev. E. Warre, now Provost of Eton, who for many years took a most active part in striving to maintain its well-being and efficiency. Few have done so much for Eton as he; his whole life, indeed, has been devoted to furthering the best interests of the school. As an Assistant Master he was the avowed champion of strenuousness and efficiency, whilst opposed to old ways and traditions tending towards a slack state of affairs. A strong and dominating personality, he was intensely popular with the boys in his own house, but a good part of the school regarded him with a certain amount of suspicion as entertaining revolutionary ideas, which it was said were only kept in check by the firmness of Dr. Hornby, who in the last days of his Headmastership was looked upon as the staunch defender and champion of old Eton ways. In the minds of ultra-conservative Etonians Dr. Hornby stood for Conservatism, as Dr. Warre did for change. Such an estimate was not altogether without foundation, for after Dr. Warre had succeeded to the supreme control of the school, a number of alterations, some of them, no doubt, quite necessary, were made. The general feeling amongst Eton boys at that time was Tory in the extreme, and though we knew scarcely anything about him except that he had flogged a good deal, I am sure that a great many of us would have been delighted to hear that Dr. Keate, having returned to life, had been entrusted with the task of reorganising the school with a view to getting it back into the condition of the good old days.

On the whole the reforms made by Dr. Warre during his Headmastership seem to have produced satisfactory results. Most of them dealt with alterations in the scholastic curriculum of the school, all the old customs open to criticism, such as “Oppidan Dinner,” having long disappeared. Without doubt, under his rule the boys were made to work harder than before, whilst its tone gained in manliness and vigour. At the same time the traditional spirit of Eton remained unimpaired, and before his retirement Dr. Warre, like his predecessors, had come to be considered a bulwark of Eton Conservatism.

The Headmastership of the school would appear to have a sobering tendency upon even the most advanced reformer, who at the end of his term of office has generally lost his enthusiasm for innovation and change. The present Headmaster is a case in point. When he came to Eton a few years ago many were full of gloomy forebodings as to the reforms he was about to make. Mr. Lyttelton was known to hold a number of advanced views--rumour indeed declared that he would try and force vegetarianism upon the boys and would make them wear Jaeger underclothing, for which material he was declared to have a marked partiality. On assuming office, however, he somewhat allayed these fears by giving an address in which he announced that he was not going to stop tap, interfere with clothing, or abolish the beagles, to which he had been declared hostile. As a matter of fact, nothing could have been more loyal than his behaviour in this latter respect, for, far from discouraging the Eton Hunt, he has defended it against the ridiculous attacks of various faddists and cranks. It is, however, to be regretted that an agitator was two years ago allowed to address the school on the subject of unemployment from the Chapel steps in the school-yard. The vast majority of the parents of Eton boys do not wish their sons to be taught Socialism, and the school-yard, so closely connected with the old traditions of Eton, is the very last place where any theories of this kind should be permitted to be aired. As a matter of fact, the address, which under no circumstances could have done good, merely provoked giggling. Nevertheless, it must be admitted that in permitting such an innovation the Headmaster was merely animated by that new spirit of philanthropy and altruism which seems to have found a more useful form of expression in the Eton Mission, now, according to all accounts, doing excellent work in Hackney Wick.

[SN: INCREASE OF INTERFERENCE]

All things considered, Mr. Lyttelton has been a more successful Headmaster than many old Etonians expected, and has not made any violent effort to interfere with the traditions of the school. Life at Eton, however, without doubt is now more strenuous than of yore. Leave has been greatly curtailed, having to be taken at an appointed time. Besides this, of late a tendency seems to have arisen to exercise more control over the boys in minor matters, as to which in former days the authorities never thought of interfering. From time immemorial it has been the privilege of members of “Pop” to sit on the low wall by the trees, planted in 1753, especially on Sunday; a recent regulation forbids any boy, whether belonging to “Pop” or not, from sitting on the wall on Sunday. The reason for such a vexatious interference with an old Eton custom is difficult to divine. A more reasonable exercise of influence by the Headmaster has been his attempt to get the boys when in Chapel to abstain from keeping their hands in their pockets when standing up during the service. Such a practice is not forbidden, but an address on the subject by Mr. Lyttelton is said to have produced a great effect.

On the whole the masters of to-day would appear to possess more influence with the boys than was the case in the past. Now, as then, the most popular are those who are gentlemen--that is, using the word in its best and proper sense. At the present time, owing to the increased worship of athletics, proficiency at games is a powerful factor in a master’s popularity, and genial eccentricity is also apt to cause him to be liked; but fads, on the other hand, are not attractive to boys, which makes it all the more remarkable that the present Headmaster--a professed vegetarian--should have attained a fair measure of success in presiding over the school. No doubt his fine record as an athlete has had a good deal to do with this.

In the ’seventies of the last century the attitude of Eton boys towards the “Beaks” (they are, I understand, called Ushers now), whilst not actively hostile, was for the most part one of tolerant indifference. A few of the masters, however, were on fairly intimate terms with certain of the Upper boys, but the majority of the school knew and cared little about those responsible for its education. Respect for constituted authority has never been a salient characteristic of Eton boys, and amongst the junior members of the school at least “drawing the beaks” was then considered quite a legitimate form of amusement. A previous generation, according to all accounts, found a never-failing source of delight in lawless doings of this sort, whilst even Sixth Form occasionally took advantage of the good-nature of Dr. Hawtrey, the most urbane Headmaster, it is said, who ever wielded a birch.

Like his subordinates, he seems to have been not infrequently exposed to attempts at “drawing” by his division. These, however, he generally treated with good-humoured contempt. During one eleven-o’clock school they once all became suddenly absorbed in the contemplation of the rose from which was suspended one of the chandeliers of Upper School, and, nudging one another, indulged in mysterious whispers, which eventually caused Hawtrey to look up and ask, “Why, whatever is the matter?” “First of April, sir,” was the reply, but the Headmaster remained unmoved, and merely murmuring, “Silly boys,” bade one of them proceed with their construing.

[SN: “SOMEONE MUST BE LAST”]

Dr. Hawtrey did not believe in forcing learning upon boys, and was never unduly severe with laggards. “Somebody must be last,” was a favourite consolatory remark of his when any derisive titter at the last name in an examination met his ears. During his tenure of the Headmastership there was much ease and freedom, for it was not in his nature to be a martinet.

Full of good intentions and over-politeness to the boys, it was no wonder that this pedagogue, a veritable prince amongst schoolmasters, was very popular in the school. Whatever a boy said he professed, if possible, to believe, and although his confidence was often misplaced, this course had a salutary effect in fostering and cultivating a gentlemanly spirit. At the same time his very figure was a caution to evildoers, for he had a droop in his right shoulder which was supposed to have come from a frequent and vigorous use of the birch. Among the Lower boys he was generally called “Plug,” from some peculiarity in his countenance, but the swells, by way of refinement, reversed the name and used “Gulp” instead. The same kind of satirical humour led to their ungallantly christening his two old sisters “Elephantina” and “Rhinocerina.” These ladies had a sedan-chair in which they went to parties--one of the last sedan-chairs probably used. Dr. Hawtrey had a great liking for velvet collars, fine clothes, perfumes, and gold chains; one of the school beliefs was that “Hawtrey stood up in £700,” the stiff figure at which his boys assessed his studs, sleeve-links, watch and chains, gold pencil and rings.

Boys are wonderfully astute judges of whether a master will stand nonsense or not, and having discovered that a man cannot keep order, are apt to bring the art of ingenious torment to a high pitch of perfection. Old Etonians will recall the self-control and good-temper shown by certain masters who had not the knack of making their authority felt. Their divisions indulged in every kind of disorder, such as breaking out into applause at some casual comment, and at a prearranged moment commencing to stamp and sometimes even to sing. The keyholes of their class-rooms were filled with small pebbles or india-rubber, whilst various substances were put amongst the papers upon their desk. The writer well remembers the astonished look on the face of a certain master when, crawling laboriously towards him upon his desk, there appeared a poor ink-soaked tortoise, which, to the intense delight of the division, had at last accomplished the feat of climbing out of the ink-pot, where it had surreptitiously been deposited just as school commenced.

[SN: “NASCITUR NON FIT”]

Another master, who was very short sighted, was always having jokes played upon him just under his nose. On one occasion it was declared he had continued to dip his pen in the open mouth of a particularly torpid toad, substituted for his inkpot, till the reptile, irritated and aroused, jumped right in the middle of his face. Yet other masters, without being particularly severe, kept order without any difficulty at all, the boys instinctively realising that they would stand no nonsense. Of the perfect schoolmaster, indeed, as of the perfect poet, it may be said, “Nascitur non fit.”

To those men who by nature and disposition were unable to make their authority felt, school hours must have often been a time of veritable torment. Generally well-meaning men of gentle nature, when they did punish they almost invariably punished wrong or in an ineffectual manner, their usual practice being either to set some tremendous “poena,” which they afterwards revoked, or settle upon the wrong boy, to whom in the end they were obliged to accord something very like an apology. In a few rare instances the perfectly legitimate loss of temper by a master led to very grave consequences. Goaded to fury by a long course of deliberate insubordination, some tortured tutor would at last turn upon a pupil and box his ears. Physical chastisement by a master in any form whatever was then strictly forbidden, the infliction of corporal punishment being reserved for the Head and Lower Masters alone. The boys were perfectly aware of this, and instances occurred of grave consequences attending a well-deserved blow. One master, I believe, was more or less compelled to leave the school because he had hit a particularly impertinent boy with a book, and several instances of masters receiving reprimands occurred from time to time. By the irony of fate, the most unsuccessful masters were sometimes the cleverest men, who, however, had begun badly and obtained a reputation which caused them to be tortured by successive generations of boys. Of one of these unfortunate pedagogues it was said that during school hours the first rank of his division talked, the second whistled, and the third sang.

[SN: AN UNFORTUNATE MASTER]

One of the most ludicrous jokes ever perpetrated upon any Eton master was played some ten years ago. At that time several new masters, not all of whom were Etonians, had been appointed, more or less, I believe, upon probation. One of these, who taught modern languages, though a clever man, was of too confiding and gentle a disposition to cope with the boys, and during school hours a scene of great disorder became the almost invariable rule. Paper darts flew all over the class-room, and every kind of queer noise was heard, though the poor man was always unable to bring the offenders to book. Finally, on the 5th of November a regular pandemonium prevailed, fireworks being exploded in all directions, even under his very nose, with the result that he was driven into a state of rage merging upon despair and determined to adopt stringent measures. On the next occasion, however, when the same set of boys came to take their lesson in the language of Molière, what was his surprise to observe that, contrary to all his former Eton experiences, the greatest decorum prevailed, his remarks and comments being listened to in respectful silence, whilst occasionally subdued murmurs of admiration greeted the expounding of some difficult sentence. At the end of that school it had been his intention to address a few words to the boys referring to the scandalous scene of the previous week, but in face of their changed attitude he felt that it would be churlish to show any undue severity, and merely spoke in a tone of surprised regret, adding that he was much pleased to observe such improved behaviour. Upon this a boy, who on previous occasions had been one of the worst offenders, stepping forward, enquired, “Sir, may I say a few words?” Permission being accorded, the youth made a stately little speech, in which he said that any outbursts of indiscipline were deeply deplored by the whole division, for whom he had been deputed to speak. “They were merely,” added he, “playful ebullitions--proofs, he might add, of the great popularity of a master whom they all respected and loved. The fact was, his friends had been carried away by enthusiasm, which in future would be kept within due bounds, and now he hoped the whole incident might be forgiven and forgotten. Meanwhile he had been requested to crave a favour, the granting of which he felt sure no one acquainted with Eton tradition would care to refuse. It was,” he continued, “an ancient custom of the school, when a master attained to an unusual degree of popularity, for his division to be allowed the honour of hoisting him, and that honour he and his friends now sought from their beloved pedagogue.” The master, though rather surprised, felt very much flattered and pleased at having, as he said in a neat little speech of reply, so quickly gained the confidence and love of his young friends, and at the end of school was carried round the new schools, finally being deposited upon the cannon which all Etonians know so well. As his delighted boys went off to their houses they gave him a final cheer, which filled him with joy. On his way home he met one of the older masters and told him of the demonstration, adding, “Oh, I do so adore your quaint customs!” The astounded old Etonian held his peace, but at the end of that half the newcomer had to betake himself elsewhere, it being clear that the Eton boys were too much for him.

[SN: ESCAPADES]

The old lawless spirit which had prompted so many poaching expeditions and illicit rambles in the eighteenth century still lingered in the writer’s day, when six or seven boys established a regular club, where they could smoke and play nap, in a room over a Windsor toy-shop. One of the chief organisers--now a Peer who has filled several important public appointments--always took care to provide a rope-ladder by which the party might escape in the event of a raid. Some of the Windsor billiard-rooms were also occasionally frequented by a few older boys, some of whom had a regular arrangement which ensured them the exclusive use of the table on certain days of the week. As far as the present writer’s experience went, no serious harm resulted from these sternly prohibited escapades. Nevertheless, afternoons passed in the consumption of much tobacco and some alcohol did no good to health. The authorities, whenever any rumour of such breaches of the school discipline reached their ears, did everything in their power to set matters right. The wonder was, considering how alert were some of the masters, that more of the culprits were not caught. The writer remembers three--one of whom was his friend Mr. Douglas Ainslie, now a well-known poet and critic--who had a very narrow escape indeed. On such afternoons as they indulged in surreptitious visits to a certain hostelry, these boys used to get into their house after Lock-Up through the room of a small fag, who received careful instructions to look out for their return behind the drawn blind of his window, by which access could be contrived from the street. The signal agreed upon was a pebble thrown gently at the glass. For a time this arrangement worked well enough, but one winter’s evening the party, on reaching their house, were dismayed at obtaining no response. One of them--in after life a gallant officer of Highlanders who fell fighting at the head of his men in South Africa--by climbing up and breaking a pane of glass, managed to effect an entrance; his companions followed, and what was their surprise on relighting the light, which had fallen over in the scuffle, to find, cowering in the corner of the room, a beautiful little girl, who was fairly frightened to death! When at last reassured, this child explained that she was the sister of the owner of the room, who had gone out to borrow some tea-things from a friend. Needless to say, under such circumstances, the Lower boy got no hiding for his delinquency.

In addition to his traditional duties, a master, it seems, now has to mark in the boys in his class-room. Formerly this was done by a praepostor, one being attached to every division. His office dated from the foundation of the school, when he appears to have possessed considerable authority, being indeed a sort of monitor. In modern times, however, praepostors merely had to mark in all the boys in the division to which they were attached under three heads, “Leave,” “Staying out,” and “ab horâ” or “Late.” After every school all the praepostors assembled in the colonnade and handed in their bills to the Headmaster. As a rule the office of praepostor, undertaken by every boy in turn, was popular, for such an official escaped most of the school hours, was never put on to construe, and passed a good deal of his time chatting to boys reported sick, whom he had to go and see. Some boys disliked it, however, and by arrangement passed the praepostor’s book on. The whole institution was a curious survival of a past age. Well does the present writer remember standing as praepostor by the side of Dr. Hornby calling Absence in the school-yard and thinking that the ancient office would not last very much longer. Within recent years his forebodings have been justified, for at present but one praepostor (of the Headmaster’s division) exists, the work of marking in being undertaken by masters in school and the boys at the end of the benches in Chapel.

[SN: ROOMS]

Thirty or forty years ago life in an Eton house remained much as it had been in the eighteenth century, the boys, provided they did their work, being left pretty much to themselves, though some housemasters interfered to prevent boisterous sports, such as football in the passages. The rooms, though often very small, were, it must be said, not uncomfortable, and quite a number of boys prided themselves upon their taste in decoration. Some even had pianos in their rooms, a privilege which was highly valued and seldom abused. The furniture of the rooms generally varied but little. For the most part it consisted of a shut-up bed, a “burry” (bureau) washstand, which also closed up, and sock cupboard. In this the owner kept his tea-things and such delicacies as he could afford. A favourite form of decoration was a mantel-board covered, according to Victorian taste, with stamped plush and brass-headed nails. In the summer term there was some competition in the matter of fire-ornaments and flower-boxes. The former were generally appalling in their vulgarity, their main feature being a profusion of extremely garish ornament, mostly tinsel and sham gold. Almost every boy had a few pictures, generally of a sporting kind, even though he himself had never taken part in sport. The Eton print shops must have done a fine trade in oleographs and poorly reproduced representations of famous runs and steeplechases. Some few brought comparatively good pictures with them from home. The writer remembers a set of Eton prints in a boy’s room which at the present day it would be extremely difficult to procure at all. The books were, of course, mostly connected with work, a crib or two being generally hidden away in case of a raid. On the whole an Eton boy was extremely comfortable, for he could have pretty well anything he or his parents could afford to pay for, while there was scarcely one who did not boast an arm-chair.

On the whole, the long-suffering boys’ maids, as they were called, did their work very well. As a rule, it should be added, they were middle-aged women, not remarkable for beauty. One housemaster, indeed--Mr. Walter Durnford, formerly a popular figure at Eton, and now Vice-Provost of King’s--according to current report, used, with perfect justice, to pride himself upon the extreme ugliness of his maids. Be this as it may, the boys of his house, which was next to the writer’s, were often to be seen peering through their windows in order to catch a glimpse of one of our maids, of whose good looks we were quite justly proud.

[SN: FAGGING]

Fagging, though probably more arduous than to-day, entailed little hardships on the smaller boys. Thirty years ago a fag’s duties consisted in laying his fagmaster’s breakfast, procuring chops, steaks, kidneys, or sausages from a sock shop, making toast, and poaching eggs. He had to attend at tea-time again, but then as a rule was not called upon to do anything in particular, his appearance at that hour being more or less a matter of form. Besides this, a fag had to carry notes and render other similar services when required to do so, while obliged to answer to the call of “Lower boy” shouted by any one in Upper Division. It should be added that the qualification as to place in the school entitling boys to fag has gradually been heightened. Formerly the whole of the Fifth Form could fag; but about three decades ago that privilege was withdrawn from the Lower Division, and I believe the number of fagmasters has been further lessened since then. This was not on account of the privilege of fagging having been abused, but merely because the number of Upper boys had grown too large in proportion with those of the Lower. With the institution of breakfasts provided by housemasters and eaten by the boys all together, fagging has shrunk to a mere nothing. The most irksome part formerly was being obliged to answer the call of “Lower boy,” when every one “fagable” was obliged to rush at headlong speed to the caller, the last to arrive being the one who had to perform the particular service required. In College, I believe, “Here” was called instead of “Lower boy.” Also, at one time, it would appear that any boy able to call out “Finge” before the rest could claim exemption from taking notice of the call. I must, however, add that I never heard anything about this when I was at Eton. Another College shout was “Cloister P!” on hearing which the lowest boy within call had to fetch a canful of excellent drinking water from the famous old pump in the Cloisters, at the spout of which, in a rougher age, many generations of Collegers had performed their ablutions. Owing to the dearth of Lower boys in College for a long time past, it has been the custom that every newcomer, irrespective of his place in the school, should fag for a year.

In the distant past cricket fagging existed, and must have pressed very heavily upon small boys, who were liable to be waylaid by Fifth Form boys coming out of school. Cricket fagging then included bowling, and was an irksome infliction which was just as well done away with. Another disagreeable form of fagging which has now long been extinct was crib fagging, which consisted in a small boy being obliged to read out a crib to an assemblage of big ones. As a rule, on these occasions another fag would be posted in the passage outside in order to give time for the crib to be secreted should there be any chance of the tutor making his unwelcome appearance. Towing boats up to Surly was the most severe form of fagging. This was abolished by Keate some eighty years ago.

[SN: NO BULLYING]

It is much to the credit of the Eton system that amongst the Oppidans (the state of affairs in old Long Chamber was different) there seems never to have existed any bullying. During the investigations of the Commission in 1861 all the evidence tended to show that small boys underwent no ill-treatment or persecution whatever. In the writer’s opinion this in a great measure accounts for the independent and buoyant spirit which has ever been a characteristic of Etonians in after life. Many sensitive boys educated at schools where bullying has prevailed have felt the results of it in a tamed and often broken spirit.

[SN: “ORDERS”]

One of the peculiarities of Eton in old days was that unless a boy supplemented his dietary by the purchase of provisions from the shops in the town he would often have to go hungry, and even thirty years ago in most of the houses the old Eton traditions as regards feeding were in full force. All the boys received was a loaf, pat of butter, and pot of tea for breakfast. Luncheon they all had together with their dame in the large dining-room; this was a fairly substantial meal. Tea taken in their own rooms exactly resembled breakfast, besides which there was a very light supper in the dining-room, at which attendance was optional. Almost without exception, of course, this somewhat meagre fare was supplemented by the boys themselves, who purchased appetising dishes from the sock shops at a reasonable price. An Eton custom at that day, which probably still exists, was for the boys to have what were called “orders” at one of these shops. This “order” consisted in an agreement with a shopkeeper to supply a boy with provisions to a certain amount every day, the boy’s father or mother having previously paid a sum in advance. The arrangement was, of course, intended to prevent the boy from finding himself bereft of all luxuries after the pocket-money given him when he left home had been exhausted; but, as a matter of fact, in the case of the more extravagant boys it almost invariably missed its mark, for, getting round the shopkeeper, they would persuade him to allow the anticipation of their “order,” with the result that whilst during the first fortnight of the half they revelled in every sort of delicacy, their breakfasts and teas during the remainder of the school time were unenlivened by any toothsome dishes. The most popular sock shops were then Harry Webber’s (now Rowland’s) and “little Brown’s,” the door of which the writer, on a recent visit to Eton, found shut.

The system of “orders” extended to other things besides sock shops, a dame or housemaster having the power of giving them for clothes or any other necessary. A boy applying for one of these signed permits was supposed to be able to prove that he was really in want of the article he wished to procure, and, the order being handed to him, was recognised by a tradesman as a valid voucher that the sum for which it stood would be included in the boy’s bill at the end of the half. On the whole this arrangement worked well, but occasionally unscrupulous boys, by arrangement with some not over particular tradesman, would obtain some other article which was really anything but a necessary.

Dames were sometimes easy about granting “orders,” and not a few boys prided themselves upon their adroitness in obtaining anything they liked, and some of them managed to run up comparatively large accounts with their housemaster’s or dame’s permission. An even more extravagant and reckless kind of boy would contrive to persuade some tradesman (generally a London one who knew something about the circumstances of his parents) to allow him to run up bills without any “order” at all, the understanding being that these should be paid when the boy had left school or came of age. One such case the writer well remembers, the perpetrator being a very dissipated youth celebrated throughout the school for always being in trouble with the authorities. This boy was a great dandy as regards dress, and it was currently reported that he never wore the same pair of trousers twice. This, of course, was an exaggeration, but he certainly had a wonderful stock of clothes. On leaving Eton he had accumulated debts to a considerable figure, and his after career was anything but a success, for after attempting various forms of occupation, including amateur newspaper reporting, he was last heard of keeping a little store in South Africa. An account of the curious professions adopted by Eton boys would fill a volume. On the whole, however, the majority do well, as, after all, is only to be expected, considering that in the first instance their parents must have been possessed of considerable funds in order to send them to Eton at all.

[SN: IMPISH MISCHIEF]

Some tutors, unable to keep order in their houses, were the victims of all sorts of unpleasant jokes. One of the most mischievous and dangerous of these was to stretch a string across a passage and then set to work to create such a noise as would be sure to attract the tutor’s attention, with the result that when he arrived upon the scene he would be tripped up. Another diversion of a somewhat similar sort was to pile a number of iron coal-scuttles just at the top of a flight of stairs, and, after creating a great din, kick them down upon the ascending tutor, who would seldom be able to discover the organiser of the outrage. A more amusing trick was the following. A small Lower boy, having, with his own consent, been tied up in one of the huge dirty linen bags, was placed in the middle of a passage and told to keep perfectly motionless till he felt a slight kick, when he was to rise at his assailant and hold on to his legs, calling out the name of some big boy well known to all. This being done, all the occupants of the passage would set to work to make sufficient noise to produce their tutor’s appearance, upon which complete silence would prevail. Nine times out of ten the tutor, walking down the passage to ascertain the reason of the disturbance, seeing the dirty linen bag, would try and kick it on one side, with the result that, rising at him, it would clutch him by the leg and cause him to execute a multitude of undignified gyrations, to the delight of boys peeping through doors just ajar. When, finally, the small boy had been extricated from the bag, it was very difficult to punish him, for he would invariably plead that he had been tied up against his will, and in pinching his assailant’s legs had been merely acting in self-defence against some one whom he had good reason to suspect was a persecuting schoolfellow.

Throwing bits of coal out of the window at passers-by or shooting with a catapult used to be favourite pastimes with boys of a past age. Fierce battles were sometimes waged in the winter evenings between the boys in adjacent houses, when they would bombard each other with pea-shooters or squirts charged with ink or water. Occasionally this warfare involved onlookers in the street below. The writer remembers a great disturbance caused by an angry policeman whose helmet and uniform had been liberally bespattered with ink.

Some of the houses contained broad and lengthy passages, on each side of which were ranged boys’ rooms, a favourite amusement for the occupants of which was standing by the open doors and awaiting the cry of “Slough; change here for Staines, Windsor, Datchet,” when every boy would slam his door in turn down the passage with a view to produce the effect of a train about to start. Immediately after the completion of this manœuvre the boys would at once fly to their “burries” (bureaus), at which they would be found hard at work when the infuriated tutor or housemaster arrived to discover the cause of the disturbance. In some cases the unfortunate man would ignore the first performance of this ingenious form of torture, but a second and louder slamming seldom failed to bring him in hot haste from his private quarters. To punish for this kind of thing was exceedingly difficult, for the boys were, of course, at liberty to shut their doors, and collusion was not easy to prove.

A number of boys spent their time experimenting with electricity and chemicals, and the writer well remembers a friend having his face severely injured by the explosion of some dangerous compound mixed together in a flower-box. On another occasion the same boy (now a well-known sporting peer) occasioned a serious panic. Having inserted some detonating composition amongst the bricks of the railway arches over which trains run into Windsor, he contrived to make it explode just before the Royal train bearing Queen Victoria passed. It was a time when Ireland was in a very disturbed state, and there was much dread of some outrage. Consequently the Windsor and Eton police were convinced that the explosion had a political origin, and every effort was made by means of detectives to find the perpetrator. It was, however, never discovered that he was an Eton boy.

[SN: HOAXING THE PRESS]

About thirty years ago, Eton boys were seized with a craze for hoaxing the London Press, and some extraordinary letters appeared in various papers. The most extraordinary of all was one bearing the signature of an Eton master which described the writer’s remarkable experiences in the country, where he had witnessed a conflict between a cow and a partridge, in which the cow, after a prolonged chase, had eventually captured and devoured the bird. The master eventually wrote an indignant denial, but he was never able to discover who had taken his name in vain.

The greatest practical joke ever played at Eton was the colossal hoax perpetrated in the early eighties of the last century upon the somewhat ingenuous editor of a newly-started London magazine, who had been struck with the idea of increasing its attractions by publishing authentic news of public-school life. Not unnaturally he began with Eton, and, setting to work to secure contributors at that school, obtained some really astounding information, which afterwards went to the making of an extremely scarce little book called _Eton as She is not_. More recently an amusing account of the whole affair appeared in the _Cornhill Magazine_ at the end of an excellent article on “College at Eton.” At first the editor’s correspondents merely furnished him with accounts of local events, all of them pure invention; but, emboldened by success, they soon went on to describe some interesting old customs. The first was chronicled thus:--

A curious custom takes place here on certain days in College Dining Hall, called “Passing the Green Stuff.” The second fellow at the big fellows’ table suddenly says, “Pass me that Green Stuff,” referring to a dish of mint placed on the table; then the fellow opposite him stands up, and says “Surgite” (arise), on which all the other fellows get up from their places and run the fellow who “broached” (_i.e._ asked for) the green stuff round the School Paddocks, shouting out such military commands as “Quick march! Right turn!” etc. They then return to dinner, when a “grace-cup” is partaken by all except him who “broached” the green stuff.

[SN: “SLUNCHING” THE PADDOCKS]

In the next number readers were informed that at Eton Prisoner’s Base is a great success, and the Paddock is almost always deserted for the Cloisters. The following then appeared:--

Another curious custom at Eton is “Slunching the Paddocks.” On a certain day all the Collegians and Oppidans are provided with a coarse sort of pudding, which is put to the following use. After dinner is over they all go to Weston’s and School Paddocks and throw their pudding all over them. This is “Slunching the Paddocks,” the pudding being called “Slunch.” It is supposed to be derived from the fact that when Queen Elizabeth visited Eton College “she lunched” (s’lunched) in College Hall, and the students sprinkled the paddocks with dry rice in her honour.

In the number published on March 5, 1884, a purely imaginary list of the officials of the various school departments was given. There were the Captains of the “Broach” and the “Slunch,” the two College boats; the Captain of Cricket Tassels, R. J. Lucas;[12] Captain of Fives Tassels, Havager Boroughdale; Captain of the Musical Department, R. A. S. Berry-Young; Captain of the Curling Club, T. T. Vator; Captain of the Spelican Team, Tute Goodhart; Captain of Ushers, J. Goodwin; Steward of the Paddocks, H. Beecham Wolley; Choragus, C. Wofflington. This was followed in the next number by the news that the Spelican team had played their first match of the season on March 11 against the Dorney Dubes. The Collegian Brigade, an admirable corps, which marched out as far as Brocas Hedges, was later on described as having met with a catastrophe, for “a bull loose in Weston’s Paddock, which they passed through on the way, attacked the line, and a boy named Swage was knocked over and slightly bruised.”

This went on for six months, when the Editor wrote and expressed a desire to come down to Eton and see the place for himself. He was duly shown a hockey match between B. Wolley’s “Field Mice” and Flenderbatch’s “Jolly Boys,” the match being played with tassels on the caps and all, which so impressed him that he returned to London and wrote an account of what he had seen, giving at the same time a new and original version of the School Song, addressed to “Pulcra Etona” and praying among other things that:

Slunna fluat, Semper ruat Capti fundamentum.

“Slunna” is slunch, “capti fundamentum” is sound Latin for prisoner’s base. In high good temper he added that “our Eton correspondence is supplied by a gentleman who is a universal favourite in College, and the Editor is pleased to state that he has received letters from Etonians all over the world, signifying their approval of his reports.” He was disillusioned soon after, and no more space was devoted to Eton and the strange doings of its students.

Though at that time something of the old-world spirit still lingered, there survived few of the quaint “characters” who had once been fairly numerous at Eton. The ever-gentle, suave, and urbane Giles of Williams’ (afterwards Ingalton Drake’s, and now Spottiswoode’s) will, however, be remembered by many. How this good-natured man managed to book the orders at the beginning of a school-time and keep his temper is a mystery which will never be solved. He had, I remember, a red-headed assistant, who, though a shade more inclined to frivolity than Giles (who was scholastic gravity itself), seemed to have been born to serve out broad rule and derivation paper without being ever in the least perturbed by the chatter of crowds of Lower boys.

[SN: SOLOMON]

Another grave-looking character of this period was Solomon, who all day long stood in a minute room at the back of Brown’s, the hosier, ironing hats. Solomon’s appearance and demeanour did not accord ill with his appellation. He was a white-headed old man who always wore a paper cap somewhat resembling the traditional head-dress of a French cook. Standing in his shirt-sleeves gently working his iron over the nap of ill-used “toppers,” his favourite topic was the Turf, of which surely no more ardent votary ever lived. All day long he would discuss with the various boys who streamed into his little workroom the chances of the horses entered for the next classic race. Solomon was essentially an old-fashioned turfite in his ideas, and knew nothing of starting-price jobs or other new-fangled manœuvres. He was, however, acquainted with the form of all the more prominent race-horses, and in his conversation laid gentle stress upon the value of a judgment which no one wished to dispute. In spite of the old man’s ardent affection for racing, I cannot help thinking that during his long life he had seldom seen any races run. On this subject, however, it was best to hold one’s peace. Though Solomon’s sanctum was the scene of such eternal confabulations as to the great question of first, second, and third, I cannot remember that much betting arose from it. As far as my memory serves me, the majority of Solomon’s visitors remained purely academic in their patronage of racing. Perhaps this was owing to the fact that the Lower boys, of whom his ever-changing audience was for the most part composed, had very little money, and preferred to spend what they had in substantial dainties rather than risk it in speculations of a visionary kind. I do not recollect Solomon doing any serious betting for boys, but have a vague idea he occasionally put shillings on. I was therefore surprised when told some years ago that the old man had been driven out of his place owing to the action of the College authorities, who objected to him as demoralising the boys by assisting them to bet. I can only hope that this report was untrue, for in my day, at least, his influence was quite harmless.

[SN: BETTING]

In the sixties, I believe, there used to be a school Derby lottery every year, the winner of which generally got about £25. The arrangements for this seem to have been placed in the hands of a well-known character about the “wall” named “Snip,” but he had died or disappeared long before my day, and the only lottery I remember was a tiny private affair, the tickets of which cost sixpence or a shilling. In connection with this subject it is said that of late years betting amongst the boys has become a serious evil. If this is the case, the school must have undergone a considerable change in its ideas within the last quarter of a century. In the late seventies and early eighties there was practically no betting at all amongst the boys, chiefly for the reason just given, but also because there existed a widespread idea that any attempt at speculation would eventually lead to loss of money. A good many boys, no doubt, who had a love for the Turf looked forward to gratifying a taste for speculation in time to come, whilst others told extravagant tales of Turf triumphs during the holidays, but few took racing seriously, their interest being limited to flocking to the post-office to hear the first news as to the winner of any great race. A salient proof that at that date no real betting existed was the sensation caused amongst us by the rumour, based on truth, that a new boy (the son of the Maharajah Duleep Singh, whose arrival at Eton created some sensation), on being spoken to by a member of the eight in the school-yard, had offered to bet him a fiver against a certain horse, which wager had been accepted. This was the largest wager we ever heard of as being made at Eton, and it was looked upon as extraordinary.

On the other side of the High Street, opposite to the establishment where Solomon ironed hats and gave forth his wisdom, a younger rival also doctored battered “toppers.” As far as I can remember, he was a far rougher individual than the racing sage, and possessed a tendency towards familiarity which was not universally popular. He and Solomon both resembled each other in one respect, which was their taste for plastering every available inch of their walls with cuts and paragraphs from cheap papers of a comic order.

A curious character amongst the sock shopkeepers of that period was an old Italian confectioner, who owned rather a spacious shop with very little in it up the High Street, on the right-hand side going from Eton towards Windsor Bridge. This worthy, who was always attired in a cook’s dress--white cap, apron, and all--made and sold most excellent ices, which procured him a fair amount of custom from the Eton boys in spite of the fact that his shop was considered rather “scuggish.” According to common report, the proprietor had once been employed at Windsor Castle, where his skill as an ice-maker had won the favour of Queen Victoria, with whom for a time he had become a particular favourite. One day, however, the Queen had caught him administering a thundering thrashing to his wife, in consequence of which she had very rightly at once turned him out of his post. This story, though resting upon no credible evidence, was generally believed by Lower boys, and some of them made a practice of infuriating the old man by hurling taunts at him as they were going out of his shop. “What a pity, ‘Cally,’ you got kicked out of the Queen’s kitchen!” they would call out, and the little Italian never failed to fly into a great rage at their chaff. Indeed, on more than one occasion he was said to have pursued boys into the street with a knife in his hand, but this in all probability was mere exaggeration. Nevertheless he had a violent temper, and for this reason was constantly being drawn by mischievous boys.

[SN: A POPULAR INSTITUTION]

A more improving occupation than chaffing tradesmen was reading books and papers at Ingalton Drake’s, the bookseller, who afterwards took over Williams’, where all the school books were sold. This establishment, owing to the good nature of the proprietor, was constantly thronged with a crowd of boys, who, seldom making any purchase, spent a good deal of time turning over the leaves of new books just fresh from London. The _Times_ could also be read there. As a matter of fact, the boys were very careful not to hurt or dirty the books they took up or touched, and I do not think the owner of the establishment had reason to regret his kindliness, which was the means of many Etonians acquiring an insight into branches of knowledge which the school curriculum made no attempt to include. Many a pleasant and not uninstructive half-hour was passed here by boys to whom cut-and-dried lessons made no appeal.

[SN: HOISTING]

The Eton traditions of three decades ago were not very many in number, most of them being concerned with minor points of dress, things which were to be done and were not to be done, and the like. Except hoisting, few old usages survived, though, no doubt, the opinions of many long-past generations still influenced the boys in their unwritten code of what was “scuggish” and what was not. Hoisting, I believe, still survives, though a very few years ago undue exuberance on the part of the boys nearly caused its abolition. At that time (1904-1905) the whole school would assemble along the wall on the evening of the School Pulling, which always takes place after Lord’s, and await the arrival of the members of “Pop,” who from Tap would walk arm-in-arm across the whole street to opposite their Club Room in the building of the old Christopher. They would then seize the winners of the School Pulling, and, according to traditional custom, run up and down along the wall with them, the whole school shouting at the top of their voices. If the eleven had won at Lord’s, or the eight at Henley, its members were also hoisted one by one. In the case of the School Pulling, the winners, after being hoisted, were taken to some prominent upper window in one of the houses which all could see, and water solemnly poured over their heads, the jugs and crockery being eventually thrown out into the street. This latter generally occurred just before Lock-up, all the boys being still out in the street. The end was that “Pop” canes were produced, arms linked, and everybody systematically driven into his tutor’s house. The ceremony of hoisting was not very popular with the public, for, in consequence of the noise, passing carts and carriages generally went by a good deal quicker than the drivers wished, and horses became alarmed, whilst no bicyclist was allowed to remain on his bicycle, every one who passed being booed or cheered. Thirty years ago the ceremony proceeded much in the same way, though there was more consideration shown to the drivers of horses which looked likely to become alarmed by noise; also the crockery-smashing ceremonial did not exist, and would have been resented had any attempt been made to institute it.

Like another custom of modern origin, “Lock-up Parade,” this very undesirable addition to hoisting has now been forbidden. Lock-up Parade, which did not exist in the writer’s Eton days, took place in the Summer Half, just before the hour of Lock-up, when the boys walked backwards and forwards within very narrow limits to the strains of musicians stationed outside “Tap.”

[Illustration: Eton College from the River. _From an old coloured print._]

Tap is, if possible, more flourishing than ever, being, as of old, crowded on summer evenings. At such a time whilst the wet bobs on their way home from the Brocas fill it to overflowing, a number of swagger dry bobs also put in an appearance. In addition to the traditional refreshments procurable at Tap, chops, steaks, bread and cheese, beer and cider, coffee, chocolate, cakes, fruit, and other good things of the same kind may now be got there, with the result that it is also much frequented after twelve, though, of course, not by Lower boys, who are still excluded as of old. A modern Eton fashion is the giving of a breakfast under a tent in the garden of Tap during the summer term. This is a very “swagger” affair, most of “Pop” putting in an appearance. A few years ago, when some of the members of the Eton Society were more than usually vivacious in disposition, the return from Tap in the evening just before Lock-up was occasionally very noisy, top-hats flying about in all directions, and passers-by finding it difficult to proceed on their way without being playfully held up. At present, however, the summer evenings are once again peaceful as of yore--a happy state of affairs which should delight every true lover of Eton, for it is beneath the rays of a setting sun that the tranquil charm of the old red-brick walls and weather-beaten buildings makes itself especially felt. [SN: SWINBURNE’S LINES] At this time of year is it, more than any other, that the crowning glory of the place--the playing fields fringed by the silver winding Thames--present such a superb scene of placid beauty, whilst College close by whispers from its towers “the last enchantment of the Middle Age.” No wonder that, in spite of altered ways and habits, the spirit fostered by such stately surroundings still remains alive--

Still the reaches of the river, still the light on field and hill, Still the memories held aloft as lamps for hope’s young fire to fill, Shine, and while the light of England lives shall shine for England still.

It is to be hoped that these lines, written by the last great Etonian poet to celebrate the 450th anniversary of the foundation, will be as applicable to the school five hundred years hence as they are to-day. May those yet to come continue to bear the torch of Eton, handed down from distant generations, bravely aloft, whilst never ceasing to keep before their eyes the duty of delivering it to their successors, its flame bright and brilliant as of old.

FOOTNOTE:

[12] Captain of the eleven 1883-1884, Unionist member for Portsmouth 1900-1906. In more recent years Mr. Lucas has become known to many as a writer with a particularly pleasant style, who is also possessed of a gift for delicate versification.

INDEX

Abingdon, Lord, 77

Absence, 77, 259, 261, 283

_Adventurer_, the, 246

Agar’s Plough, 280, 281

Ainger, the Rev. A. C., 121, 127

Ainslie, Mr. Douglas, viii, 305

Albert, Prince, 148

Alford, Lord, 88

Allen, Anthony, 136

Allestree, Provost, 14

Angelo, Miss, 64

Ante-Chapel, 5, 187

Army class, 231

Athletics, modern admiration for, 241, 242

Atholl, Duke of, 41

Austen Leigh, Mr. R. A., 191

Austen Leigh, William, 225

“Bacchus verses,” 163, 164

Badge-giving, 38-40

Balston, Dr., 189, 290-292

Barnard, Dr., 21, 22, 218, 264

Barnes Pool Bridge, 52, 205, 293

Bayley, Emilius, 275

Beagles, the, 283-285, 296

“Beaks,” 298

Bear, Johnny, 217

Benson, Mr. A. C., 166, 270

Benthall, E. C., K.S. (Keeper of the Wall, 1911), 266

Bethell, Mr., 150, 207

Betting, 323

“Bever,” 166

Bircham, Mr. F. T., 90

“Bishop,” 114

Blake-Humfrey, Mr. R. H., 261

Blandford, Lord, 41

Bligh, the Hon. Arthur, 219

Block, the, anecdotes concerning, 89, 90, 92

Blomfield, Sir Arthur, 190

Boating song, the Eton, its history, 121, 122

Bogle Smith, 219

Boland, Billy, 274

Bott, College constable, 206

Boudier, G. J., 280

Bourchier, Mr. Arthur, organises theatricals at Eton, anecdotes, 219-221

Brinsley Richards, Mr., 24, 85

Brocas, 104, 262, 284, 327

Brown, Tom, Eton tailor, 206

Brown’s, little, 312

Browning, Mr. Oscar, 291

Brownlow North, Mr., 97

“Brozier,” 62, 63

Bryant, Jacob, 264

Bryant or Brion (sock cad), 109

Bulkeley-Johnson, Mr. Vivian, viii

Bullying, anecdote of, 59

“Burry,” 62

Butler, Dr., 277

Byron, 75

“Cally,” 325

Campbell, Lord Archibald, 41

Captain of the boats, 249, 250, 261, 263

Carnegie, Mr. Andrew, his opinions concerning Greek, 232

Carrington, Lady, 293

Carter, the Rev. W. A., 4, 39

Carter’s Chamber, 200, 203

Carvings, elaborate, upon old organ case of Eton Chapel, 178

Castle (inn), 142

Champeau, French swimming instructor, 263, 264

Chapel, 5; its architectural history, 173-175; so-called restoration, 181, 182; old woodwork and organ loft, 175, 176; new stalls, 182; present condition, 184-186

Chapel sock, 41, 42, 175

“Check nights,” 256, 257

Chitty, Right Hon. Lord Justice, 275

Christopher, the, 53, 57; anecdotes concerning, 110, 119, 257

Christopher yard, 213

Churton, Henry Norris, declines scholarship at King’s, 226

Cloister Pump, 162

Cloisters, 159, 161

Cobbold, Felix Thornley, last Eton scholar under old statutes, 225

College buildings, account of alterations and restorations in, 156-191

College, horse-play in, 208-210

College in past days, 196-218

Collegers, their food in old days, 203-205

Collet, 219

“Colours,” 282, 283

Colours of “boats” at present day, 263

Costume, old Eton, 34-36

Coventry, Lord, 258

Cradock, Zachary, 15

Craven, Lord, 40

Creasy (the historian), 125

Creasy, 269

Culliford, James (chief butler), 205; his son, 206

Cumberland, Duke of, 16, 18

Curfew tower, vulgarisation of, 193, 194

Curraghmore, 89

Curzon, Lord, 127, 249

Cust, family of, 182

Dalmeny, Lord, 170

Dalton, the Rev. T., favourable to theatricals, 219, 220

Daniel (captain of Harrow eleven), 276

“Deadman’s Hole,” 265

Deeson, architect and “restorer” of Chapel, 182, 183

De Foix, 12

De Quincey, 227

Douro, Lord, 76, 137

Drury’s, 247

Duleep Singh, the Maharajah, 323

Dupuis, the Rev. G., a Vice-Provost, 28, 29, 150

Durnford, the Rev. F. E. (Judy), 286

Durnford, Richard, first Eton scholar to go to King’s under new statutes, 226

Durnford, Mr. Walter, 309

East window, 185

Educational system at Eton, reflections upon, 227-242

Election Chamber, 159, 160, 223

Election Saturday, 84, 202, 222-224, 257, 258

Elizabeth, Queen, relics of her visit to Eton, 8, 167, 319

Elliot, Mr. Willie, 221

“Estaminet,” the, 116

Eton and Harrow match, 275-279; incident after, 278, 279

Eton Mission, 296

Evans, Miss, 64

Evans, Mr. William, 41

Fagging, 59, 309-311

Fight, a fatal, 96, 97

Fighting, anecdotes concerning, 92-98

Finlay, 269

Finmore (Dr. Hawtrey’s servant), 91

“Fire-place,” 216, 217

Fives, 244; first regular court, 245, 281, 282

Floods, 105

Flowers, Jimmy, 104

Font, new, 186; old, 187

Football, 244, 245

Foote, his remark at the Castle Inn, 142

Fourth of June, 222

Fox, Charles James, 22, 169

Frampton Court, viii, 175

Frescoes in Chapel, 179, 180, 181

“Furking,” 267

Games popular in 1770, 240

George the Third, 30-33

Giles, 320, 321

Gilmer, 219

Gladstone, 57, 127, 169, 170, 233, 247, 248; as an Eton boy at Montem, 137

Godolphin, Provost, 89, 173, 176

Goodall, Dr., 26-29, 68, 72, 95, 187

Goodford, Dr., 85, 86, 91, 117, 237, 256, 292

Gown, changes concerning, 210, 211, 215

Gray, 242

Green, “Polly,” 284

Grieve, an Eton boy burnt to death, 45

Groves, Barney, 104

Hale, the Rev. E., 293

Hall, Jack, 103

Hall, the College, 15, 140; remodelling of western end, architectural history, 162; drastic restoration in 1858, 163; present condition, 165

Harcourt, the Rt. Hon. Lewis, vii, 127, 128, 201

Harding, 80, 273

Harris, Mr., 234

Harrow, 240

Hatecliffe, William, first Eton scholar (1443), 225

Hatton, Mrs., her “sock shop,” 247

Haverley, Jack, 254

Hawtrey, Dr., 40, 41, 58, 65, 66, 81, 84, 87, 95, 111, 118, 143, 149, 150, 160, 255, 267, 274, 288-290; his monument in Chapel, 189

Hawtrey brothers, 219

Hawtrey, Mr. John, 51

Hawtrey, Mr. Stephen, 233

Heath, Dr., 25

Henley, 240, 263

Henry VI., 3, 5, 212, 225, 226

Henry VIII., 6, 7

Hexter, Major, 233

Hill, Mr., saves old Eton organ case, 177

Hoaxes, 100, 317; an elaborate modern one, 317-320

Hockey, 245, 246

Hodgson, Provost, 150, 196, 197, 203; his reforms in College, 215

Hoisting, 326, 327

Hoop, its former popularity at Eton, 242, 243

Hoppie (sock cad), 110

Hornby, Dr., 11, 65, 87, 92, 105, 169, 279, 288-290, 291, 294, 307

_Illustrated London News_, 140, 211 (_note_)

Ingalton Drake’s, 320, 325

James, the Rev. C. C., 292

Jesse, Mr. J. H., 88, 89

Jobey Joel, 110, 219

Johnson, William (afterwards William Cory), anecdotes of, 119-123

Joynes, the Rev. J. L., 87, 287, 288

Joynes, young Mr., 291

Keate, Dr., 35, 50, 57; anecdotes of, 68-82, 102, 116, 214, 219, 231, 252, 255, 281, 282, 294

Keate’s Lane, 281, 282

Kenyon, Lord, 219

King’s, 132, 134; arms of, on old Eton organ case, 178, 223; dissolution of ancient bond with Eton, 225, 226

Kintore, Lord, 97

Ladas, 248

Lanesborough, Lord, 284

Langford, Lord, 39

Layton’s, 59

Leaving Books, 64, 65; Money, 65, 66

Lectern, ancient, 187

Leveson-Gower, Lord Ronald, 41

Levett, Berkeley, 219

Levi (sock cad), 109

Lewis, Dr., 90

Lock-up, 93, 305, 327

Lock-up Parade, 327

Lomax, 137

Long Chamber, 158, 172, 197; description of, 200-202; remodelling of, 221-222

Long Glass, 66, 67

Long-morning, 60

Lord’s, 276, 279, 326

Lord’s (old), 274

Lorne, Lord, 41

Lotteries, 322, 323

“Lower College” (obsolete form of football), 267

Lower School, 8, 170-172

Lubbock, Mr. Alfred, 277

Lubbock, Mr. Robin, 278

Lubbock family, 278

Lucas, Mr. Reginald, 220, 319 (_note_)

Lupton’s Chapel, 13, 185

Luxmoore, Mr. H. E., 185

Lyte, Sir Henry Maxwell, 3, 180

Lyttelton, the Hon. and Rev E. (Headmaster), 295-297

Lyttelton family, 278

Lytton, Phil, 204

M’Niven minor, 276

Malim, William, 6, 7, 134

Map-making, 49

Marcon, W., 269

Memorial Hall, 191, 192, 247, 248

Miller, Jem, 272

“Missis” (sock seller), 110

Mitchell, Mr. R. A. H., 221, 276

Monckton, George (afterwards Lord Galway), 41

Montem, 33; description of and anecdotes, 129-156; waving the flag at, 144, 149; costumes worn at, 145, 146; last celebration, 148, 149; abolition, 150; relics of, 152, 156

Montem poet, 152-156; odes, 153

Mordaunt, H. J., 269

Moultrie, John, 3, 40, 41

Mowbray Morris, the late Mr., 2

Mozley, Mr. H. W., 223

Muttlebury, S. D., 263

Naylor’s, Miss, 125, 127

Newcastle scholar, 223, 240

Nicknames, 60-62

Noblemen, 38, 41

Noblemen’s stalls (torn down at restoration of Chapel), 175, 182

Officers’ Training Corps, 293

Okes, Dr., 197

Oppidan Dinner, 259-261

“Oppidan scholars,” 231

“Oppidans’ Museum,” 115

“Orders,” 313, 314

Organ case, description of old, 176; its history after being discarded by Eton authorities, 177, 178

Organ screen, modern, 184

Pass, Charley (sock cad), 108

Pepys, 15, 164, 172

Phillott, 269

Pinnacles, rebuilding of old, 189, 190

Plumtre, Mr., 150, 173

Poaching, 101

Pop, 77, 119, 247-249, 297, 328

Porson, 213, 216

“Poser’s child,” quaint usage, 223

“Posers,” 222, 223

Powell, Jem, 102, 103

Powell, well-known character at the Wall, 268

Poyntz, Stephen, captain of Montem in 1706, lines by, 136

Praepostors, 6, 9, 306, 307

“Private Tutors,” 41; nickname for “cads,” 102

Private Tutors, 105

Prose, 46

Protestant Etonian martyrs, 7, 8

Provost’s Lodge, 160

_Punch_, 149

Rackets, 281

Rattee, contractor for “restoration” of Chapel, 183

“Ripping,” quaint usage, 224

Roberts, Lord, 170

Rosebery, Lord, vii, 127, 171, 248, 258

Rouse, Provost, 13

Rowing, notes upon history of, at Eton, 252-263

Rowland’s (sock shop), 205

Rugeley, chapel at, 178

Rushes, the, 122, 256

St. Aldwyn, Lord, 258

St. Andrew’s Day, 38, 265, 268, 269

St. Thomas, Dominican Monastery of, 177

Salt Hill, 130 _et seq._; present condition of, 156

Salvin, architect, 194

“Saps,” 239

Savernake, Lord, 83

Savile, Sir Henry, 9, 10

School Magazines, 25, 26, 41

School Pulling, 326

Scrulton, F. F. V. captain of the boats, 1911, 263

“Scug,” 62

Second Upper Club, 280

Selwyn, George Augustus, 264

Selwyn, Thomas, diary of, 253

Seymour, Berkeley, 136

Sharpe, S. S., 263

Sheep’s Bridge, 273

Shelley, 94, 95, 123, 169

Sheridan, Mrs., viii

Shirking, 52, 53

Shore, Jane, 5

Simmonds, Mr. Robert, viii

Sir Galahad, picture in Chapel, 185

Sixpenny, 97, 280

Sixpenny Corner, 97

Slang, 62

Smoking, 17, 305

“Smut,” 117

Snape, Mrs., 63

“Snip,” 322

Sock, 62

Sock cads, 106-110

Solomon, 321, 322

Spankie (the celebrated sock cad), 106-109

Spode, Mr. Josiah, 177

_Sporting Magazine_, account of Etonian in 1799, 99-100

Spottiswoode’s, 320

Stafford, Lord, 39

Stage coachmen, 113

Statutes, their violation about 1834, 198-200

Statutes, new, 225, 226

Stephen, J. K., 166, 270

“