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 THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES
 
 it
 
 OUT OF SCHOOL AT ETON.
 
 LONDON : 
 
 GILBERT AND RIVINGTON, PRINTERS, 
 
 ST. JOHN'S SQUARE.
 
 OUT OF SCHOOL AT ETON. 
 
 BEING 
 
 A COLLECT/ON OF POETRY AND 
 PROSE WRITINGS 
 
 By some present ETONIANS. 
 
 " Liberius si 
 Dixero quid, si forte jocosius, hoc mihi juris 
 Cum venia dabis." 
 
 Horace, Sat. I. 4. 
 
 SAMPSON LOW, MARSTON, SEARLE, & RIVINGTON, 
 CROWN BUILDINGS, 188, FLEET STREET. 
 
 1877.
 
 ^
 
 //7f 
 
 of 
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 This little book is what its title sets it forth to 
 be, viz. a collection of miscellaneous writings 
 with the composition of which we Eton boys 
 have from time to time occupied our leisure 
 hours. Several of them were printed in The 
 Etonian^ a literary paper which flourished here 
 about a year ago ; but a number have not yet 
 appeared in print, and are now indeed for the 
 first time brought together. The numerous 
 requests made to us to republish some of the 
 former in the more connected shape of a book, 
 first induced us to think of venturing on the 
 step which we have now taken ; and the 
 support which has been promised us in the case 
 of our doing so, will we hope justify the somewhat 
 ambitious attempt. At the same time we trust 
 that the idea of our work will commend itself to 
 our readers, inasmuch as it is from a desire to 
 prove that literary talent, or at any rate literary 
 
 682392
 
 vi Preface. 
 
 spirit, is not extinct at Eton, and that Eton boys 
 can find interest in other occupations than the 
 mere ordinary routine of work and play, that we 
 have overcome the diffidence which we naturally 
 feel at submitting our endeavour to the eyes of 
 the public. 
 
 Our readers will we hope excuse the mis- 
 cellaneous character of our writings, and the 
 promiscuous manner in which they have been 
 brought together, but the task of arranging them 
 in a more careful manner is one which from our 
 inexperience we have shrunk from undertaking. 
 It seemed better to us, on the whole, to present 
 them just as we wrote them, with here and there 
 an explanatory note, and to trust to the good 
 nature of those under whose notice they may 
 come, to excuse all minor faults and deficiencies, 
 and to take our book for what it is worth as an 
 attempt, the first which has been made for many 
 years, to vindicate the literary prestige of Eton. 
 
 THE WRITERS. 
 
 Eton, May^ 1877.
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 An Hour of My Life at Eton i 
 
 The Horse . . . . . . . . • 4 
 
 The Critic's Speech ........ 5 
 
 Our House Debating Society ...... 8 
 
 The Tale of a Top 20 
 
 Song of Liberty ........ 26 
 
 A Romance ......... 28 
 
 The Reason Why ........ 29 
 
 Nameless .......... 30 
 
 Novacastellana . . . . . . . -Si 
 
 Ballad ...... .... 42 
 
 The Queen . . . . . . . . -44 
 
 Summer Thoughts ........ 46 
 
 " Quippe ter et Quater " . 48 
 
 Prometheus Vinctus ....... 48 
 
 My Novel 52 
 
 "Hodzson" 54 
 
 Excelsior . . . 62 
 
 Fragment ......... 63 
 
 The Philosopher and the Philanthropist . . . .64 
 
 The Cairn 65 
 
 Clodhoppers . . 66 
 
 The Ascent of Scawfell Pike 69 
 
 A Valentine 81
 
 viii Contents. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Serenade 83 
 
 The Maelstrom 86 
 
 The Friar and the Fairy ....... 88 
 
 Ihood 95 
 
 Lines at the River Side ....... 99 
 
 Ariadne .... ...... loo 
 
 "Angle Tarn" lOl 
 
 Mea Culpa 103 
 
 Hard to bear 106 
 
 An Eton Lower-Boy 108 
 
 Early School 117 
 
 " It was a Dream " 118 
 
 A "Fugitive" Piece . 120 
 
 From Pindar, Olymp. IL . , , . . ,122 
 
 Eleanore .......... 124 
 
 Lines written at " Private " ...... 125 
 
 Our College Brewery . . . . . . .126 
 
 Sock-cads ......... 126 
 
 A Character 133 
 
 "Swaggers" 136 
 
 From Oxford to Eton in Canoes ..... 141
 
 OUT OF SCHOOL AT ETON. 
 
 AN HOUR OF MY LIFE AT ETON. 
 
 I SAID before I went to bed 
 
 At half-past six I'd rise, 
 But, as in some strange book I've read, 
 Things can't be done by being said, 
 
 And there the moral lies. 
 
 For all the things that overnight 
 
 Did most important seem. 
 Are trifles view'd by morning's light. 
 And early school is alter'd quite 
 
 Into a hideous dream. 
 
 For what on earth's the use " to post 
 
 With such dexterity " 
 
 (You see I'm quoting from the Ghost 
 
 In Hamlet) where no butter'd toast, 
 
 J)/ No coffee waits for me } 
 H 
 
 B
 
 2 Out of School at Eton. 
 
 Such thoughts as these went through my brain 
 
 When half-past six did strike ; 
 I felt that it would give me pain 
 In bed no longer to remain, 
 
 For rest I greatly like. 
 
 In short then, when at last I rose, 
 
 I felt I'd play'd the fool, 
 That I'd enjoy 'd too long a doze. 
 In fine that (as the saying goes) 
 
 I should be late for school, 
 
 I might have been in time, but that 
 
 (I am not telling lies) 
 I dropp'd my shirt and boots and hat 
 Into my bath ; and then a rat 
 
 H^d eaten all my ties. 
 
 * >^ ^ * * 
 
 " Good ! dress'd at last !" I madly cried, 
 
 And rush'd from out my room ; 
 But Fate was present at my side, 
 And down the stairs with headlong slide 
 
 To tumble was my doom.
 
 A n Hour of viy L ife at Eton. 
 
 My hands and knees were badly cut, 
 
 My trousers torn to rags, 
 I hardly felt in spirits, but 
 I rose, and with a hasty " Tut ! 
 
 Why should I mind my bags V 
 
 I made for school ; without a tie^, 
 
 Without a hat, in vain 
 With utmost wariness I try 
 To 'scape the master's eagle eye, 
 
 And spare him useless pain. 
 
 I'd all but reach'd the long'd-for place. 
 
 When lo ! a luckless sneeze 
 Betray'd me ; o'er my teacher's face 
 There pass'd a horrible grimace, 
 Then came such words as these : — 
 
 " For daring to come in without 
 
 First putting on a tie, 
 You'll have the goodness to appear 
 At one and five throughout the year ; 
 
 Who's master, you or I ? 
 And " — he pursued, with brutal shout — 
 " For being late you'll write me out 
 
 ' PoetiE Scenici.' " 
 
 B 2
 
 Out of School at Etoji. 
 THE HORSE. 
 
 Vide " The Brook," by Tennyson. 
 
 With many a curve my legs I set 
 In many a field and fallow, 
 
 In many a miry meadow wet 
 With willow-weed and mallow, 
 
 I slip, I slide, I scrape, I glance. 
 
 As on the road I straddle, 
 I make my worthy master dance 
 
 Upon his well-worn saddle. 
 
 . And on again in gallant show 
 Along the road I quiver, 
 For men ride fast, and men ride slow. 
 But I jog on for ever. 
 
 Without a doubt I scramble out 
 Through many a ditch and railing, 
 
 With here and there an " in and out," 
 And here and there a paling ; 
 
 And here and there a foamy flake 
 
 Upon me as I travel, 
 And here and there a heavy shake 
 
 From tumbling on the gravel ;
 
 The Critics Speech. 
 
 But up again without a blow, 
 
 I dash across the river, 
 For men ride fast, and men ride slow, 
 
 But I jog on for ever. 
 
 I steal by lawns and grassy plots, 
 
 I slide by foxes' covers, 
 I crush the sweet forget-me-nots 
 
 That grow for happy lovers. 
 
 I murmur under moon and stars 
 
 In brambly wildernesses, 
 Which tear the skin from off my tail, 
 
 And add to my distresses. 
 
 I clatter, clatter, as I go 
 Beside the brimming river, 
 
 For men ride fast, and men ride slow, 
 But I jog on for ever. 
 
 THE CRITIC'S SPEECH. 
 
 Just the book to review !" the critic cried 
 (The Chase of the Snark, to wit).
 
 6 Out of School at Eton. 
 
 While his audience press'd round him on every 
 side, 
 To hear his opinion of it. 
 
 " They read it with glasses, they read it with 
 care, 
 
 They peruse it again and again. 
 They ruin their health beyond repair, 
 
 And they give themselves Snark on the brain. 
 
 " But what are the charms of this curious tale, 
 Which attract such a numerous band. 
 
 Or why it obtains so extensive a sale, 
 I could never at all understand. 
 
 " The reader who looks through his various 
 books, 
 
 Five characteristics will mark. 
 Which always belong, both in prose and in song, 
 
 To the author of * Hunting the Snark.' 
 
 "t> 
 
 " The first is the binding : especially that 
 Of the book we presume to review. 
 
 On which is depicted a watery flat 
 Of a sickly cadaverous hue.
 
 The Critic s Speech, 7 
 
 " That he's most inconsistent, I think you'll agree, 
 When he dares to assert it as true, 
 
 That the rudder gets mix'd with the bowsprit at 
 sea, 
 Or that birds can be salted in glue, 
 
 " The third is his manner of making a jest, 
 Which is quite and entirely his own, 
 
 And he seeks after witty remarks with a zest 
 That might find the philosopher's stone. 
 
 " The fourth is the way that he sticks to a word 
 (Such as beamish, galumph, and the rest). 
 
 Which he thinks is amusing as well as absurd, 
 An opinion I beg to contest. 
 
 " The fifth is pure folly. It now will be just 
 
 To describe each particular vein, 
 Distinguishing ' fits ' which appal and disgust, 
 
 From ' fits ' which are simply inane. 
 
 " For though much is as pointless as can be 
 desired, 
 
 I'm exceedingly sorry to say 
 That Kenealy — " the critic abruptly retired, 
 
 For his audience had melted away
 
 8 Out of School at Eton. 
 
 OUR HOUSE DEBATING SOCIETY. 
 
 Lend me thy aid, thou goddess of wisdom, owl- 
 eyed Athena, 
 
 (Owl-eyed, or grey-eyed, or blue-eyed, what is 
 it to me or my printer ? 
 
 All of them scan very well, and are back'd by 
 profoundest of scholars) 
 
 Aid thou my song, for I sing of the innermost 
 temple of wisdom. 
 
 Which as I take it is seen in my tutor's debating 
 society ; 
 
 Hear (and digest if thou canst) how we had an 
 inaugural meeting. 
 
 How we discuss'd whether Mary of Scotland 
 was justly beheaded. 
 
 Rose to his feet, sonorous with far-flashing 
 eloquence ; stop, though — 
 
 Shall I disclose .-* I will not ; let our names be 
 buried for ever ; 
 
 Let us go forth to the world without our dis- 
 tinguishing labels, — 
 
 Rose to his feet, and address'd us the opener, 
 prince of debaters,
 
 Our House Debating Society. 9 
 
 Wit to amuse, and satire to crush, and facts to 
 
 confound us, 
 All the aids that an orator needs were his in 
 
 abundance : 
 "Mr. President" (humbly) "and gentlemen" 
 
 (soothingly), "hear me," 
 (Voice upgathering strength as he speaks, like the 
 
 bellying canvas 
 Swell'd by the freshening breeze upon Thames, 
 
 the fairest of rivers) 
 " Hear me, I pray, and excuse, if the matter or 
 
 which I address you 
 Is not as fresh as it might be, yea, savoureth 
 
 somewhat of staleness. 
 Have I not deeply studied the works of the 
 
 peerless Sir Walter ? 
 Have I not read my Froude ? look'd out the 
 
 unfortunate Mary 
 In Biographical Encyclopaedias ? what could I 
 
 do more ? 
 Hear, then, the gleanings I bring you, and how I 
 
 support my opinion." 
 Not unambitious, you say, and yet not a whit 
 
 too ambitious ; 
 Would I could follow the rest of his well-deliver'd 
 
 oration :
 
 10 Out of School at Eton. 
 
 How he described the state of affairs, and the 
 
 chief of the statesmen ; 
 Gave us an eloquent Hst of the vices and eke of 
 
 the faihngs 
 Which he observed in Walsingham, Burleigh, 
 
 Elizabeth, Mary, 
 Any one else of the era which he was engaged in 
 
 discussing ; 
 Ending an eloquent speech with an almost 
 
 inspired peroration, 
 Praising Elizabeth up to the skies, and excusing 
 
 her failings. 
 Knocking off Mary as murderess, traitress, and 
 
 justly beheaded. 
 Then he resumed his seat, while plaudits thun- 
 
 der'd around him, 
 Wiped his face with a sigh of relief, and eyed the 
 
 opposer 
 Just with a tinge of contempt and with infinite 
 
 self-approbation. 
 Painfully rose the opposer, with countenance 
 
 anxious and harass'd. 
 Stood undecided a moment, then plunged his 
 
 hands in his pockets, 
 Having decided the point, and discarded the only 
 
 positions
 
 Our House Debating Society. 1 1 
 
 Other than this that he knew of ; he might have 
 
 put them behind him, 
 Or have grasp'd the back of his chair, a most 
 
 elegant posture. 
 But which involved a circuitous route for his 
 
 chair or his person ; 
 So he discarded them both, and stood with his 
 
 hands in his pockets. 
 His was a stammering speech— a speech full of 
 
 amplest regrettings. 
 That so important a task had fallen to one so 
 
 unworthy. 
 All of us shared his regret, as we did his relief 
 
 when he ended, 
 Blurted out his opinion that Mary was strictly 
 
 religious. 
 Beautiful, moral, and learned, and most unjustly 
 
 beheaded. 
 He that spoke next was a member who thought 
 
 he was made for the purpose 
 Of being placed in the chair of his tutor's de- 
 bating society ; 
 He would have been such a president ; he was 
 
 so eloquent, well-read ; 
 All his views so extended, his manner so truly 
 
 majestic.
 
 1 2 Otit of School at Eton. 
 
 Somehow, however, the house had not made the 
 
 most of its chances ; 
 Somebody else they dehghted to honour, and he 
 
 that I speak of 
 Found but a single vote in favour of his taking 
 
 office 
 (Some people said that the candidate knew very 
 
 well where it came from), 
 So he effected the god unmoved by the squabbles 
 
 beneath him, 
 Dropp'd just a fragment or two of his inex- 
 haustible wisdom, 
 Treated us calmly and patiently always to some- 
 thing of this kind : — 
 " Nobody sees the point of this really impossible 
 
 problem ; 
 None of you seem to observe the truly insoluble 
 
 question 
 Lying beneath this apparently trumpery matter 
 
 of Mary. 
 All of us know very well what these gentlemen 
 
 tell us so fully ; 
 All of us know the date, and we know that it's 
 
 very unpleasant 
 Having one's head cut off, and most injudicious 
 
 of women
 
 Our House Debating Society. 1 3 
 
 When they are tired of their husbands to blow 
 them up in their castles. 
 
 But for the mighty question of which this 
 manifestation 
 
 Is but the merest hint and ofifscouring — you all 
 disregard it. 
 
 I, who regard it, am wholly unable to form an 
 opinion ; 
 
 So with your leave I'll abstain from voting at 
 all on the question." 
 
 Somehow the speech was a failure, and wasn't 
 applauded as loudly 
 
 As might have been the case with a more com- 
 plimentary speaker, 
 
 More so I mean to his hearers, and less to his 
 own understanding. 
 
 If you should wonder at my reporting the follow- 
 ing speeches. 
 
 You must remember that I am a lover of human 
 nature. 
 
 And I would fain reproduce such perfectly typical 
 efforts. 
 
 Here is one who rises and says in a tremulous 
 manner, 
 
 " I must fully agree with the opener's able 
 oration,
 
 14 Out of School at Eton. 
 
 And I have nothing to add to his arguments ;" 
 
 here is another 
 Who must fully accord with his friend the en- 
 
 lighten'd opposer, 
 And who cannot improve on his manner of 
 
 treating the question. 
 Mark you the next that rises, a leader of taste 
 
 and refinement, 
 Intellectual he and aesthetic ; scorner of clas- 
 sics 
 Studied with care or with notes ; detester of 
 
 mathematics ; 
 Stern abjurer of rowing, of football, fives and 
 
 cricket ; 
 Faithful to Tennyson, Gladstone, Carlyle, and 
 
 Matthew Arnold ; 
 Great admirer of Ruskin ; peruser of pamphlets 
 
 and weeklies ; 
 Takes in the Daily News and Nineteenth Cen- 
 tury ; studies 
 Every taste in fact except those of playing and 
 
 working, 
 Which the authorities chiefly prefer in this centre 
 
 of darkness. 
 As for reporting his speech, I own that I couldn't 
 
 attempt it.
 
 Our House Debating Society. 1 5 
 
 His is a jumble of all the styles of his favourite 
 
 authors : 
 Lines out of Harold are side by side with pieces 
 
 of scandal 
 Fresh from " The World." There is scarcely a 
 
 subject he does not discourse on 
 Saving the question if Mary of Scotland was 
 
 justly beheaded. 
 Just at the end he remembers, and states his 
 
 opinion that Mary, 
 Being a beautiful lady, most likely look'd best 
 
 with her head on ; 
 And that her loss must have been very great if 
 
 she furnish'd her rooms well, 
 Kept blue china and paper suggestive of Morris 
 
 and high art ; 
 For that in every age the Beautiful means the 
 
 Essential. 
 Time presses on, and I cannot relate how a 
 
 Brutal Athlete 
 Pour'd forth his scorn in a few short words on 
 
 the luckless offender 
 Who had presumed to know things that weren't 
 
 about cricket and football, 
 Or about trials, collections, and Midsummer 
 
 examinations.
 
 1 6 Out of School at Eton. 
 
 How he objected entirely to any nonsensical 
 
 question 
 Taking us back to a time when cricket wasn't 
 
 invented ; 
 Thought on the whole it was very hard luck to 
 
 decapitate Mary ; 
 Thought, however, that " good Queen Bess " was 
 
 an excellent woman. 
 Then spake several more : there was one in 
 
 particular noted 
 For his decided opinions, and being a ''practical 
 
 man, sir ;" 
 Also for slow understanding and wondrous 
 
 pragmatical manner. 
 Nothing on earth could excuse — he repeated it 
 
 over and over — 
 Mary for breaking the Law, or her rival for 
 
 breaking COMMANDMENTS. 
 What he referr'd to he didn't explain, but he 
 
 voted for Mary. 
 Laws, he said, were human ; it was not so with 
 
 Commandments. 
 Last on the list was a speaker deserving of 
 
 ampler reporting : — 
 "Gentlemen, that is to say Mr. President, if 
 
 you'll excuse me,
 
 Our House Debating Society. 1 7 
 
 That is allow me, I wish — I do not wish to detain 
 
 ■you, 
 But there is one — I mean one point has escaped 
 
 the attention, 
 Not been mention'd by previous speakers ;" and 
 
 so on, until we 
 Found ourselves lost in the mazes involving this 
 
 one little point which 
 I have not found to this day nor ever can hope 
 
 to discover. 
 Poor little point that was baited and badger'd 
 
 and never o'ertaken 
 Till out of breath, and fatigued, and blushing,. 
 
 and conscious of failure, 
 Down sat the speaker abruptly in midst of a 
 
 limb of a sentence. 
 He that had studied his "point which others had 
 
 fail'd to discover," 
 Studied his one little point to such a degree of 
 
 perfection 
 That when it came to the birth it had died of 
 
 old age, and appear'd not. 
 Then the opener made a reply : he would like 
 
 to have answer'd 
 Arguments brought against him, but hadn't 
 
 found any to answer.
 
 1 8 Out of School at Eton. 
 
 Hadn't observed such a thing in so many and 
 
 eloquent speeches. 
 This device is certain to bring down the house — 
 
 it's so clever ; 
 Likewise it saves you the trouble of finding an 
 
 answer when needed. 
 Try it again and again, you're sure of your 
 
 hearers' approval ; 
 Sarcasm always goes down in a house debating 
 
 society. 
 When he had finish'd, the President rose to sum 
 
 the debate up : 
 This is another custom of house debating so- 
 cieties ; 
 Partly because the debates are apt to be none of 
 
 the roughest ; 
 Partly because the house exists very frequently 
 
 solely 
 So as to furnish a field for some embryo states- 
 man or other, 
 Who, being chosen as president, wanting his 
 
 weekly oration. 
 Chooses the method described, and appears to 
 
 the greatest advantage. 
 Well then the president rose, and scatter'd good 
 
 wishes around him
 
 Our House Debating Society. 19 
 
 For the house he address'd, and all its connexions 
 and members. 
 
 Then he remarked that the speeches had all been 
 excessively good ones ; 
 
 Own'd it was perfectly true that there were two 
 sides to the question ; 
 
 That he himself was rejoiced that it wasn't his 
 duty to settle 
 
 What were his views or how he should vote ; and 
 being unable 
 
 To detect any flaw in a single speech or in any 
 
 Argument which they had heard, and which 
 m.ight have required refutation, 
 
 Making a passing allusion to time and the swift- 
 ness thereof, he 
 
 Call'd upon those who believed that Mary was 
 justly beheaded 
 
 Straightway to hold up their hands, whereby it 
 was shown that opinion 
 
 Sided with Mar>^ which proved that axiom of 
 Eton debating, 
 
 (Which may be likewise discover'd in our repre- 
 sentative chamber) [of party, 
 
 If the question discuss'd can be made a question 
 
 Most of the speakers are Whig, and most of the 
 
 voters are Tory. 
 
 C 2
 
 20 Out of School at Eton. 
 
 THE TALE OF A TOP. 
 
 Being a Moral Story, wherein is exemplified the 
 Reward of Virtue. 
 
 Confound all saints and saintliness, say I ! A 
 sentiment which, after mature experience, I have 
 come most entirely to rely on and adopt. 
 What on earth (or above the earth, as far as I 
 can see) induces people to be such fools I can't 
 conceive. But the incontestable fact remains — 
 People are such fools. I suppose the species is 
 necessary to the economy of nature : it cer- 
 tainly is to the maintenance of knaves. And 
 unless they make themselves useful to their 
 superiors, their mission on earth is unaccom- 
 plished ; the reverse being equally true. This is 
 a truth I have ever borne in mind, and as long 
 as I live will never forget. For myself I always 
 did hate saintliness, and my familiarity with all 
 its extreme follies, as exemplified in my brother 
 Jim, has added to my dislike an intensified con- 
 tempt. For if ever there did live a fool for the 
 sole purpose of benefiting his neighbours it was 
 Jim. He was only two years younger than I
 
 The Tale of a Top. 2 1 
 
 was, but from the time that he first began to 
 walk he was my fulsome admirer and slave. My 
 father used feebly to object ; my mother to 
 praise Jim's "patience" and *' sweetness of dis- 
 position ;" qualities, as I pointed out to her, which 
 he shared with those noble animals the ass and 
 the sheep. At which she smiled and was satis- 
 fied. 
 
 I remember we used to devote our spare time 
 to the intellectual amusement of spinning tops 
 of our own manufacture, and seeing whose could 
 stay up the longest. Mine always did. I think 
 Jim knew that if he didn't he would repent it. 
 But when my sister Mary joined in, hers used to 
 beat both of ours. She laughed at that, but I 
 couldn't stand it, and boxed her ears, which Jim 
 accordingly kissed, like the pious brother in 
 the story books. Mary was an "invalid," as 
 they called it, and lay in bed all the morning, 
 cutting tops generally. There was one top she 
 made (the hero of my story) which beat all the 
 others. Whirligig she called it. She was awfully 
 fond of it ; and so was I ; but when I took it 
 from her, my father made such a row about "rob- 
 bing an invalid," and suchlike rant, that for the
 
 22 Out of School at Eton. 
 
 sake of a quiet life I didn't try it again, openly, 
 at least. But when Mary grew worse and worse 
 and could hardly lift her hand from her side, she 
 still kept the top — the dog in the manger — and 
 when she was too bad to hold it, she used to call 
 Jim, and make him perform, but would never 
 allow me to touch it. So one day when she was 
 asleep, and every one else was out, I stole it from 
 under her pillow, to serve her out, and hid it in a 
 drawer. But she made up such a disturbance, that 
 the whole household made a grand search, and 
 found it. At last she died, "commending," with 
 her very "last breath," to the "dutiful care" of the 
 darling Jim the precious Whirligig, which, with 
 plenteous outpouring of tears, he accepted ; 
 swearing to keep it as long as he lived. And so 
 the little beast got the top to himself But the 
 end was different. 
 
 That same winter the tables were most satis- 
 factorily turned. Father went out fishing one 
 terribly cold day up into the hills, where he 
 often used to go for the same purpose, usually 
 with Jim. But he happened to leave him behind 
 that day, to stay with my mother, who had been 
 ill since Mary expired. So father went out
 
 The Tale of a Top. 23 
 
 alone, not telling us where he was going. That 
 night he did not come home to dinner ; and as 
 he was usually punctual for meals, my mother 
 chose to be anxious on the subject, and to wait 
 dinner, in spite of all I could say. So at last I 
 went down and had mine alone ; and very jolly 
 it was, too — so jolly, that I wished father would 
 always be late for dinner, and mother too 
 anxious to go down. Somehow or other I fell 
 asleep after I had done, and when I woke up it 
 was quite late. Running up to bed, I met my 
 mother. " Your father has not come home yet. 
 Where's Jim ; do you know V " No ; nor care." 
 For I hated Jim by that time. " Won't you ask 
 the servants if they've seen him.'"' But I was 
 really much too sleepy, and so went straight up 
 to bed. Before long I was awakened by a 
 horrid noise below. I jumped up and dressed 
 to find out what it was about. All the dalesmen 
 were in the hall, talking their vile dialect like a 
 congress of garrulous polar bears. It seemed 
 that neither father nor Jim had come back, and 
 these worthies had been called to assist in the 
 search. For although there was no snow, it was 
 the hardest frost I had ever known in the moun-
 
 24 Out of School at Eton. 
 
 tains. Hence the excitement. Father used 
 often to go and fish in a tarn up in the hills, 
 about three miles from the house ; and there we 
 determined to look for them. It was a queer 
 place. On three sides the rocks went sheer 
 down into the water ; and from these rocks we 
 used to fish ; and, sure enough, when we got in 
 sight, I saw through my glasses two figures sit- 
 ting on a ledge some fifty feet above the surface. 
 I told the huntsman, who was walking ahead. 
 He wanted the glasses, but the clumsy brute 
 would have been sure to break them, so I told 
 him to shout at father, instead. But no 
 answer was returned, except by the echo, which 
 was wonderfully clear and loud. I did curse 
 pretty well. It was really too bad of father to 
 make us come after him all this way and then 
 not answer us. I wanted the men to turn back, 
 but they wouldn't. We scrambled round the 
 tarn, shouting as we went along, but no answer. 
 At last, when we got near enough, I threw a 
 stone. I thought he must answer that, but, 
 though it was a good shot, he never moved. 
 That oaf of a huntsman turned round and swore 
 at me, but it was a way he had,' and I never
 
 The Tale of a Top. 25 
 
 cared for him. We came nearer. Father was 
 sitting with his back propped up on a large rock, 
 with the rod in his hands, and Jim seemed lying 
 asleep with his head in his lap. He was always 
 fond of striking attitudes, the little fool. But 
 when the huntsman climbed up to them I heard 
 him shout out (I was some way behind), and saw 
 him fall forward on his hands and knees. So I 
 hurried up to see what was the matter. I was 
 never so frightened in my life, as when one of 
 the men took me up to the place, and I saw 
 father with his hands and face quite blue, and 
 his eyes shut, still clutching the rod ; and Jim's 
 coat over his neck. Jim's head had fallen into 
 father's lap, and his face was cold and blue also. 
 The huntsman was blubbering like a great baby, 
 as he said, " Your father must have fallen asleep 
 from the cold. Master Jim's gone out alone at 
 dead of night to find him frozen. He's tried 
 to chafe his hands, and taken off his own coat to 
 warm a dead man into life" (that was just like 
 Jim), "and has fallen asleep himself" Every 
 one began to blubber thereupon, except me. I 
 never would make a baby of myself The men 
 carried the bodies down the hill home. But I
 
 26 Out of School at Eton. 
 
 stayed behind, for I knew what an awful row 
 there would be in the house, and there I saw 
 Jim's coat lying on the rocks, for they had for- 
 gotten it. I lifted it up, and in the breast pocket 
 I found Whirligig, safe and sound. You may be 
 sure I took precious care of it down from the 
 tarn ; and it was lucky I did, for afterwards, 
 just before the funeral, mother asked me, 
 " where Mary's top was ; he always said he 
 would have it put in his coffin." But it never 
 was, as you may think. And I have Whirligig 
 to this day. And so / got the top in the end. 
 
 SONG OF LIBERTY. 
 
 There is a sound in our ears. 
 
 Swung down by the bells of time ; 
 
 It comes as a sound of tears. 
 In vague and ineffable rhyme. 
 
 It calls the Creator's creation : 
 " Up, ye down-trodden, arise ! 
 
 Now lives the free god of your nation. 
 Now smitten credulity dies !
 
 Song of Liberty. 27 
 
 Come forth from the gloom of the gloaming, 
 In which you have passionless run, 
 
 And quit you the shroud of your moaning, 
 In the hght of the life-giving sun. 
 
 The kingdom of ages that were 
 
 To the kingdom of ages to come : 
 Shut your ears to the curse of Despair, 
 
 List to virginal Liberty's hum. 
 
 The mantle of freedom when fallen 
 Was not left at the place where it fell ; 
 
 Break the bond of your bonds then, ye callen 
 Of centuries, bear yourselves well ! 
 
 The God of your fathers he calls you 
 
 To take up the tale of your birth ; 
 Then what of oppression that palls you ? 
 
 'Tis but earthborn, give earth back to earth ! " 
 
 It is gone with the boom of its booming, 
 It is swept on, that voice of the bells ; 
 
 In the dawn where the future is looming 
 Still with time-swollen cadence it swells.
 
 28 Out of School at Eton. 
 
 A ROMANCE. 
 
 "And they have likewise an infernal machine, whereby a 
 heavy weight, being cunningly balanced on a slightly-opened 
 door, shall suddenly and supernally descend on the head of the 
 unwitting victim who attempteth the opening of the same." — 
 History of the Ancient Britons. 
 
 Hast ever seen an idle boy 
 
 Designing to disgust, annoy, 
 
 Foil, and if possible destroy 
 
 Some youth whose anguish is his joy, 
 
 In very wantonness employ 
 
 That engine, instrument or toy, 
 
 The Booby-trap. 
 
 Hast ever seen the fiendish grin, 
 With which that little imp of sin 
 Will almost leap out of his skin 
 To see his victim enter in, — 
 (The victim is by no means thin, 
 Less valorous than a Paladin, 
 More learned than a Capuchin), 
 Beneath that unsuspected gin 
 
 The Booby-trap. 
 
 A piece of string, a little care, 
 A heavy lexicon, a pair
 
 The Reason WJiy. 29 
 
 Of boots, a steady hand, some fair 
 Spring water in an earthenware 
 And not too costly vessel : — there 
 You have that pit-fall, springe, or snare, 
 
 The Booby-trap. 
 
 This weapon balanced on the door. 
 We wait outside (an h'our or more 
 If necessary), till the floor 
 Creaks with the victim's weight : a score 
 Of seconds is reduced to four ! 
 And four to one ! ! and all is o'er ! ! ! 
 ***** 
 
 Quite calmly, though immersed in gore, 
 The victim murmurs, " What a bore ! 
 
 A Booby-trap!" 
 
 THE REASON WHY. 
 
 June, 1 8; 5. 
 
 At the magic words, " And now," 
 Runs a tremor through the hall. 
 [ Joy awakes on every brow. 
 
 Sleep is cast away from all ;
 
 30 Out of School at Eton. 
 
 And the crowd with heads erect, 
 
 Wake like birds by sunbeams kiss'd. 
 
 And this is why a certain sect 
 
 Is sometimes termed " Revivalist." 
 
 NAMELESS. 
 
 The voice of the forest is swelling 
 Creation's whisper'd praise ; 
 
 The freshness of love is dwelling 
 In the life-giving sunshine rays. 
 
 But the breeze o'er the upland sweeping 
 
 Is sad, as it kisses the linn, 
 For the streamlet's waves are weeping 
 
 Mid the rapid^s hurrying din. 
 
 For the chill cold corpse in the river 
 No sympathy, sorrow, or care, 
 
 Though the parting must be for ever. 
 No succouring hand is there. 
 
 The folly of man hath an ending 
 With its vision of vain delight, 
 
 But her spirit its way is wending 
 Through the crystal fields of light.
 
 Novacastellana. 3 ^ 
 
 In the fair blue dome of heaven 
 'Mid the radiant spheres on high, 
 
 To her soul is fresh knowledge given, 
 The solution of How and Why. 
 
 But the corpse in the current is whirling, 
 
 Coffinless, cold, and fair. 
 And the hungry ripple is curling 
 
 Round the matted and tangled hair. 
 
 And the breeze of the forest laden 
 With the sigh of the coming storm, 
 
 Sings the dirge of the drowned maiden, 
 As it sweeps o'er her pallid form. 
 
 NOVACASTELLANA. 
 
 (Appeared in the ^/^ww/z.) 
 
 Being the Diary of a Week's " Sapping'' for the 
 ''Newcastle Scholarship," March, 1876. 
 
 Monday. — I came to the conclusion that I 
 was born to do great things ; thought I was 
 probably cut out for a poet ; wasn't quite sure,
 
 32 Out of School at Eton. 
 
 however, as I didn't know much about poetry or 
 poet, except that the one has rhymes, the other 
 long hair. Happy tJioiigJit. Write something 
 good for TJie Etonian, and sign my name at the 
 bottom. 
 
 After lo. — Went to " Mathematics," tried to 
 evolve the plot of my poem, to be called " The 
 Fourth of June;" only succeeded in evolving 
 fifty lines for inattention. Mem. — Evident want 
 of sympathy between mathematical and poetical 
 minds. Produced a stanza during 1 1 o'clock 
 school : — 
 
 " Behold the Fourth of June 
 Comes with a merry tune, 
 
 And with the joyful noise 
 Of many happy boys." 
 
 After 12. — Spent half an hour in reading over 
 my production ; thought it very good. Fagged 
 a Lower Boy to suggest rhymes^ wanted a rhyme 
 to " dawn," he could only suggest " yawn," 
 which wouldn't do. Finally came to the con- 
 clusion that poeticising wasn't in my line. I 
 then went to see my tutor, who said I had 
 better go in for the Newcastle. Wasted the rest 
 of " after 12" in thinking howl should set to
 
 Novacastellana. 33 
 
 work : decided at last to get up all the " tips," 
 and to cram everything that would pay. Happy 
 thought, to publish a book of " Newcastle tips " 
 some day. 
 
 After 4. — Went " down town," and ordered 
 Jowett's " Plato," Donaldson's " Pindar," Shil- 
 leto's " Thucydides," and six grammars, includ- 
 ing Madvig and Goodwin. Just before school 
 saw my books arrive in a wheelbarrow. I began 
 to have qualms. 
 
 After tea. — Unpacked my new possessions ; 
 didn't know which to begin with ; finally fell 
 asleep over the first chapter of Goodwin, and 
 was late for prayers. Went to bed early, dreamt 
 Professors Goodwin and Madvig were quarrel- 
 ling over the relative value of their particles. 
 M. had rather the best of it. 
 
 Tuesday. — In the morning Smith (a fellow- 
 student) came into my room, for the purpose, 
 as he said, of putting me up to some good 
 " tips," of which, of course, I must be profoundly 
 ignorant. His first question was, " By what 
 Latin authors is reference made to Johannes 
 Gilpinus .''" I rose to the occasion, and promptly 
 referred him to Horace, Ode i. Book HI. 
 
 D
 
 34 Out of School at Eton. 
 
 " Post equitem sedet atra cura." He looked 
 queer, but persevered, maintaining that the 
 Romans had a Four-in-Hand Club and a Rotten 
 Row. This I emphatically denied, but he, with 
 exultation blazing from every feature of his 
 countenance, pulled a Virgil out of his pocket, and, 
 pointing to Georgic III. io6, exclaimed, " There ! 
 Read that !" I obeyed and read,— 
 
 " Illi instant verbere torto 
 Et proni dant lora ; volat vi fervidus axis. 
 Nee mora nee requies ; at fulvtc nimbus arense 
 ToUitur." 
 
 This was rather a crusher, but I bided my time, 
 and on his asking who was the most unctuous of 
 the Greeks, I snatched up the now welcome 
 Virgil, and, disdaining such small fry as the 
 Georgics, turned to ^Eneid I., where at the 41st 
 line I triumphantly read, "Ajacis oilei." He 
 retired crestfallen ; I took a little necessary 
 refreshment. 
 
 After 2. — Looked in White's "Junior Student's 
 English-Latin Dictionary," for the Latin equiva- 
 lents to idiosyncrasy, snob, water-on-the-brain, 
 gingham, and syntax. Couldn't find them, and 
 became disconsolate. Syntax especially puzzled
 
 Novacastellana. 35 
 
 me ; nothing could be simpler than the natural 
 rendering " Peccati vectigal" but how to account 
 for the y instead of the i in the English ? Would 
 the Newcastle Examiners ask the question ? I 
 fervently hoped not, and went to present myself 
 at absence (remember this as a capital instance 
 of Euripidical oxymoron). 
 
 After 4. — Took a little exercise with the 
 Beagles, and trod eleven times on the tails of 
 ■the hounds. In the evening, being in want of 
 stimulants to brace me up for an hour or two's 
 hard work, read the Police News and The Etonian, 
 and was thus enabled to devote my entire 
 attention to study. Found that 1 876 is an Amins 
 Bissextus (does that mean that it is bisected?^, 
 that a naval action was fought at Actiitm 
 (tautolog)',) some time B.C. or A.D., and that an 
 Iambic is the same thing as a Tragic Senarius. 
 Went to bed at 11. Mem. — Hard day's work. 
 
 Wednesday. — Very tired ; late for school. 
 
 After 12. — Intended to read Aristophanes ; 
 went to the School Library, as I had heard of 
 an edition there in which some one had marked 
 all the " tips ;" found it was out. Went to Tom 
 Brown's and spent an hour and a half in choos- 
 
 D 2
 
 36 Out of School at Eton. 
 
 ing a pair of trousers ; couldn't decide between 
 a green and red Angola and a pale salmon 
 Chesterfield. 
 
 After 4. — Read thirty lines of Jowett's 
 " Plato," thought it rather foolish ; tried a Greek 
 play, but couldn't find any " tips." 
 
 After 6. — Very cross and miserable. Sat up 
 till 2, and read chapters of Thucydides and 
 Herodotus alternately, to get accustomed to 
 the style of both authors. Went to bed with- 
 a headache and wet handkerchief tied round 
 my head. Dreamt I was Newcastle Scholar, 
 crowned with laurel ; woke up and found the 
 laurel was only the handkerchief. 
 
 Thursday. — Late again for early school. 
 Got 100 lines, which I made my fag write out 
 instead of having his breakfast. 
 
 After 12. — Thought I would study a little 
 Latin ; got out pen, ink, and paper. N.B. — • 
 Persius evidently wrote of me when he said, 
 Sat. IIL 12 — 15, — 
 
 " Tunc queritur, crassus calamo quod pendeat humor, 
 Nigra quod infusa vanescat sepia lympha, 
 Dilutas queritur geminet quod fistula guttas." 
 
 For I could not get my pen to write properly ;
 
 Novacastellana. yj 
 
 finally gave it up as a bad job, and took to a. 
 pencil, with which I dotted down notes as I 
 skimmed through book after book of classical 
 lore. Horace struck me as being an inordinate 
 wine-bibber, withal somewhat chary of providing 
 a bottle at his own table ; witness the 20th ode 
 of the first book (I had " Smart " by my side, 
 or I should not have found that out). As for 
 Virgil's -^neids, the earlier ones seemed to be a 
 prolix panegyric on the piety of " Pius -^neas," 
 the last four nothing more or less than a care- 
 fully-compiled obituary. Query : Is not Bohn 
 more worthy of our admiration than either 
 Flaccus or Maro .-' 
 
 After 4. — Eschewed Beagles and Fives (why 
 not Fours ? I defy any one to answer that), 
 and again sat me down with the utmost resigna- 
 tion at my hated bureau. After an hour's unin- 
 terrupted cogitation, resolved to look up a few 
 hints for Latin verse and pro^e. To begin with, I 
 quite agreed with Tennyson in stigmatizing the 
 former as a — 
 
 " Barbarous experiment, barbarous hexameters," 
 but as the Newcastle Examiners would, in spite
 
 38 Out of School at Eton. 
 
 of the Laureate's openly expressed opinion, be 
 sure to set a passage for translation, and as I 
 was bent on being, if not Scholar, at any rate 
 Medallist, and yet no Medallist (you know, of 
 course, that no medal is given now-a-days. For 
 the construction, see Euripides' Hecuba, 6io). 
 I thought I would note down some likely 
 r,io}'ceaux to take into the examination on my 
 shirt-sleeve. I. Suitable terminations to Penta- 
 meters — " Talia verba refert," " Candida gutta 
 nivis " (Snowdrop), " Marmora clara maris." 
 II. Proper names " Oppiajucus f' but might not 
 the examiners call that a false quantity } Or, 
 still better, " Herzegovina ;" but alas ! on second 
 thoughts I remember having heard the other 
 day that in that word also, the i is short. Thus 
 baffled, I gave up versifying in disgust. 
 
 After tea. — Tried a little Latin prose, and 
 read through Livy, Cicero, and Tacitus. Be- 
 coming considerably fuddled with the mixture, 
 I turned, in order to clear my head, to the 
 " Latin Primer,-" which I had always heard of 
 as a model of innocence contrasted with the 
 duplicity of Madvig. However, I got so con- 
 fused by the money-table on page 130, where
 
 Novacastellana. 39 
 
 mention is made of no other animals than asses, 
 and asses nsurcE (as if a female ass could be a 
 usurer), that I threw the book down in despair 
 and went to bed. 
 
 Friday might almost be called a "blank" day 
 as regards Newcastle work, for after 12 I had to 
 do my verses which I had shirked, fondly hoping 
 that I should escape detection. My tutor, 
 however, had apparently kept his weather eye 
 open, for to my unutterable dismay he gently 
 hinted to me at 12 o'clock that " Gradus ad 
 Parnassum " would constitute an agreeable form 
 of amusement for my leisure hours, until I had 
 shown him up the sum of 30 Ele-giacs (vide 
 Paley's Note on ^schylus' Agamemnon, 671). 
 Miserable things ! Why is the rising generation 
 obliged to display its strong (?) classical propen- 
 sities in the development of so paltry an effort 1 
 
 " Tempora mutantur, nos et mutamur in illis." 
 
 What would Ovid say, were he to see me sulkily 
 scribbling hackneyed imitations of his impas- 
 sioned Muse .'' 
 
 After 2. — Showed up my verses and tried a 
 little work. Began by studying Latin and Greek
 
 40 Out of School at Eton. 
 
 numerals ; got as far as 7, where I stopped. 
 Why were there 7 Sages of Greece ; 7 Kings of 
 Rome ; 7 Wonders of the World ; 7 Champions 
 of Christendom ; finally, why are there 7 days 
 of the week ? Asked Smith, but he couldn't tell 
 me. 
 
 After 4. — Played my House Fives Sweep- 
 stakes, First Ties. Was beaten at "love" each 
 game. For the first time I forgot myself and 
 volubly anathematized the devoted "Newcastle," 
 as the cause of my ill-luck. 
 
 After tea. — Took up a Homer and read in 
 the 19th Odyssey an account of pig-sticking as 
 carried on in those days by Ulysses. Compare 
 this with the Prince of Wales' recent exploits in 
 India. Looking through a Roman History, I 
 was sorry to find that Csesar made use of bad 
 language, " Et tu brute" I am ashamed to say 
 that I followed his example, vituperating the 
 Scholarship in the very same words. Was I 
 wrong } 
 
 Saturday. — Came to the conclusion that a 
 little light work would be advisable after my 
 exertions of the last few days. Began by turning 
 my thoughts to the Divinity Papers, on which I
 
 Novacastdlana. 41 
 
 had heard great stress is laid by the examiners. 
 I was a little puzzled at starting by the word 
 patriarch. Does it answer to the modern patriot? 
 I next tried to institute a comparison between 
 the 1st Book of Chronicles and the " Eton College 
 Chronicle," but failed. Found also that Jezebel 
 was a Sid-onian, but thought it wouldn't do to 
 contrast that with the Et-onian. Happy thought ! 
 I suddenly recollected that I had seen it men- 
 tioned in that veracious print the World, a month 
 ago, that the Old Testament was written with 
 5642 words (remember, mum's the word for that ; 
 the examiners, if they are men of the world, are 
 bound to ask it). 
 
 After 4. — Broached the Acts (does that signify 
 the doings, or is it merely an abbreviation for 
 the accounts of the Apostles ?) with Wordsworth, 
 Humphrey, Alford, and Bloomfield at my side 
 (I mean their commentaries, not the reverend 
 gentlemen themselves), but came to grief over 
 Wordsworth's lengthy objectio)is and replies in 
 his preface to the seventh chapter. Gave up 
 the whole thing in disgust ; determined to " bar " 
 the TV^zt'castle as a nuisance ; sent all my books 
 indiscriminately, grammars, cribs, commentaries.
 
 42 Out of School at Eton, 
 
 down town to Hetherington's, to be sold at the 
 next auction there ; ate, or rather drank, my tea 
 with a lightened heart and infinite gusto, and 
 went to bed as happy as a king. 
 
 BALLAD. 
 
 " 'TiS three months syne, O three months syne, 
 
 Three weary months to me, 
 Since last I saw the glint on the sails 
 
 Sink down beneath the sea. 
 
 " O weel, weel may the good ship glide 
 
 Across the stormy main ; 
 But, sair, oh sair, my heart misgives — 
 
 They never will come again. 
 
 " The storm-blast whistles o'er the roof, 
 
 And down the narrow lane, 
 And every blast screams out to me — 
 
 ' They never will come again.'
 
 Ballad. 43 
 
 " The storm-clouds scurry past the sky, 
 
 And fierce they frown on me : 
 They have seen the good ship stagger and sink 
 
 Beneath a foaming sea." 
 
 The widow rose and shut the Book, 
 
 Wet with the tears she sheds, 
 And cast one long and lingering look 
 
 On those three empty beds ; 
 
 And then she lifts the broken latch — 
 
 Flings open the rattling door ; 
 In her eyes is the glint of the flashing foam — 
 
 In her ears the dull sea's roar. 
 
 There stood three figures by her side, 
 
 White through the murky air ; 
 And the rain did not moisten their long thin 
 hands, 
 
 And the wind did not stir their hair. 
 
 " My sons, my sons, my own dear sons, 
 
 In truth are ye come to me } 
 Or cannot your troubled spirits rest 
 
 In the deeps of the troubled sea .''"
 
 44 Out of School at Eton. 
 
 And then came a voice like a silver lute 
 Through the deep bass roar of the wind, 
 
 And fear, like a shadow, went before, 
 But a sweet peace came behind. 
 
 " Oh dinna' ye weep for us, mother. 
 
 For vain the tears ye shed. 
 And sweet is the sleep we sleep, mother, 
 
 For in heaven is made our bed. 
 
 "Around our bodies the corals bloom. 
 And above them the deep sea rolls ; 
 
 But little we reck of our foul bodies — 
 Thy prayers have saved our souls." 
 
 THE QUEEN. 
 
 March, 1876. 
 
 They may talk of their "Empress" and titles of 
 fame, 
 High sounding whatever they be ; 
 They may say what they will, but I love the old 
 name. 
 The Queen of Old England for me !
 
 The Queen. 45 
 
 That name will stand out as the brightest and 
 best 
 In the tale of the brave and the free, 
 And it still strikes a chord in each Englishman's 
 breast, 
 Oh ! the Queen of old England for me ! 
 
 When through treachery Emperors climb to a 
 throne, 
 
 Their baseness with horror we see. 
 And proudly we turn to the Queen of our own ; 
 
 Oh ! the Queen of old England for me ! 
 
 Yes, I love the old name for it speaks to my 
 heart. 
 
 Where'er the inscription I see. 
 And to new-fangled titles I'm loth to depart, 
 
 Oh ! the Queen of old England for me ! 
 
 What mean these devices I cannot divine 
 (In spite of the words I've been told) 
 
 While snobs and while toadies their efforts com- 
 bine 
 In a project to '^gild the fine gold."
 
 46 Out of School at Eton. 
 
 Well ! well ! After all it don't matter one bit 
 How at last on this point they agree, 
 
 Though they call her w^hat names to themselves 
 may seem fit, 
 Still she's Queen of old England for me ! 
 
 SUMMER THOUGHTS. 
 
 'TiS the happy time when summer 
 Sock-cads delicacies hawk. 
 
 And I hear the Eton drummer 
 Practising in Poet's Walk ; 
 
 Then my playful fancies wander 
 Till my pictures seem a blur, 
 
 While abstractedly I ponder 
 On the fact that mortals err. 
 
 Some there are to whom a wicket 
 Seems the best of things on earth, 
 
 (Thus reflected I on cricket, 
 Part in anger, part in mirth,)
 
 Summer Thoughts. 47. 
 
 Others prizes love more dearly- 
 Far than gold or precious gems ; 
 
 Not a few spend very nearly 
 Half their life upon the Thames. 
 
 Some take exercise in walking, 
 Some delight in food and tea, 
 
 Some waste all their time in talking, 
 And the rest in thought like me. 
 
 Others will discourse severely, 
 Meaning nothing all the time, 
 
 Telling you that hfe is merely 
 What I cannot say in rhyme. 
 
 Much by careful calculations 
 
 Out of nothing can be got, 
 Indeterminate equations. 
 
 Things that tell you what is what 
 
 Or what isn't. Which is grander, 
 
 To become a living oar. 
 Or through nothing to meander, 
 
 Seeking nothing evermore .''
 
 48 Out of School at Eton. 
 
 This I leave to coming ages 
 To unravel ; this may be 
 
 Food for undeveloped sages 
 Of the future, not for me. 
 
 " QUIPPE TER ET OUATER." 
 Three or Four Quips. 
 
 Virgil. Georgic I. 161. " Nee surgere messes." 
 — Why not " Nee strawberry messes ? " 
 
 Virgil. Georgic I. 163. "Tarda volventia plaus- 
 tra." — London " Growler." 
 
 Virgil. Georgic I. 229. " Bootes." — Hotel func- 
 tionary. 
 
 Virgil, ^neid. I. 69. " Submersas obrue pup- 
 pes." — Precedent for the ordinary method of 
 disposing of young dogs. 
 
 PROMETHEUS VINCTUS. 
 
 Above, all round, and far below, 
 Lie dazzling sheets of purest snow ;
 
 Prometheus Vinctus. 49 
 
 So pure that nought is like it, but the white 
 
 Of fleecy clouds that lie in azure light. 
 
 All snow, all snow, save where the mountain 
 
 reft 
 Displays adown its side a hideous cleft. 
 Silence around, no life, all cold and dead, 
 Never in that rare air do mortal footsteps tread 
 
 Only from that chasm can be heard the roar, 
 Where the hidden waters never-ending pour ; 
 Only from the steep side of the mountain tall 
 Can be heard the echoes of the avalanche fall ; 
 Only in the tempests, when the lightnings flash, 
 Can be heard amidst the rocks the awful thunder 
 crash. 
 
 Surely these the fragments are of that enor- 
 mous tower, 
 Form'd by Titans in old time to seize the 
 
 heavenly power ; 
 When the earth resounded with their battle-cry, 
 And re-echoing sent it pealing to the sky, 
 Sterner still and sterner raged their conflict 
 
 wild. 
 Higher still and higher they the mountains 
 piled ; 
 
 E
 
 50 Out of School at Eton. 
 
 Louder than all thunder crash'd their mighty fall, 
 Filling the whole firmament to heaven's highest 
 
 hall; 
 When the great Olympian conquer'd them at 
 
 last, 
 And bound them deep beneath the earth in iron 
 
 fetters fast. 
 
 Long ago Prometheus told them nought but 
 
 cunning skill 
 Would gain for them high heaven, and foil the 
 
 Thunderer's will, 
 But they would not listen, that old giant brood 
 Thought that force would conquer, rough, and 
 
 strong, and rude ; 
 Now they lie for ever all bound in caverns low. 
 And Prometheus on the rock lies, doom'd to 
 
 tortures slow. 
 
 All creation mourns him, all the hills and vales, 
 PVom the fountains of the streams rise many 
 
 bubbling wails. 
 And the untamed beasts of the forest lament 
 
 with many a groan ; 
 And the living things of Nature together for him 
 
 moan.
 
 Prometheus Vincttis. 5 i 
 
 And the numberless laugh of the ocean was 
 
 hush'd for a while at his fate, 
 And the birds of the woodlands for him each 
 
 one complain'd with his mate. 
 
 All creation mourn'd him — the great foreseeing 
 
 mind ; 
 All creation mourn'd him — first lover of mankind; 
 All creation mourn'd him — him, from heaven 
 
 who stole 
 The pure bright flame for mankind, fit emblem 
 
 of his soul ; 
 Dauntless Zeus-defying, ever 'midst his pain 
 Waiting still for better things and a new and 
 
 better reign, 
 Waiting till the cycling years bring back the age 
 
 of gold, 
 And still remembering 'midst his woes the time 
 
 of Saturn old. 
 
 There in that black chasm, with the snow around, 
 Suffering endless torture in iron fetters bound, 
 On that rock he lieth, godlike, still, and great, 
 Waiting the deliverer who comes to end his fate : 
 
 b: 2
 
 52 Out of School at Eton. 
 
 All around the mountains evermore shall stand, 
 Watching still their prisoner great, like sentries 
 in the land. 
 
 MY NOVEL. 
 
 A is the gallant 
 
 In doublet and hose, 
 With a sword and a swagger 
 
 And aquiline nose. 
 B is the maiden 
 
 In purple and buff, 
 With a hat like a steeple, 
 
 And oh ! such a ruff. 
 
 A loves the maiden 
 
 So gentle and slim : 
 The maiden, moreover, 
 
 Is partial to him. 
 But C (that's the villain), 
 
 Dread foeman of A, 
 Is averse to the union — 
 
 So opens the play.
 
 Aly Novel. 53- 
 
 C tells the maiden's mother, 
 
 And the maiden's father too, 
 " Such irregular proceedings 
 
 Will really never do : 
 That your daughter, that your darling, 
 
 That the 'pearl ' so dearly prized — 
 With a veritable beggar 
 
 Should thus be 'compromised,' — 
 With a fool whose borrow'd pocket 
 
 Was not weighted with a sou ; 
 Such irregular proceedings 
 
 Would surely never do." 
 
 Up starts the angry father — 
 
 The match had fired the train — 
 And I much regret to say it, 
 
 Was disgracefully profane. 
 But the climax of my story 
 
 When my talent's at my best. 
 And the swearing, and the cursing, 
 
 And the breathless interest. 
 Came, when rushing through the garden — 
 
 Half mad with rage and hate — 
 He finds that guilty couple 
 
 In a loving tete-a-tete.
 
 54 Out of School at Eton. 
 
 So A most ignobly 
 
 Was kickM out of doors. 
 And not many years after 
 
 Fell, fighting the Moors. 
 B shut up in the castle. 
 
 With never a friend, 
 Soon dies broken-hearted — 
 
 And that is the end. 
 
 So this is my novel, 
 
 Believe me it's true, 
 And though often repeated, 
 
 Yet ever is new ; 
 For, barring the doublet, 
 
 The hanger, and ruff, 
 To find similar cases 
 
 Is easy enough. 
 
 "HODZSON." 
 
 " Thou ever strong upon the stronger side." 
 
 King John, Act iii. sc. I. 
 
 I don't know whether my friend Hodzson is ac- 
 quainted with the above passage; as "King John"
 
 '' Hodsson." 55 
 
 has not lately been set for holiday task T should 
 say probably not: but if he were, I think he 
 would say Constance paid Austria a remarkably 
 handsome compliment. Strong upon the stronger 
 side ? Really, and why not ? Strength is good, 
 a worthy desideratum, and where can it be ob- 
 tained so readily as where it abounds — on the 
 stronger side ? where be so effectual as where 
 best supported — by the stronger side ? And I 
 suppose his principles are as correct as his 
 practice — and I never knew any one make fewer 
 mistakes. " Medio tutissimus ibis : " there must 
 be something divine about this middle-way, this 
 superb abstinence from the ' falsehood of ex- 
 tremes.' To be enthusiastic — so is 'Arry 
 Snooks on his summer trip to Wales : to be 
 stern, cynical, contemptuous, — that is but a com- 
 mon symptom of indigestion. But to be Hodz- 
 son, invariably to be swayed by calm prudence, 
 by practical common-sense, by a supreme, im- 
 maculate and universal indifference — that is an 
 ideal not easily realized. 
 
 Not long ago, under the cruel necessity of 
 Sunday Questions, my attention was occupied 
 by the founders of Jesuitism ; and being re-
 
 56 Out of School at Eton. 
 
 quired to account for their personal influence, I 
 informed my division master (not in my own 
 words) that I believed it was from the force of 
 their " intense, enthusiastic, and unselfish belief." 
 And I hope that the circumstances being con- 
 sidered, my fraud may be accounted pious. Un- 
 professionally I can't believe that to have been 
 the case. Why, just look at Hodzson as he sits 
 at the end of the table. There sits Influence in- 
 carnate : I cannot describe him, you see, with 
 Anglo-Saxon words or without a capital letter. 
 Do you see Smith's anxious gaze Hodzson- 
 wards as he makes that little joke of his, his 
 joke redolent of midnight oil ? Poor Smith ! it 
 is made under approval, and who will laugh, 
 "Jove non probante " .<' And there is Jones 
 holding forth with timid profoundness about our 
 next subject for debate. He has considered the 
 subject as usual profoundly, so he says — Hodzson 
 thinks profoundly about nothing — why should 
 he ? But, a word, and down goes Jones's theory ; 
 contemptuous silence, and the eloquent philo- 
 sopher's appetite is spoiled. Look at any one 
 telling a story, a private anecdote confided to 
 his neighbour. Isn't the corner of the narrator's
 
 " Hodzsour 57 
 
 eye expressive ? Do you see who is sought out 
 and found ? Is it to Robinson alone that Brown 
 tells that exceedingly interesting anecdote about 
 Heavy's crab ? Faith? Enthusiasm? On Sun- 
 day mornings we are not unfrequently assured 
 that our Eton is a little world, that what is true 
 of the greater is true also of the less. And if so, 
 I could controvert by the fact the author of 
 Ecclesiastical Biographies. There sits the con- 
 futation. Can power be more absolute ? And I 
 never heard of Hodzson indulging in enthusiasm 
 or superabundant faith. Nor is it virtue or 
 talent or even physical excellence that con- 
 stitutes his power. It is nothing remarkable. 
 It is rather the absence of anything remarkable. 
 Friend Hodzson is not clever : neither is he 
 stupid : in games he is neither good nor bad ; 
 in work he is by no means distinguished, but 
 then he is not more than usually ignorant. He 
 is neither so high as to be too admirable for 
 familiarity nor so low as to be simply despicable. 
 He is always in all things on the standpoint. 
 Hark at Jones appealing to first principles. " Jus- 
 tice — struggling nobly into civilization — eternal 
 laws — unspeakable Turk," I can hear every now
 
 58 Out of School at Eton. 
 
 and then from my end of the table. "Very- 
 well, but practically, — " says Hodzson. Did you 
 ever see any one more completely quelled ? " Prac- 
 tically." To carry Hodzson away with you into 
 the seventh heaven ! My dear foolish Jones, I think 
 you had better go and rinish those verses. And 
 now that Jones has gone, listen : " Confound it, 
 you know, to settle the Eastern Question by an 
 appeal to first principles ! " says Hodzson the 
 sensible. We admire, and sympathize, and are 
 satisfied. But Robinson is telling his story. 
 When he came in half an hour late for school he 
 had dropped his extra work in the mud, and had 
 to go back to copy it over again. I laugh, a very 
 good excuse that. But, " You shouldn't tell so 
 many, your lies are quite stale by now," says 
 Hodzson the virtuous. How admirable is vir- 
 tue ! Confound those risible muscles of mine ! 
 And when Robinson retires to meet that en- 
 gagement we are informed that friend R. is a 
 disgrace to the house. And again we admire 
 and wonder and agree. " Strong upon the 
 stronger side " — was ever any one more so .'' 
 Yet it sounds easy enough to come to the vic- 
 tor's rescue and be remarkable for nothing. But
 
 ■" Hodzsonr 59 
 
 every one can't see which is the stronger, exactly 
 hit off the one tone sure to meet with approval 
 because it is the average tone. Can you, for in- 
 stance, brave the great Griffin, and brave him 
 successfully because you see where public 
 opinion will support you ? Griffin large of body, 
 mighty in mind, before whose force and readi- 
 ness we all hang our diminished heads ? He is 
 talking now, more fluent and amusing and para- 
 doxical than usual. Look how Hodzson listens 
 critically with head on one side, six inches below 
 Griffin's. " That is very amusing, and it is very 
 kind of you to put yourself to such trouble for 
 my amusement "; one hears it in his laugh. Not 
 even Griffin can make an impression, can make 
 him forget who is the stronger. You will hear 
 as soon as he goes how absurd it is to talk like 
 that. And we all agree : how should we not .-' 
 he is the spokesman of our thoughts, and therein 
 lies the secret of his power. The common-sense 
 of humanity, it is an expression often enough in 
 our mouths, but who knows it, who sees it clearly, 
 who invariably represents it .-' One is too extra- 
 vagant, another pitched too low. But here is a 
 true representative of public opinion, an infalli-
 
 6o Out of School at Eton, 
 
 ble popularity gauge, a personified average. 
 Sucking-philosopher Jones may convert, us by 
 a happy flight of eloquence ; Robinson pervert 
 us by a decrease of vulgarity and an increase of 
 wit, but it is only Hodzson who neither converts 
 nor perverts, but simply and solely represents. 
 I should think the species has always existed, 
 has constantly plodded through life with this 
 consistent absence of unnecessary emotion, with 
 a mind clever enough to understand a few com- 
 monplaces, to take a fairly intelligent view of 
 every-day matters, stupid enough to be obdurate 
 to all persuasion, and take its own small powers 
 of comprehension as a universal test of truth, — 
 preceding not guiding, led but seeming to lead, 
 uniform, callous, and self-sufficient. I believe 
 there is in this neighbourhood a tombstone 
 erected to the memory of Sarah Jenkins, " an 
 amiable daughter, a conscientious wife, and a 
 judicious grandmother. Her distinguishing 
 characteristic was propriety." I have not heard 
 that the Hodzsons intermarried with the Jen- 
 kinses, but if it had been so, it would have 
 been a striking example of the fact that 
 character is transmitted by race. But I suppose
 
 " Hodzsonr 6 1 
 
 the world has never lacked the like. I can fancy, 
 to recur to the age of blue paint, the radical 
 reformer of the times rising in full assembly 
 with a specimen of the " bracae " for which the 
 Romans subsequently admired our ancestors. He 
 would suggest that the present costume was not 
 ornamental, neither was it useful. It certainly 
 was not decent. Here is that which will satisfy 
 all wants. But to him uprises the sage, chosen 
 .spokesman of contemporary folly. " Reform 
 certainly was right, in moderation. He would 
 improve, not abolish, the customs of his ances- 
 tors. He need not oppose the absurd motion 
 suggested, but would rather propose an amend- 
 ment." And forthwith, I have no doubt, he 
 would lay on the table a proposal for reforming 
 the popular costume by the tasteful addition of 
 yellow stripes. Certainly, in life, as well as in 
 arguments, ignorance and indifference, are great 
 advantages ; but I think they are sometimes 
 abused.
 
 62 Out of School at Eton. 
 
 EXCELSIOR. 
 
 " The floods are in all the lower rooms, and we hear of a man 
 taking his pig with him, as an inmate of the upper story. — The 
 Tiwes, November, 1875. 
 
 The floods were coming upstairs fast, 
 As by the first-floor landing pass'd 
 A youth who cried, while on his back 
 A pig was struggling in a sack, 
 
 Excelsior. 
 
 Its head stuck out, its beady eye 
 Flash'd with regret for straw and sty, 
 While like discordant bagpipes rung 
 The accents of its well-known tongue, 
 
 Excelsior. 
 
 " This floor will do," the old man said, 
 *' Try not the attics overhead. 
 The stairs are straight, the sack is wide," 
 And loud a grunt within replied. 
 
 Excelsior. 
 
 " Oh, stay," the maiden said, " and rest 
 That wrinkled snout upon this breast." 
 The porker scorns the soft appeal. 
 And still keeps up the ceaseless squeal. 
 
 Excelsior.
 
 Fragment. 63 
 
 " Don't let him out !" the old man spake, 
 " Think of the awful rout he'll make." 
 This was the peasant's last good night ; 
 A voice cried, half-way up the flight, 
 
 Excelsior. 
 
 The pig was drown'd ; when dawn'd the day 
 Lifeless but beautiful he lay, 
 But ere he died, from attic high 
 Grunted still scornful of his sty. 
 
 Excelsior. 
 
 FRAGMENT. 
 
 K is the Kingdom he's come to reform, 
 E the Entrenchments of vice that he'll storm, 
 N the New light that will lighten our yoke ; 
 E the Enlighten'd Electors of Stoke : 
 A the great Anger that fills him with fire, 
 L is the Law that he'll raise from the mire : 
 Y 's the Yahoo to the kingdom unknown 
 Till Kenealy arose, and Kenealy alone.
 
 64 Out of School at Eton. 
 
 THE PHILOSOPHER AND THE 
 PHILANTHROPIST. 
 
 Searching an infinite Where, 
 Probing a bottomless When, 
 
 Dreamfully wandering, 
 
 Ceaselessly pondering, 
 What is the Wherefore of men : 
 Bartering life for a There, 
 Selling his soul for a Then, 
 
 Baffling obscurity, 
 
 Conning futurity, 
 Usefulest, wisest of men ! 
 
 Grasping the Present of Life, 
 Seizing a definite Now, 
 
 Labouring thornfuUy, 
 
 Banishing scornfully 
 Doubts of his Whither and How^ 
 Spending his substance in Strife, 
 Working a practical How, 
 
 Letting obscurity 
 
 Rest on futurity, 
 Usefuler, v/iser, I trow.
 
 The Cairn, 65 
 
 THE CAIRN. 
 
 Tell me, thou cairn of memory old, 
 The meaning that in thy semblance lies, 
 
 Dost guard the last sleep of a warrior bold, 
 Who died as the war-stricken hero dies ? 
 
 Did the wild dirge swell o'er the mountain peak, 
 Like the moan of the wind through the pine- 
 tree wood ? 
 Did the sadden'd note of the clarion speak 
 Of the loss of the brave, and the true, and the 
 good ? 
 
 Or didst thou behold the mystic gloom 
 That erst o'ershadow'd religion's shrine ? 
 
 Didst thou rise as the self-given victim's tomb ? 
 Was an office of vain superstition thine ? 
 
 Didst thou a conqueror's triumph share, 
 When, echoing down the rock-girt vale. 
 
 The swell of victory fill'd the air, 
 
 " Hail to the Cambrian Chieftain, hail ?" 
 
 Thou hast heard the fitful breeze rejoice, 
 Whate'er thy birth, whate'er thy lore, 
 
 Thou hast heard the wail of the storm wind's voice, 
 With the thunder's roll and the torrent's roar. 
 
 F
 
 66 Oict of School at Eton. 
 
 May'st thou in cold indifference yet 
 A thousand winters' fierceness brave, 
 
 For thou markest what we may ne'er forget, 
 A warrior's triumph or a chieftain's grave. 
 
 CLODHOPPERS. 
 
 No, don't ask me, Joe, 
 
 Of Tom that is pass'd away. 
 Just seventeen years ago ; 
 
 Seventeen years, did I say .? 
 For it seems but a week, but a week since poor 
 Tom pass'd away. 
 
 No, don't ask me ; he's gone. 
 
 Brother Tom has gone to his place, 
 And I'm left here alone, 
 
 Here, till I end my days. 
 But, Joe, in the other world, how dare I look 
 Tom in the face .'* 
 
 Ah, you remember, Joe, 
 
 We were boys together at school,
 
 Clodhoppers. 6^ 
 
 I slighted him — him you know, 
 
 I call'd him a sorry fool. 
 And we thought him a dolt, you remember, he 
 bore it all so cool. 
 
 Do you remember, Joe, 
 
 That day when we play'd at ball ? 
 And he was standing so. 
 
 Just under the old school wall, 
 Standing, watching our game, as he used to, just 
 within call. 
 
 And how ni}' ball hit a child 
 
 That was playing near in the hay ? 
 
 And how he ran up, and smiled 
 To it, just in his old kind way ? 
 
 And coax'd it, and brought it home, while we went 
 on with our play. 
 
 And then that winter too, 
 
 When I was a-courting Jane ; 
 And we walk'd down, I and you. 
 
 Just to look at her house again. 
 And we saw him watching us there, at the corner 
 
 of Borough Lane. 
 
 F 2
 
 68 Out of School at Eton. 
 
 Yes, I remember now, 
 
 Just seventeen years ago, 
 That day when I told him how 
 
 I loved her, and all you know, 
 That he trembled, and didn't answer at first ; 
 you remember, Joe ? 
 
 And then that wintry day 
 
 We walk'd out, Jane and I, 
 And met him, Jane turn'd away, 
 
 And I said, " Did you come to spy ? " 
 I remember, Joe, as he turn'd, that I saw a tear 
 in his eye. 
 
 And it wasn't long after, I think. 
 On the ice, on the pond down there, 
 
 That we saw him again on the brink, 
 And he call'd to us ; Jane, my dear. 
 
 You remember we turn'd away, and pretended 
 not to hear. 
 
 And then of a sudden the ice 
 
 Gave way ; with a terrible cry, 
 And just in front of my eyes, 
 
 As I struggled, fit to die, 
 A figure leap'd down from the bank — it seem'd 
 to fall from the sky.
 
 The Ascent of Scawfell Pike. 69 
 
 Then o'er me a darkness came 
 
 Like a veil, and a chilling pain, 
 Yet I seem'd to be all a-flame 
 
 With horror and fear for Jane, 
 And I thought of Tom ; but, Joe, I never saw 
 him again. 
 
 They say that he jump'd from the bank. 
 And saved us ; they show'd me the place 
 
 He jump'd from, then he sank 
 
 Through the cold. God give me grace 
 
 To go where he is. But then how dare I look 
 him in the face ? 
 
 THE ASCENT OF SCAWFELL PIKE. 
 
 {Being an Account of an Excursion made hi the 
 Summer Holidays of 1875.) 
 
 Our great expedition of the season (by the 
 season I mean the autumn months) was to be the 
 ascent of Scawfell Pikes, or rather the highest of 
 the three, being the only one which has authentic 
 claims to the title of King of English mountains
 
 70 Out of School at Eton. 
 
 (Emperor, I ought perhaps to say), and which, 
 although its majesty is not particularly exalted 
 compared Avith other and foreign rivals, at the 
 same time reflects great credit on old England, 
 whose chef d'oeuvre in the mountain line it un- 
 doubtedly is. We had fixed a day for this 
 undertaking, to which we were anxiously looking 
 forward, myself more especially, as this was to 
 be my maiden essay as a climber, and though 
 we were not quite such tyros as to count the 
 intervening hours and minutes, yet we were 
 sufficiently interested to pull up our blinds the 
 very first thing when the actual morning did 
 arrive, and to thank Heaven that at least it was 
 not raining. If any who read this are of Alpine 
 celebrity, let them not laugh at my enthusiasm, 
 but call to mind the old proverb which says, 
 " A small spark kindles a great flame." Before 
 beginning my story I will disclaim any reference 
 to guide-books, in the majority of which there 
 is nothing to my mind more monotonous than 
 the constant repetition of statistics as to height, 
 depth, length, breadth, and the numerous small- 
 print quotations from our English poets, whose 
 panegyrics on the lake and mountain scenery of
 
 The Ascejit of S caw fell Pike. 7 1 
 
 Cumberland and Westmoreland, although no 
 doubt very delightful, are at the same time a 
 little trite. But to return to my sheep, as the 
 French would say, though, as I was the youngest 
 of the party, the simile of a shepherd is hardly 
 suitable in this case. There were nine of us, all 
 told, and as we were quartered at some distance 
 from the field, or, more truly, mountain of 
 action, we were compelled to start early on a 
 ten miles' drive to Bassenthwaite, whence we 
 took train to Keswick. On arriving there, we 
 strolled into the town, some of our party, of 
 course, investing in the indigenous lead pencils, 
 and finally, all squeezed into a small and rather 
 dilapidated waggonette, driven by a greasy 
 charioteer, who, by dint of guttural chucklings, 
 interspersed with a series of chirruping sibilations, 
 endeavoured to rouse the slumbering mettle of 
 his scarcely responsive pair. However, we were 
 taken at a moderate pace along the east shore 
 of the lake, past Barrow and Lodore, catching 
 delightful glimpses of their respective cascades, 
 past the Bowder stone and Castle Crag, up 
 through Borrowdaile to Seatollar. At Ros- 
 thwaite, the name given to a few houses about a
 
 72 Out of School at Eton, 
 
 mile before Seatollar, we stopped to take up our 
 guide, by name Jackson, by trade a bootmaker, 
 but who, with the addition of a coat^ hat,, and 
 stick, was soon metamorphosed from the cobbler 
 into the mountaineer. At the same place we 
 hired a pony to take over our clothes, which 
 were all compressed into one small portmanteau, 
 to Dungeon Gill Hotel, where we intended to 
 sleep the night, and of which more anon. During 
 our drive we were preceded and followed b)-' 
 waggonettes (apparently the only form of vehicle 
 known in that part of the world) filled with a 
 motley collection of tourists and holiday makers, 
 who, however, had different game in view, for to 
 our great relief we saw nothing of them for the 
 rest of the day. At Seatollar we disembarked, 
 dismissed our unctuous coachman and his jaded 
 steeds, and commenced operations by crossing 
 a small bridge near the rise of the Derwent, 
 which is tliere known under the name of the 
 Grange. The clouds were hanging heavily on 
 the surrounding hill-tops, and looked especially 
 thick in the direction of Scawfell ; but though 
 our prospects of a good view from the summit 
 whenever we should get there were hardly re-
 
 The Ascent of Scaivfell Pike. 73 
 
 assuring, yet having gone so far we were not 
 inclined to beat a retreat, and trusted to " un- 
 foreseen contingencies" to explain away the 
 mists which seemed bent on marring our chances 
 of success. It was about twelve o'clock when we 
 started, and we hoped to accomplish the ascent 
 in three hours. We had the choice of two pre- 
 liminary routes open to us, preliminary because 
 they both led ultimately to the same point, viz., 
 the foot of the Pikes, which we should have to 
 cHmb from the same side in either case ; the 
 one which was longer and easier, being accessible 
 even to ponies, diverged considerably to the 
 right in the direction of Sty Head Tarn and 
 Sprinkling Tarn ; the other, which was shorter 
 but steeper, led to our left ; we chose the latter. 
 For the first hour our line of march, though very 
 up-hill work, lay entirely over grass-land, varied 
 by bits of marsh, and well irrigated by the 
 numerous little becks which splashed along on 
 all sides of us. The higher we mounted the 
 prettier became the retrospect towards Uerwent- 
 water, which looked especially lovely with the 
 green islands dotted here and there over its sur- 
 face, and its waves having that peculiar flushed
 
 74 Out of School at Eton. 
 
 appearance which the wind imparts to water 
 when in motion. At half-past one we sat down 
 upon some rocks to eat our luncheon, consisting 
 of hard-boiled eggs and sandwiches, washed 
 down by cold water from a neighbouring rill. 
 Soon after we reached a kind of level plateau, 
 having accomplished the first and easiest half of 
 our journey ; from here we caught a glimpse of 
 Windermere, with the sunlight playing on it far 
 away to the east. We had now left grass-land, 
 and the ground we traversed consisted entirely 
 of great blocks of stone piled irregularly one 
 upon another, and having a grey, skeleton-like 
 appearance, in striking contrast with the tufts of 
 lichen that clung to their sides. A spur of 
 Bowfell had first to be surmounted, a pass called 
 Eskhause to be crossed, and at last we were at 
 the foot, not of Scawfell Pike itself, but of the 
 range that collectively bears its name. Foremost 
 of these was Great End, with its long, narrow 
 summit, which we had to climb on one side and 
 descend on the other, only to repeat the process 
 with other and similar ridges which lay in our 
 path. Whilst descending one of these the clouds, 
 which had hitherto persistently shut out all sur-
 
 The Ascent of Scaivfell Pike. 75 
 
 rounding view, suddenly lifted, and disclosed to 
 our eyes the great pile of Scawfell Pike looming 
 right before us, conspicuous by the hummock of 
 stones erected on its highest point. Here we 
 met some dejected tourists returning from the 
 summit, where they said that they had waited 
 for half-an-hour in hopes that the mist would 
 clear ofif, but all to no purpose, as they had seen 
 next to nothing ; this was rather a gloomy pro- 
 spect, but Ave were not to be discouraged, and 
 continued the ascent up a very rocky path, the 
 steepest bit that we had yet climbed, and were 
 at length rewarded by finding ourselves standing 
 on the top of Scawfell Pike. It was half-past 
 three o'clock when we reached the summit. Our 
 first feeling was one of satisfaction at having 
 .surmounted all difficulties, and at being for the 
 nonce on a higher elevation than any one else 
 in England ; our second, a rapid perception of 
 the fact that it was uncommonly cold. The 
 winds, however calm below, could hardly be 
 expected to retain their serenity at a height of 
 3208 feet above the level of the sea, and swept 
 round us with a velocity of I-don't-know-how- 
 many miles an hour. So we put on our coats
 
 76 Out of School at Eton. 
 
 and wraps, which our guide had been instru- 
 mental in carrying up for us, and sat down with 
 our backs to the great cairn, which protected us 
 from the violence of the wind. Having thus 
 provided for the outer man, we were able to 
 look about us. The mountain on which we sat 
 was a gigantic heap of enormous masses of 
 loose rock, which one could imagine had either 
 been thrown up by some pre-historic convulsion 
 of nature, or swept by a deluge which had 
 washed away every particle of soil from between 
 them. The mists curled and wreathed around 
 us, up through the valleys at our feet to the 
 mountain tops, which rose in never-ending suc- 
 cession on all sides of us. Occasionally, as a 
 sudden gust of wind drove them away, and 
 during the intervals of sunshine, the view be- 
 came more extended, and we might well con- 
 gratulate ourselves on the good fortune that 
 attended us, for our guide told us that nine 
 times out of ten one might come up and see 
 comparatively nothing. Looking towards Bor- 
 rowdale we could trace the whole line of our 
 ascent ; beyond Derwentwater the view was 
 closed by Skiddaw, with not a cloud on its
 
 The Ascent of Scazvfell Pike, jy 
 
 summit, and second only in importance to 
 Scawfell itself; a little to its right was Hel- 
 vellyn, also a king among mountains ; still 
 further to the east lay Windermere, flashing like 
 a diamond under the rays of the sun in the 
 dark setting of the surrounding elevations, whilst 
 far away beyond it we could distinguish the 
 faint outline of Ingleborough and the Yorkshire 
 hills. Turning to our left Great Gable frowned 
 directly before us — a sheer wall of rock from 
 the path that runs beneath it to its summit 
 — over which in the distance the Scottish hills 
 bounded the horizon. A bit of Ireland is some- 
 times, though very rarely, visible across the 
 intervening ocean. Our guide had only once 
 seen it, and the sappers and miners conducting 
 the Ordnance Survey had been no better 
 favoured during a stay of nine weeks on the 
 summit, where we could still see the remains 
 of the huts which they had erected. On this 
 occasion the fog brooded heavily over the sea, 
 and no view was to be obtained in that direc- 
 tion. On the other, or southern side, as the 
 mists rolled away, Wastwater, which lay almost 
 immediately below us, was momentarily visible.
 
 ^S Out of School at Eton, 
 
 with the mountains running straight down to its 
 margin, and, as it were, dipping their feet in its 
 waters, on which a dull grey shimmer rested, 
 hardly to be distinguished from the clouds them- 
 selves which enveloped it, and pertinaciously 
 closed again as soon as they had for an instant 
 given way before the driving of the wind. 
 Further to the south we could see Morecambe 
 Bay and the Lancashire coast, the smoke from 
 the chimneys of its manufacturing towns curling 
 straight up in the air, untouched by the winds 
 which raged all around us. The summit of 
 Snowdon has been seen on a very clear day 
 in October, but this was not by any means a 
 clear day, nor was it in the month of October, 
 and our prospect towards the south was very 
 limited. 
 
 The nearest mountain to ourselves was Scaw- 
 fell, not to be confounded with the higher 
 elevation of Scawfell Pike, on which we were 
 standing, and separated from it by Mickledore 
 Chasm, which our guide pointed out to us on 
 the face of the mountain. He had once crossed 
 it, but manifested no inclination to repeat the 
 experiment, although he told us that ladies had
 
 The Ascent of S caw fell Pike. 79 
 
 been known successfully to brave its dangers. 
 After staying for three-quarters of an hour on 
 the summit we commenced the descent, and had 
 not proceeded far when our guide bade us look 
 back at the Isle of Man, pointing the while in 
 the direction of the sea behind us. He must 
 veritably have been lynx-eyed, for at first we 
 could distinguish nothing, and were inclined to 
 think that he was humbugging us ; but on a 
 sudden the clouds lifted, and there in all truth 
 lay the island right before us, the range of hills 
 running down its centre giving it the appearance 
 of one large mountain, with such an air of sub- 
 stantiality and propinquity about it that we 
 could hardly believe that it was some forty-five 
 miles distant as the crow flies from where we 
 stood looking at it. A little further down we 
 caught a glimpse of Crummock Water, one of 
 the prettiest of the lakes, half hidden away 
 among the hills. Our line of descent was the 
 same as that we had followed on our upward 
 journey till we reached the level plateau which 
 I have before mentioned, when, instead of going 
 down Borrowdale, we turned to the right en 
 rente for Dungeon Gill. Our day's walk was
 
 8o Old of School at Eton. 
 
 not yet over, for, before reaching our goal, we 
 had to descend a very steep bit called Rosset 
 Gill. They may say facilis descensus Averni, 
 but this was far from easy, and the Avernus of 
 the ancients must have been a very different 
 thing from the Rosset Gill of the moderns. 
 Jolting of the knee-joints is a most unpleasant 
 sensation, and we now experienced it to perfec- 
 tion ; we were cheered, however, by the prospect 
 of a long rest and good cheer as soon as we 
 reached the bottom, for our hotel was, we were 
 told, just round the corner. It is the way of the 
 world, I suppose, but the "just round the corner " 
 was more like two miles, and though we each in 
 turn indignantly repelled the charge, yet we 
 were thoroughly tired out when, at seven o'clock, 
 we found ourselves seated in the parlour (coffee- 
 room is too dignified a name) of the hostelry of 
 Dungeon Gill. Food was at once set before us, 
 and we ate and drank. I will not go into par- 
 ticulars. Suffice it to say that the inemi was 
 such as to inspire one of our party with poetical 
 ideas, and before retiring to bed he had im- 
 provised and committed to posterity in the 
 Visitors' Book (a most curious collection of
 
 A Vale7ttine. 8i 
 
 hieroglyphics), where it may be seen to this day 
 the following miserable stanza : — 
 
 ' "At Dungeon Gill we had our fill 
 
 Of poached eggs and bacon ; 
 The butter'd toast of which they boast 
 Was certainly no take-in." 
 
 I, for my part, couldn't understand the last 
 line of his effusion, because we " certainly " had 
 '* taken in " considerable amounts of the " poached 
 eggs and bacon ;" so I ended by ascribing it to 
 the promptings of poetical licence, combined 
 with the post-prandial effects of the " buttered 
 toast," and went to bed. 
 
 A VALENTINE, 
 
 I'm the boat that you have lost, 
 Floating down the river, 
 
 I'm the boat that you have lost, 
 Which you've lost for ever. 
 
 I have floated miles away, 
 
 G
 
 82 Out of School at Eton. 
 
 Floated, floated many a day. 
 
 Floated down the river, 
 Past the rapids white with spray. 
 Past the reaches calm and gray, 
 I have floated many a day, 
 And shall float for ever. 
 
 Down the beck I hurried fast, 
 Down the little beck I pass'd 
 
 Down into the river ; 
 So I reach'd the sea at last. 
 
 Where I float for ever ; 
 Storm and rain and tempest-toss'd, 
 Warp'd by sun and wind and frost. 
 Floating bottom-uppermost, 
 I'm the boat that you have lost. 
 
 Which you've lost for ever. 
 
 Here for ever shall I float, 
 Here in waters most remote 
 
 From my own dear river, 
 Here for ever shall I float, 
 Most unhappy little boat. 
 
 Float and float for ever ;
 
 Serenade. 83 
 
 If you don't, whate'er the cost, 
 Answer by return of post, 
 You'll be haunted by the ghost 
 Of the boat that you have lost, 
 Lost perhaps for ever. 
 
 SERENADE. 
 
 " Come, my pretty capybara. 
 
 Come along with me you must, 
 Come along with me and share a 
 Sixteen-pennyworth of crust. 
 
 " Come and see the young opossums 
 Sitting in the pleasant shade, 
 See them crown'd with orange-blossoms, 
 Drinking cooling orangeade. 
 
 " Come and see the gay gorilla 
 Sitting on his mother's knee, 
 Though so young he soon would kill a 
 Maggot or a humble bee. 
 G 2
 
 ^4 Out of School at Eton. 
 
 " See the sweet ornithorhynchus, 
 Who, I hope, is very well ; 
 Also that he does not think us 
 
 Far more rude than words can telL 
 
 " Gaze upon the ringtail'd lemur, 
 With what elephantine pride 
 In a Transatlantic steamer 
 Does it watch the rising tide. 
 
 " And observe the armadillo 
 Playing billiards with a cat. 
 As he leans upon a pillow 
 Slowly putting on his hat. 
 
 " Listen to my plaintive metre. 
 Listen to my mournful rhyme, 
 Shall I tell you how the cheetah 
 Took his morning bath in lime ? 
 
 " Shall I tell you how the shepherd 
 Who for long had sought his flock. 
 Found them all inside a leopard, 
 Basking underneath a rock .''
 
 Serenade. 8 5 
 
 " But beware, for I shall deem you 
 Too extravagant in taste 
 If you hunt the wily emu, 
 
 Scouring o'er its native waste. 
 
 " Do not imitate that quagga, 
 
 Who the zebra's trousers stole, 
 Merely (so he said) to swagger 
 When he call'd upon a mole. 
 
 " Firstly, let us make a treaty 
 Whensoe'er we see a whale. 
 For the sake of spermaceti 
 Not to pull it by the tail. 
 
 " Nor to take it up and skin its 
 Head, or hit it on the spine, 
 Nor to leave it many minutes 
 In a glass of boiling wine. 
 
 " Come along, and bring your people. 
 Come along, I am not proud, 
 We will sit upon a steeple, 
 
 Gazing on the passing crowd."
 
 86 Out of School at Eton. 
 
 Speaking thus the mosasaurus 
 Vanish'd into empty space, 
 
 As a phantom flees before us, 
 With a smile upon his face. 
 
 THE MAELSTROM. 
 
 Know'st not thou where in billowy war 
 The surges beat Lofoden's shore, 
 But angrier is the sullen roar 
 
 Of the Maelstrom ? 
 
 Where bellows in his ocean cell 
 The Sea-Gnome with a louder yell 
 Than might resound th' abyss of hell : 
 ^Tis the Maelstrom \ 
 
 Yonder, the rampart of the sky, 
 
 A reef-belt thwarts the wilder'd eye. 
 
 And echoes back the agony 
 
 Of the Maelstrom.
 
 The Maelstrom. 8y 
 
 Topping the coast, Helseggen's rock 
 Scornful defies the tempest's shock, 
 And looks down with an icy mock 
 
 On the Maelstrom. 
 
 The Viking knew its distant hum, 
 Deep-gotten like a muffled drum. 
 And cursing said, " I dare not come 
 
 Near the Maelstrom." 
 
 The Norseman sees the frenzied main 
 Swirling and swelt'ring, writhe in pain, 
 While rocks give back the wild refrain 
 To the Maelstrom. 
 
 The whirlpool seems to knell his doom, 
 And call him to a watery tomb. 
 Where opens wide its ghostly womb 
 
 The dread Maelstrom. 
 
 Only a seething frothy heap 
 
 Curling around the eddying steep, 
 
 As if to girdle in the deep. 
 
 Crowns the Maelstrom. 
 I
 
 88 Out of School at Eton. 
 
 Its walls are bright as burnish'd steel, 
 Its ebon waters circling wheel, 
 And from the depths with thunder'd peal 
 Cries the Maelstrom ! 
 
 Beneath the chaos of its bed 
 Can mortal tell the myriad dead, 
 O'er whom the billows harmless tread 
 'Neath the Maelstrom ? 
 
 THE FRIAR AND THE FAIRY. 
 
 (Appeared in The Etonian,) 
 
 Sir, — Last holidays, on a tour in a distant 
 and out-of-the-way country, my friend and I 
 came upon a secluded valley to which a curious 
 legend was attached. My friend being of a 
 poetical turn of mind has shaped the said tale 
 into what he styles " congenial verse." More- 
 over he has insisted on its appearing in your 
 columns ; and much against my will I enclose 
 his rather doubtful production, which he 
 styles, —
 
 The Friar and the Fairy. 89 
 
 The Friar and the Fairy. 
 A Legend of St. Holias Danmsalensis. 
 
 I. 
 
 The Fairy. 
 
 There dwelt a Fairy far away, 
 
 Throned on an icy height, 
 On her ne'er rested golden ray 
 
 Nor fell the folds of night. 
 
 Beneath her star-embroider'd veil 
 Shone forth her cold blue eyes. 
 
 Warm rain around her fell in hail, 
 Tears changed to tearless sighs. 
 
 All cold and calm the sky above, 
 
 All cold the ice beneath, 
 All cold and stiff fell eager love 
 
 Beneath her chilly breath. 
 
 Nor raging storm nor burning heat 
 
 Disturb'd her calm repose. 
 Pure blue o'er head, beneath her feet 
 
 The everlasting snows.
 
 QO Out of School at Eton. 
 
 In death-like isolation cold 
 
 She ruled the realms of ice, 
 Far down the sounding vdlley roll'd 
 
 Her bitter melodies. 
 
 " Flow by, O river of life, 
 
 All turbid with maddening hate, 
 Vain passion, and fury, and strife. 
 Vain struggles of lowly and great. 
 
 " All bright are thy ripples above, 
 
 But all cold is the current beneath : 
 Is not hate the destroyer of love ? 
 What is life but the victim of death ? 
 
 " O river of life, flow by. 
 
 To be lost in the deeps of the sea, 
 Unscathed of thy fury am I, 
 Thy passion is folly to me. 
 
 " I have tasted enough of thy sweets, 
 I am sick of thy hopes and thy fears, 
 Vain glory that ever retreats, 
 
 Vain hopes, disappointment, and tears.
 
 TJie Friar and the Fairy. 9 1 
 
 " O river of life, flow on, 
 
 Flow on to thy end in the deep ; 
 Thou too shouldst pass and be gone, 
 Leave me here to my passionless sleep." 
 
 She sang and smiled a bitter smile, 
 With bitter curve of sneering lips. 
 
 The aged mountains throbb'd the while, 
 And ocean with his myriad ships. 
 
 II. 
 
 The Friar. 
 
 But slowly up the valley toil'd, 
 
 With threadbare cloak all travel-soil'd, — 
 
 That Adam once had worn and Eve'd 
 
 Patch'd fifty times, so men believed ; 
 
 Yet proof against hell's hottest fire — 
 
 A most dilapidated friar. 
 
 His step was slow, his back was bent. 
 
 For such a practical ascent 
 
 Of un-ideal " narrow ways " 
 
 Upon the hottest of hot days 
 
 He found did not exactly suit 
 
 His limbs and years and size to boot.
 
 92 Out of School at Eton. 
 
 A man one bitter lesson taught, 
 Brought up to know one only "ought" 
 That God above was King of Heaven : 
 The empire of the world was given 
 A chosen Man, whose will was law 
 To bind or loose for evermore. 
 Who'd calmly doom to endless woe 
 The struggling race of men below, 
 Yet labour'd heart and soul to save 
 Their sinful bodies from the grave. 
 
 Around him flock'd with mocking cries. 
 And bitter jest and scornful eyes. 
 The sinful people of the vale. 
 To hear the pious stranger's tale. 
 
 III. 
 
 The Metamorphosis. 
 
 Far off, upon her azure throne, 
 
 Who ruled the lonely wastes alone, 
 
 Her cold brow crown'd with chilly lights. 
 
 The icy queen of icy heights, 
 
 Heard thunder down the sounding dale, 
 
 And proudly pierce the misty veil,
 
 The Friar and the Fairy. 93 
 
 And strike the desert peaks above, 
 The blessed words of peace and love. 
 Oh loud and long laugh'd she, " At length, 
 Pale friar, I measure strength with strength," 
 And down the valley terribly- 
 Back whirl'd her mighty melody. 
 
 " Echo, re-echo, resounding hills, 
 Whisper in answer eternal snow. 
 Murmuring chant my myriad rills. 
 Chant to the craven crowd below. 
 
 " Prate poor pedants of peace and love. 
 Beauty and virtue, if so ye will. 
 Prate of predestined heaven above. 
 
 And the freed soul's purity, prate your fill. 
 
 " For the rocks will frown and the rivulet flow. 
 And the strong rays redden the peaks 
 above. 
 While man's cold corpse is rotting below. 
 With his vain, vain visions of peace and 
 love." 
 
 She sang, and rock and stream and trqe 
 Caught up the mystic melody,
 
 94 Out of School at Eton. 
 
 From rugged peak and tender cloud, 
 A thousand voices echoed loud, 
 " While man's pale corpse is rotting below, 
 With his vain, vain visions of peace and 
 love :" 
 Broke up the pious congregation. 
 The Friar's triumphant peroration 
 On heavenly joys, angelic smiles, 
 And all the devil's deadly wiles. 
 Straight ceased the saint, indignant : first 
 Dares subtle Satan do his worst 
 With " magic sights and songs accurst :" 
 And shakes a heaven-abetted fist. 
 But slowly rose a wreathed mist 
 And far away he sees uprise 
 A mighty form, and piercing eyes, 
 Shedding around a glory cold. 
 Heart searching, awful to behold. 
 But bravely o'er her lonely snows 
 The worthy friar's defiance rose ; 
 " Thou wilt not live a human life. 
 Thou hatest human love and strife, 
 Then there for ever shalt thou sit 
 All lonely, since thou wishest it : 
 There throned upon the desert height
 
 I hood. 95 
 
 For aye enjoy the wish'd delight, 
 Look down in scorn on men below, 
 The lonely queen of ice and snow." 
 He said, and all her awful grace, 
 Her mystic form and scornful face, 
 Was slowly stiffen'd, — cold and white 
 Upon the earth-disdaining height : 
 Her eyes still gleaming passive hate, 
 She tower'd in solitary state : 
 Uncaring she of weal or woe, 
 A pinnacle of ghastly snow. 
 
 A sharp attack of gout next year 
 Cut short the blessed saint's career. 
 
 IHOOD. 
 
 (Appeared in The Eionian. ) 
 
 " IhoOD " is a word, readers of T/ie Etonian, 
 learned and unlearned, grave and gay, with 
 which you are probably as unfamiliar as I was 
 until the sight of it a day or two ago in an
 
 9^ Out of School at Eton. 
 
 author cf much repute led me to consider it, 
 and so to the conclusion that under other 
 names the matter of its composition is well 
 known to us all. Having acquired which piece 
 of valuable information, after the manner of my 
 egotistical fraternity of scribblers, I could not 
 rest until I had let the world, or at any rate that 
 portion of it which reads The Etonian, know of 
 my discovery, heedless whether that discovery 
 were clad in the alluring garb of novelty or not. 
 Perhaps, however, good readers, kind though you 
 be, a guerdon of curses will be mine at your hands 
 if I do not speedily make an end of what you 
 may be pleased to term my conceited circumlo- 
 cution, and come to the point. The conclusion, 
 then, at which I arrived was that its three com- 
 ponent ingredients are each well known under 
 their individual names, but are here fused 
 together in such a form as well illustrates man's 
 subtlety in obscuring the unpleasant realities of 
 life under shadows more or less idealistic. 
 
 Firstly. Egoism ; that intense appreciation of 
 self to be observed so frequently both in works 
 and words, both in monkey and man ; that 
 boundless delight that wise men as well as fools
 
 Ihood. 97 
 
 take in referring to exploits of their own, usually 
 of the least possible interest to their hearers. 
 People of this nature are apt too to regard any 
 dignity which may be reflected on them by 
 holding a post of trust and honour as proof 
 infallible of their own personal worth, a mistake 
 which occasionally involves them in a quagmire 
 of humiliation. Specimens of the class of 
 egoists, lashed by the powerful pen of Addison, 
 " who delight in repeating as sayings of their 
 own jests which were made before they were 
 born," are occasionally to be met with at Eton 
 and elsewhere. 
 
 Secondly. Selfishness, the chillest of all sins. 
 Truly "the wintry cold wherein the mists of 
 selfishness have wrapped the society of men " 
 is a cold which pierces through many a thick 
 garment woven of the good fabric of friendship. 
 Its approach is insidious ; its arrival as fatal to 
 the tender plant of neighbourliness as ever an 
 early frOst to the flowers of summer. Not that 
 I would have you suppose, however, that selfish- 
 ness and heat are incompatible, for somebody 
 says that " extreme self-lovers will set a man's 
 house on fire, though it were but to roast their 
 
 H
 
 98 Out of School at Eton. 
 
 own eggs." Well, there is plenty of selfishness 
 at Eton in many a garb which it is needless to 
 particularize. Verbum sapientibus. 
 
 Thirdly. Self-consciousness, which grows a 
 plentiful crop amongst us, in some cases to be 
 pitied, in some ridiculed ; in some cases falling 
 before the sickle of good sense, in others doom- 
 ing its possessor to perpetual puppydom. 
 
 At this point I found myself reflecting that 
 " Ihood " might possibly be also the assertion 
 of Raphael Aben-Ezra's axiom of '^ I am I;" 
 an axiom which, if it be not followed by that 
 philosopher's doubts as to whether it should not 
 rather be " I am not I " (for, said he, ^' am I 
 to be illogical enough to stand up and swear 
 stoutly that I am one thing when all I am 
 conscious of is the devil only knows how many 
 things "), ought to lead every one to take 
 especial care that in his own case " I am I " 
 may be an assertion of which he shall have no 
 call to be ashamed; a thing easily done if the 
 " I " divested of its " hood " will connect itself 
 with the Thou, " our relations to whom in their 
 manifold varieties are the source of all our 
 affections and all our duties."
 
 Lifies at the River Side. 99 
 
 LINES AT THE RIVER SIDE, 
 
 SHOWING HOW THE POET WAS UNFORTU- 
 NATELY DISAPPOINTED OF A MOST TRAGIC 
 THEME. 
 
 'TiS but a work of the loom, 
 'Tis but a shawl on the grass, 
 'Tis but a remnant, alas ! 
 
 Remnant of what and of whom ? 
 
 Surely some victim of woe 
 Left it to bleach on the brink. 
 Left it to plunge and to sink 
 
 Under the waters below. 
 
 Doubt, hesitation, and fear. 
 Madness, delusion, despair, 
 All of them culminate there. 
 
 There by the swift-rushing weir. 
 
 Was it a husband she fled, 
 Drunken, of reason bereft } 
 Was it a child that she left 
 • Peaceful and pale in its bed ? 
 II 2
 
 100 Out of School at Eton. 
 
 Rash was the folly, I trow, 
 Vice got the best of the strife. 
 One little moment of life ! 
 
 What would she give for it now ? 
 
 Ha ! what has shatter'd it all ? 
 
 How is my Muse disarray 'd ? 
 
 Only a nursery-maid 
 Come back to look for her shawl. 
 
 ARIADNE. 
 
 So all day long she roam'd about the beach 
 •And listen'd to the moaning of the sea 
 Splashing upon the rocks ; above, the sky 
 Was blue, as is the violet in the spring ; 
 Behind her lay the isle all beautiful 
 Like unto Paradise ; for then it was 
 The morning of the world, and everything 
 Was young. But she alone was desolate ; 
 The murmuring zephyrs fann'd her beauteous 
 face,
 
 ''Angle Tarn" loi 
 
 The gentle waves fell cooling her small feet, 
 The vines entwined her with their soft embrace, 
 Trying to stay her ; aloft the fair sun shone, 
 The sea-birds wheel'd around with circling flight, 
 Like happy souls departed of the blest, 
 But she mourn'd on, there was no happiness 
 For her in happy nature, but she still 
 Heard only the soft moaning of the sea 
 And wander'd desolate along the beach. 
 
 "ANGLE TARN." 
 
 A REMINISCENCE OF THE CUMBERLAND LAKE 
 
 DISTRICT. 
 
 High above the distant ocean, 
 Deep embosom'd in the hills, 
 
 Sleeps a tarn, unknown to legend, 
 Fed by countless tiny rills. 
 
 Mountain-girt its cold blue waters 
 
 Seem to tell a dreamy tale 
 Of some by-gone generation 
 
 When the eve begins to pale.
 
 1 02 Out of School at Eton. 
 
 And, as twilight's shadows deepen 
 O'er the surface of the mere, 
 
 In its wavelets frown reflected 
 
 Beetling heights of mountain sere. 
 
 But when night reigns undisputed, 
 Silver'd by the rising moon, 
 
 Like an evening star it glitters, 
 Or the Sun-God at his noon. 
 
 Rather would I see it crested 
 Billow-like with flakes of foam, 
 
 When the thunder's boom re-echoes 
 Through the fortress of its home ; 
 
 When its murky waves are smitten 
 By the flash of Heaven's fire. 
 
 And the darkling hills illumined, 
 Like the blaze of funeral pyre. 
 
 Oft the shepherd stays to wonder 
 At the grandeur of the scene. 
 
 Either side the cloud-capp'd summits^, 
 And the storm-toss'd lake between.
 
 Mea Culpa. 103 
 
 Homeward then he faster presses 
 
 To his cabin on the fell, 
 And his rugged heart is soften'd 
 
 As it were by magic spell. 
 
 But when Morning's voice awakens, 
 Hush'd is then the tempest'sroar, 
 
 And the whirlwind, baffled, crouches 
 In its cavern on the tor. 
 
 Dark as this is life of mortals 
 When the clouds o'erset its sky, 
 
 Brighter far as gleam its billows, 
 Prescient of eternity. 
 
 MEA CULPA; 
 
 OR, 
 
 THE WRONG NOTE IN THE WRONG ENVELOPE. 
 
 My fault, it burns my soul within, 
 
 But I would die unshriven ; 
 Though thus to those who greatly sin 
 
 Are all their sins forgiven.
 
 104 O^^^ ^f School at Eton. 
 
 Lo ! I may bidden be to live 
 
 Eternally in pain ; 
 But 'tis less blessed so to give 
 
 Than such a gift to gain. 
 
 For, so I have more time to hate, 
 
 My pain will be forgot ; 
 Though madd'ning torments round me wait, 
 
 Though fires of hell be hot. 
 
 I loved him with a perfect love, 
 
 Kept secret for his sake ; 
 But oft where seems to brood a dove 
 
 Lies coil'd a poisonous snake. 
 
 'Twas in the garden when the dusk 
 
 Was blotting out the trees, 
 And heavy with the fragrant musk 
 
 Whisper'd the evening breeze, 
 
 A rose-bud wreath fell at my feet. 
 
 Nestled a note within ; 
 And in my cheeks the sudden heat 
 
 Confess'd the secret sin.
 
 Mea Culpa. 105 
 
 But shuddering horror shook my heart, 
 
 I sank upon my knee, 
 Discovering, with a sudden start. 
 
 The note was not for me. 
 
 It seem'd as if upon my ear 
 
 There peal'd a tolHng bell ; 
 For not for me the letters clear, 
 
 The hand I knew so well. 
 
 As if the fiend, while yet the knell 
 
 Disturb'd the silent air, 
 Had reach'd a horrid hand from hell, 
 
 And caught me by the hair. 
 
 I sought the wood upon the height, 
 The place his note assign'd ; 
 
 I climb'd the cliff with aspect light, 
 And murder in my mind. 
 
 I stood upon the steepest hill, 
 
 Above a wall of rock. 
 And watch'd the blackening rookery fill 
 
 With its funereal flock.
 
 1 06 Out of School at Eton. 
 
 I waited veil'd beneath the shade 
 
 Till the deceiver came, 
 And his false arms about me laid, 
 
 And lisp'd another's name ; 
 
 And gently lifted up my veil 
 
 Another's cheek to kiss ; 
 I saw his eyes beneath me quail, — 
 
 I hurl'd him down th' abyss. 
 
 Still on my ears the echo rings, 
 The shriek of deadly fright ; 
 
 The startled rooks on heavy wings 
 Flapp'd off into the night. 
 
 And, priest, now I've avenged my wrong 
 
 In that victorious strife, 
 What boots the minutes to prolong ? 
 
 What reck I of my life ? 
 
 HARD TO BEAR. 
 
 The day was bright, the day was fair, 
 When pass'd a little polar bear 
 From out his home of ice ;
 
 Hard to Bear. 1 07 
 
 He look'd around with air profound, 
 Survey'd the nature of the ground, 
 . And thought it very nice. 
 
 His hair was white, his claws were long ; 
 'Twas not (in his opinion) wrong 
 
 To leave his mother old, 
 And wander off and play the fool 
 With everything so nice and cool — 
 The climate there is (as a rule) 
 
 Frigid, as I've been told. 
 
 He said, " I'll hunt the finny seal 
 
 And drive him from his lair, 
 And thence prepare a mid-day meal 
 
 For this here little bear." 
 He call'd himself '' this Httle b." 
 He might have said, " for little me ;" 
 But yet it is a fact that he 
 
 Said, " for this little bear." 
 
 Perhaps you think our hero found 
 The amusement that he sought ; 
 
 Then reader, empty hopes you ground 
 On what you didn't ought.
 
 io8 Out of School at Eton. 
 
 His bones lie hid beneath a mound ; 
 
 He is a thing of nought ; 
 His mother in a glacial cave 
 Weeps for the son she could not save. 
 
 AN ETON LOWER-BOY; 
 
 Being another and shorter version of " A Day of 
 
 viy Lifer 
 
 IN 5 SCENES. 
 
 Scene i. The Eton boy peacefully slumbers in 
 his bed ; the bed is situated in a small apart- 
 ment, which he calls by the distinctive title of 
 " his " room ; the room in question is one on 
 the right or maybe the left side of a long pas- 
 sage, whose walls are pierced at equal distances 
 by the doorways of similar retreats, in which 
 sleep other Eton Boys like himself. The pas- 
 sage forms an entire story in a house, the 
 chief external features of which are archi- 
 tectural ugliness, abnormal height, and bricks of 
 a brilliant cochineal hue. To return to the Eton
 
 An Eton Lozver-Boy. 109 
 
 Boy. It is 7 a.m. An unwelcome apparition, 
 familiarly known as a boy's-maid, flashes into 
 the room, rattles up the rather flimsy and fee- 
 bly-squeaking green blind, awakens the still 
 sleeping youth with a shout, and decamps with 
 the same precipitancy and total disregard of 
 surroundings as she just now entered. The 
 occupant of the bed heaves a slumber-teeming 
 sigh, slowly opens his eyes, thinks he will just 
 take another snooze before getting up, turns 
 round for that purpose, and relapses into the 
 outstretched arms of Morpheus .... Suddenly 
 with a convulsive start he wakes, roused by the 
 trampling of feet upon the wooden staircase 
 outside, and the general commotion attendant 
 on the turning out of some forty boys first thing 
 in the morning. Confusedly he dashes out of bed, 
 hastily he washes, still more hastily he robes, 
 furiously he jams his chimney-pot hat on his 
 head, wildly he snatches up some books, and 
 he is gone ! The room lacks its presiding genius ; 
 silence prevails. 
 
 Scene 2. Some thirty youths, seated on 
 benches, their books open at the wrong place 
 on the desk before them, are marshalled under
 
 1 1 o Out of School at Eton. 
 
 the eye of a tall stern-looking man in a black 
 gown, whose tones, whether of correction, rebuke, 
 or command, ring out with an unpleasant clang 
 in the keen morning air. The door opens very 
 gently, a small and particularly untidy-looking 
 boy slinks in very cautiously, and with wonder- 
 ful celerity of rnovement and subtlety of action 
 drops into his vacant seat. 
 
 Master, /see you. Write out 200 lines of the 
 2nd vEneid, and bring them — 
 
 Boy. Please, Sir, I — 
 
 Master. Don't "Please, Sir" me! and bring 
 them to my house —   
 
 Boy. Please, Sir, I wasn't called. 
 
 Master. To my house before two o'clock. 
 
 Boy. Please, Sir ! 
 
 Master. Do it twice ! 
 
 (Suppressed whistle round the room). 
 
 Scene 3. Another, and rather superior-looking 
 apartment in the house that has before been 
 introduced to the reader. A tall youth, the 
 consciousness of immense importance and con- 
 sequent v.onchalance manifest in his every fea- 
 ture as well as action, stands with his coat-tails 
 elevated, warming his back before the fire, and
 
 An Eton Lower- Boy. 1 1 1 
 
 superintending the somewhat confused move- 
 ments of three or four little boys, all vieing with 
 each other in obsequiousness to the "great and 
 complete man," and in the execution of his 
 commands. This constitutes the process called 
 " mess-fagging." Small boy A. - spreads the 
 cloth. Small-boy B. (whom we already know), 
 endeavours to arrange symmetrically the crock- 
 ery upon it, and in doing so contrives to smash 
 a cup and saucer (for which he receives imme- 
 diate punishment at the hands of the individual 
 before the fire). Small-boy C. is despatched to 
 do some toast and boil some eggs ; after an in- 
 terval he returns, the toast like a brick, the ee^s 
 as to their internals not unlike liquid gum. The 
 fagmaster, who has meanwhile been endeavouring 
 to promote by sedulous manipulation the growth 
 of a few capillary bristles just starting into exist- 
 ence on that part of his cheek immediately below 
 the lobe of the ear, being acquainted with the 
 modest culinary capabilities of the fag, says not 
 a word, but merely helps him to leave the room 
 with a sympathetic movement of his leg. Exeunt 
 A. B. C. Tali youth is left alone to foster the 
 afore-mentioned appendages in solitude.
 
 1 12 Out of School at Eton. 
 
 Scene 4. — B. (whose movements on the day in 
 question we follow) descends to the small room 
 in which he first appeared. The bed before 
 prostrate, has now by a process peculiar to itself 
 been crumpled up, framework and all, into its 
 shell, and as an article of furniture forms one of 
 the most commanding ornaments of the room. 
 A few remarks on the latter may not be out of 
 place. Its chief contents in addition to the bed 
 are a bureau with pigeon-holes and desk above, 
 some books carelessly chucked on the latter 
 standing out like a lacustrine village in the sea 
 of ink peacefully floating around them, and 
 takinsf its source from a bottle which has been 
 knocked over in the prevalent chaos ; drawers 
 below, containing the wardrobe of the owner, 
 whose name is sliced in huge and somewhat 
 unshapely Capitals on the outer surface. This 
 piece of furniture goes by the name of the burry. 
 Opposite to it on the other side of the room is a 
 bookcase of corresponding build, and known as 
 the book-burry. On the top of both are sundry 
 little china and earthenware pots, bought as 
 old Worcester at enormous prices from enter- 
 prising shop-dealers of the neighbourhood, and
 
 An Eton Lower-Boy. 113 
 
 all in a more or less dilapidated condition ; the 
 other moveables are a table in the window, of 
 which more presently, a couple of chairs of a 
 rather primitive type, and a small washstand in 
 the corner. On the walls hang some gorgeous 
 prints and brilliantly painted photographs,, 
 mostly representations of scenes in the chase ; 
 the grass in the foreground preternaturally green, 
 the fox with a huge brush walking about in the 
 distance, the hounds almost on each other's backs, 
 endeavouring to scale a wall of formidable altitude, 
 over which one horseman is sailing in mid air,, 
 while another flounders in the lubricating toils of 
 a cesspool the other side, and yet another, his 
 lately abandoned steed watching his movements 
 with interest over the top of the wall, is describ- 
 ing an aerial parabola, which, judging from the 
 direction of his head, must infallibly result in the 
 considerable discomfort, if not the utter destruc- 
 tion, of the latter. Such are the tableaux vivants 
 that illuminate the principal wall of this Etonian's 
 retreat ; elsewhere we notice the familiar '' Chal- 
 lenge," with its comrade the equally familiar 
 " Sanctuary," both a little distorted by the un- 
 sparing brush of the artist, whose improvements 
 
 I
 
 114 Out of School at Eton. 
 
 on the original picture have been executed with 
 a view to brilliant atmospheric effect, and strik- 
 ing antithesis of colour. An Eton Almanack, a 
 photograph-caricature of his tutor nailed on to 
 the wall in the place of honour, and a few other 
 minor illustrations, and the tale of the walls is 
 done. 
 
 To revert to the table before alluded to. On it 
 is a breakfast cloth originally white, now blotched 
 with innumerable parti-coloured stains ; the fare 
 consists of a couple of pheasants, a rabbit-pie, and 
 a ham, all brought from home, a rolled Paysandu 
 ox-tongue (whatever that may be) and some 
 truffled larks (supposed synonym for potted 
 blackbirds) procured from the grocer in the town. 
 Met to enjoy this repast are small boy B. and 
 his mess-mate, answering in many respects to 
 the private school " chum." For ten minutes they 
 eat hard : a dispute arises : words first of con- 
 tempt, second of derision, third of insult, fourth 
 of actual provocation are bandied from side to 
 side : bread and sugar fly through the air. " You 
 scug," says A. " Tu quoque," says B. Personal 
 violence is resorted to ; A. is ejected ; B., in the 
 exultation of victory, smooths his hair, puts on his
 
 Ati Eto7i Lower-Boy. 115 
 
 hat, which has been furiously kicked about in the 
 recent struggle, and goes to chapel. 
 
 Scene 5. Chapel over, B. returns with pacific 
 intention towards A. They meet ; A., humiliated 
 by the lately inflicted defeat, is anxious for 
 reconciliation ; B. is not averse ; a simple equa- 
 tion is concluded, and the affair clenched by 
 A. offering to " sock " B. With this object in view, 
 like the original *' Arcades ambo " they stroll 
 "down town" into the far-famed Webber's. 
 (The next stage of their proceedings is a little 
 harrowing to people of delicately strung nerves, 
 and had better be left unperused by matrons 
 who have at heart the abdominal welfare of their 
 sons.) 
 
 A. " What will you have } " 
 
 B. "Let's see" (looks at Me?m), ''Welsh 
 rabbit, oyster and chicken and ham patties, 
 lobster croquets, tarts and cream, ginger and 
 cream, strawberry cream and lemon water ! 
 May as well begin at the beginning and go 
 straight through .? " 
 
 A. "All right!" 
 
 ***** 
 
 After the lapse of about half an hour they 
 
 I 2
 
 1 1 6 Out of School at Eton. 
 
 emerge, A., who has stood the treat, minus about 
 five shillings, both of them with a feeling of 
 oppression about the stomach, eminently sugges- 
 tive in their opinion of the snnimum bonum of 
 bodily enjoyment. 
 
 The further movements of A. and B. on this 
 day the writer has no time and the reader proba- 
 bly no inclination to follow. Possibly the after- 
 noon was but a repetition of the morning, the 
 feats of the latter but a foretaste of greater achieve- 
 ments in the former. It is debilitating in the ex- 
 treme to read of the youthfulEtonian beginning 
 the day with 200 lines of the second .^neid, and 
 requiring the assistance of Webber to help him 
 through the earlier part of it. What, then, would 
 not be the state of prostration entailed by the 
 information that another 200 lines and further 
 bodily support marked the waning hours of the 
 afternoon } Perhaps it may have been so, and 
 perhaps it may not. Anyhow, at half-past ten 
 in the evening the troubles and joys of the day 
 are merged in the dreams of night. The young 
 Etonian slumbers. If you will let me, so will I.
 
 Early School. iiy 
 
 EARLY SCHOOL. 
 
 If there is a vile, pernicious, 
 
 Wicked, and degraded rule, 
 Tending to debase the vicious, 
 
 And corrupt the harmless fool : 
 If there is a hateful habit 
 
 Making man a senseless tool, 
 With the feelings of a rabbit. 
 
 And the wisdom of a mule: 
 It's the rule which inculcates 
 It's the habit which dictates 
 Thewrong and sinful practice of going into school. 
 
 If there's anything improving 
 
 To an erring sinner's state. 
 Which is useful in removing 
 
 All the ills of human fate : 
 If there's any glorious custom 
 
 Which our faults can dissipate. 
 And can casually thrust 'em 
 
 Out of sight, and make us great : 
 It's the plan by which we shirk 
 Half our matutinal work, 
 The glorious institution of always being late.
 
 1 1 8 Out of School at Eton. 
 
 " IT WAS A DREAM." 
 
 Towards the close of a weary day, I wearily sat 
 in the weariest of places, viz. one of the mathe- 
 matical school-rooms. And here let me remark 
 that it is most devoutly to be hoped that the new 
 rooms will be better— worse they cannot possibly 
 be. I tried to write poetry, but failed to produce 
 anything but the following miserable couplet : — 
 
 " I toil'd, I rack'd my weary brain, 
 With studying the Inclined Plane." 
 
 I said the couplet was miserable ; miserable is 
 not the word for it ; but it admirably expressed 
 the state of my feelings, and its wretchedness 
 harmonized well with mine, and that of the sur- 
 rounding scenery. 
 
 So I tried to write prose : but it was worse, if 
 possible, than what I am writing now. So I 
 added to my catalogue of offences one worse 
 than all the rest, and crowned my iniquity by 
 GOING TO SLEEP. As if to punish me, my dream 
 was intensely, disgustingly mathematical. I 
 dreamt that I was ± V"^ and that I was sitting 
 alone on an Inclined Plane made of ice, and
 
 " It ivas a Dream." 1 19 
 
 surrounded by a group of admiring, but impa- 
 tient mathematicians. Then for the first time 
 I reaHzed the feelings of the water which Tanta- 
 lus could not drink, and though that feeling was 
 not so very bad after all, I was harassed by a 
 miserable uncertainty as to whether I was positive 
 or negative. Besides, one gentleman, who had 
 nearly squared the circle at least lOO times, 
 questioned my existence altogether, which was 
 annoying to say the least of it. Another one 
 (I fancy his name was Du Moivre, and that he 
 had a theorem, which is a habit of some people) 
 remarked, "Never mind, we do not want to 
 know its value, we can get on without that : it is 
 merely an imaginary quantity." " Sir," said I, 
 " I object to being called ' it.' " This made him 
 collapse, and he became a logarithm. He always 
 was very positive. Then all the others ran away 
 to see a fight between a parallelopiped and a 
 quadratic equation. The equation won, and I 
 discovered to my horror they had been fighting 
 about me. So now I belonged to the equation, 
 and was its answer. Perhaps you have never 
 been an answer, in which case you cannot be 
 expected to know what it feels like. However,
 
 120 Out of School at Eton. 
 
 the filthy quadratic could not get at me, because 
 it could not solve the ice. So I. Todhunter, Esq., 
 came and squared me by trigonometry with a 
 theodolite, and so I became — i, i. e. I was so 
 much not there, that even if I had been, I should 
 have been somewhere else. The place I had 
 got to varied inversely as quick as it could, pro- 
 ducing a feeling of nausea, which was not relieved 
 by hearing a voice tell me that I was asleep, nor 
 much alleviated by the horrid result, which was 
 that I awoke. 
 
 A " FUGITIVP: " PIECE. 
 
 February, 1876. 
 
 The negro from bondage escaped. 
 And flying the slave-holder's law, 
 
 Has ever been look'd on as safe 
 In one of our own men-of-war. 
 
 He was safe from the hunters of men, 
 The bloodhound, the yoke, and the whip ; 
 
 He once more was a freeman again 
 On the deck of a true British ship.
 
 A " Fugitive " Piece. 1 2 1 
 
 But manners and times have all changed, 
 
 And our policy's sufifer'd a check, 
 And lately Ward Hunt has arranged 
 
 He no longer shall stand on that deck. 
 
 You will start — and I freely allow- 
 That nothing at first can seem stranger ; 
 
 But remember, an ironclad now 
 Is a place of most serious danger. 
 
 They " ram " one another so fast, 
 
 In a moment before you are thinking, 
 
 That there scarcely is time at the mast 
 To run up the signal " We're sinking." 
 
 The water runs in at their ports, 
 
 And they sink to the bottom like lead ; 
 
 In vain all ingenious resorts 
 
 To raise them once more from their bed. 
 
 So it's better the slave should remain 
 With his owner and master fast bound. 
 
 For if once on our ships it is plain 
 
 You may lay the long odds that he's drown'd.
 
 122 Out of School at Eton. 
 
 FROM PINDAR, OLYMP. II. 
 
 Ay, gold's pure gold in the hand of the just, 
 Gold in the hand of the good is power ; 
 An eager mood and a deep her dower^ 
 
 A star far seen, a beacon of glory, 
 A light wherein is a hero's trust. 
 If but he knoweth what shall be 
 Under the earth, beyond the tomb, 
 The doom of the dead, the certain doom, 
 
 Knoweth the judgment old in story 
 Of all that the eye of Zeus can see : 
 There he judges by hard constraint, 
 Weary of crime and earthly taint ; 
 
 There he judges, the old judge hoary. 
 There he judges, and who can flee ? 
 
 But the good shall forget their travail and toil 
 For ever inwrapt in calm sunlight, 
 In day's sweet breath and glory of night, 
 
 Where never awakes the dull sea moaning, 
 Nor hard hands violent vex the soil : 
 The tearless meed of the blameless past,
 
 From Pindar, Olymp, II. 123 
 
 Of steadfast faith is the hero's now, 
 And the high gods circle the weary brow, 
 
 The weary limbs by their side enthroning 
 In the sweet new world that is his at last. 
 But the blasted eye must turn away 
 And the shivering heart recoil, men say. 
 
 From the dread abyss where the lost lie groaning 
 In writhing passion eternal cast. 
 
 Then whosoever have dared to stand 
 
 Thrice stand firm both sides of the grave, 
 Thrice from all sin his soul to save, 
 
 Shall tread Jove's path to his father's towers, 
 The towers of Cronos, the blooming land ; 
 Wherever the ocean breezes blow. 
 Blow and whisper and sink to rest. 
 And down by the sweet burnside the Blest 
 
 Weave their circlet of clustering flowers, 
 Or scatter the tall bough's golden glow ; 
 For such is the Judge's just command. 
 Whom Cronos holds at his own right hand, 
 
 Cronos, the lord of thrones and powers, 
 And Rhea, queen of the world below.
 
 124 Out of School at Eton. 
 
 ELEANORE. 
 
 Beyond the Western Main 
 Her lily life did wane, 
 
 Eleanore. 
 
 Her soul pass'd through the night 
 Towards the morn of light, 
 
 Eleanore. 
 
 They tomb'd her in the deep, 
 To sleep no mortal sleep, 
 
 Eleanore. 
 
 The billows seem to wail, 
 Ah ! could their voice avail 
 
 Eleanore ! 
 
 The Mistral's icy breath 
 Shriek'd out the song of death, 
 
 Eleanore. 
 
 Mingled amid the surge. 
 Wind, waves, repeat the dirge — 
 
 Eleanore.
 
 Lmes written at " Private." 125 
 
 Below, the coral-bed 
 Pillows about her head, 
 
 Eleanore. 
 
 On earth, alone am I, 
 Oh ! for the by-and-by, 
 
 Eleanore ! 
 
 LINES WRITTEN AT "PRIVATE." 
 
 It is very dull no doubt 
 
 Hearing Wh— 11 — y prate, 
 Dull to hear K — n — ly spout 
 
 When he grows irate, 
 Dull to be harangued about 
 
 Nuns by N — wd — g — te. 
 Very dull is all of this, 
 
 Very dull and dry, 
 But it is surpass'd, I wis. 
 
 Most completely by 
 " Caii Julii Cssaris 
 
 Commentarii."
 
 1 26 Out of School at Eton. 
 
 OUR COLLEGE BREWERY. 
 Burnt down in November, 1875. 
 
 (Appeared in The Etonian.^ 
 
 Our College Brewery is no more, but the 
 following lines — an extract from one of our 
 most celebrated poets— may serve to remind our 
 readers that the public was licensed to be drunk 
 on its premises, when it sold, as well as brewed, 
 the College beer. 
 
 The Licensed Vittler. 
 
 Goldsmith'' s " Deserted Drunkard^ 
 
 Near yonder yard, where once the brewery 
 
 smiled, 
 And still where many a brewer's tub lies piled ; 
 There, where a few black boards the place 
 
 disclose. 
 The Little Vittler's modest mansion rose. 
 A man he was to all the College dear, 
 And sating all with quarts of poison'd beer, 
 Remote from " Reid's " he ran his godly race, 
 Nor e'er had changed, nor wish'd to change his 
 
 place ;
 
 Our College Brewery. 127 
 
 Unskilful he to fawn, or seek for power, 
 Like pastors fashion'd to the varying hour ; 
 Far other aims his heart had learnt to praise, 
 More bent to sate the drunken than to raise. 
 His house was known to all the vagrant worst, 
 He chid their wanderings, but relieved their 
 
 thirst ; 
 The long-remember'd drunkard was his guest, 
 Who, paying little, took on tick the rest. 
 The ruin'd spendthrift, now no longer drunk, 
 Claim'd kindred there, with cheeks and eyelids 
 
 shrunk ; 
 The broken soldier, kindly bade to stay, 
 Sat by his fire, and drank the night away ; 
 Wept o'er his thirst, or, thirst and dryness done, 
 Shoulder'd his crutch, and round in frenzy spun: 
 Pleased with his guests the good man learn'd to 
 
 grin, 
 And quite forgot their vices in their gin. 
 Careless their merits or their faults to scan, 
 His money got ere drinking-time began. 
 Thus to relieve the thirsty was his pride, 
 And e'en his failings lean'd to pity's side ; 
 But in his duty prompt at every call. 
 He watch'd and peep'd, enticed and flatter'd all.
 
 128 Out of School at Etoti, 
 
 And, as a fox each fond endearment tries, 
 To tempt a crow-borne dainty from the skies. 
 He tried each heart, reproved each dull delay, 
 Allured to gas-lit rooms, and led the way. 
 There, on the floor, where parting life was laid, 
 And sorrow, thirst, and pain, by turns dismay'd. 
 The Little Vittler stood. At his command 
 Both cash and life fast fled the struggling 
 
 hand ; 
 " Allsopp " flow'd down the trembling wretch to 
 
 floor, 
 And his last faltering accents whisper'd "More !" 
 At home, with meek and unaffected grin, 
 His looks adorn'd his venerable chin ; 
 Scorn from his lips prevail'd with double blink, 
 And fools, who came to cant, remain'd to 
 
 drink. 
 The service past, around the little man. 
 With ready zeal, each thirsty Christian ran ; 
 E'en small boys foUow'd his provoking sneer, 
 And robb'd their purse, to share the good man's 
 
 beer. 
 His ceaseless grin a flatt'rer's warmth express'd. 
 Their thirst well pleased him, and their fears 
 
 distress'd ;
 
 Sock-Cads. 129 
 
 To them, his Bass, his Reid, his X were given, 
 But all his serious thoughts sought golden 
 
 leaven. 
 As some small pug, that lifts its awful form, 
 Swells with proud breast, and squeaks above the 
 
 storm, 
 Though round his path the College flung their 
 
 curse. 
 Perpetual pennies dropp'd into his purse. 
 
 SOCK-CADS. 
 
 Any one at all acquainted with Eton can 
 hardly have failed to observe that certain parts 
 of College are at times infested by a class of 
 men, who are at once a great discredit to the 
 school, an eyesore to the authorities, and a 
 snare to the " students." It will be seen that we 
 allude to the " Sock-cads," those vendors of the 
 enticing strawberry, the captivating chocolate, 
 
 K
 
 130 Out of School at Eton. 
 
 and the alluring bun. It would be but waste of 
 time to descant on the manners and customs of 
 these tradesmen, for we can hardly imagine 
 that the amount of the former, and the nature of 
 the latter, is unknown to any of our readers. 
 But we know too well that but few realize the 
 pernicious effects that such a traffic is likely to 
 bring about. Perhaps they will think this sub- 
 ject beneath their notice ; we do no think that 
 it is — there is no reason why we should pass over 
 all that relates to seemingly trivial occurrences. 
 Let it be clearly understood that we do not 
 mean to imply that there is naturally anything 
 very vicious or degrading in the casual enjoy- 
 ment of desultory refreshment. Far from it ; 
 and even though small boys do occasionally 
 make themselves ill by an over-indulgence of 
 appetite, it would be in the highest degree unjust 
 to lay to the charge of the vendor what so 
 obviously arises from the folly of the purchaser. 
 If this class of tradesmen did not exist at Eton, 
 this evil would, of course, be to a great extent 
 obviated ; but if any one supposes that one of 
 these men will say, " You have had as much as 
 is good for you, I cannot sell you any more," he
 
 Sock- Cads. 131 
 
 expects a disinterested generosity and a noble 
 sacrifice of self not found except in the mosi 
 exalted of spirits. 
 
 Easily, then, we can, and do, acquit the Sock- 
 cads of this charge ; but this is not all. We cr}- 
 out, and we hope that every public-spirited 
 Etonian will cry out against the iniquitous system 
 of "ticking." To the conscientious tradesman 
 this system does not bring profit ; for it is obvious 
 that, if he does not charge more than is fair, he 
 cannot make much money, unless all his cus- 
 tomers are as honourable as himself. As a matter 
 of fact, the honour of the customers, though it 
 may not come up to the standard of the ideal 
 tradesman, far surpasses that of the sordid and 
 degraded Sock-cad " as he is." It would be 
 bad, indeed, for Eton, if it did not. No one 
 can be ignorant that the loss arising from non- 
 payment is more than amply made up for b}' 
 the exorbitant tarift" of charges, and by the 
 interest that unaccountably accumulates on 
 unpaid bills during the short interval of the 
 holidays. A boy eats, perhaps, five shillings' 
 worth in the course of a school-time ; next half 
 there awaits him a bill for 13^-. y^d., always the 
 
 K 2
 
 132 Out of School at Eton. 
 
 \d. to make a show of scrupulous accuracy and 
 consummate exactness. 
 
 Perhaps he does not much mind paying this 
 when he is flush of cash ; but is this an argu- 
 ment in favour of such extortion being permitted 
 to exist ? Ought not the Sock-cads to be obHte- 
 rated ? If they were ornamental and did no 
 harm, their existence might on the whole be 
 desirable ; but now they are not only neither 
 useful nor ornamental, but they are absolutely 
 pernicious. We do not know, of course, who are 
 responsible, or whether any one is responsible, 
 for the abolition of nuisances of this kind ; but 
 we would suggest that some steps should be 
 taken to prevent our College being disfigured 
 by the presence of unsightly objects such as 
 those we have been discussing.
 
 A Character. 133 
 
 A CHARACTER. 
 
 ' ' Before the beginniftg of years 
 
 There came to the making of 7natiP 
 
 The World, the Flesh, the Devil once 
 
 Agreed to patronize a dunce. 
 
 And make his sorry dulness shine 
 
 With splendid sparkle half divine. 
 
 " My gift is trousers," lisp'd the World, 
 
 As curlier yet his tail he curl'd ; 
 
 And neatly posing, half aloof, 
 
 Scann'd at his ease a blameless hoof. 
 
 " I give the mystic charm of dress. 
 
 True sesame of nobleness ; 
 
 And if so much is given to me, 
 
 Your most Satanic majesty, 
 
 I give him trousers, and a tongue 
 
 To charm the vilest wretch unhung, 
 
 Rehearsing with unwonted praise 
 
 His little specialites. 
 
 To win as soon the would-be wise 
 
 Prating of ' earthly vanities,' 
 
 Of virtue, 'joy of men and gods ' 
 
 In earth-disdaining periods,
 
 1 34 Out of School at Eton. 
 
 Against some pet abuse to rage 
 
 In fulminating verbiage, 
 
 With solemn saws and rapid rant, 
 
 Alike on heaven and hell descant. 
 
 With enviable sway to rule 
 
 Each pedant prig or fulsome fool. 
 
 But p'raps I trespass here again 
 
 On my Satanic friend's domain." 
 
 Here ceased the courteous World, and then 
 
 The Flesh and Satan said " Amen." 
 
 Thereon the Flesh proceeded : " This 
 
 Shall constitute his perfect bliss, 
 
 To lose all life and power and sense 
 
 In undisturbed indolence. 
 
 Him shall no hot ambition fire, 
 
 No angry spur of sharp desire 
 
 Shall goad his slow reluctant soul 
 
 To race towards the distant goal. 
 
 The stroke of seven his only care, 
 
 His paradise an easy chair ; 
 
 This gift, my friends, seems best to me, 
 
 Unbounded vis ineriicB." 
 
 Here smiled the World politest praise, 
 
 And wish'd he too, in former days,
 
 A Character. 135 
 
 Had had, to form his character, 
 So wise a ghostly godfather ; 
 But would his majesty proceed ? 
 His gift would be a gift indeed. 
 Thereon proceeded Satan : " I 
 Could hardly hope to soar so high, 
 Or such abysmal deeps descend 
 As can my soul-discerning friend ; 
 But still I give, as lord of lies. 
 That golden gift which all men prize, 
 That all desire so mightily, 
 The golden gift of Courtesy. 
 The power to analyze the heart, 
 Discern and weigh each feebler part. 
 For him the most reserved shall prate, 
 For him the foibles of the great. 
 Each grosser thought and mean delight. 
 Each silly love and petty spite, 
 Whatever's vile and mean and low, 
 Shall in his presence stronger grow. 
 Sin's faithful friend and virtue's foil 
 Round every heart 'tis his to coil ; 
 With smoothest tongue and ready ear 
 To check or guide each hope and fear,
 
 136 Out of School at Eton. 
 
 Alike the bad and good to turn 
 
 To his own purposes, and learn 
 
 The secrets of the human heart, 
 
 To better play his petty part. 
 
 This gift, this power, seems best to m e ; 
 
 This heaven-corrupting courtesy. 
 
 Which earth and hell alike can bless, 
 
 The golden gift of oiliness," 
 
 And so these faithful friends agreed 
 
 In wisest ways a soul to lead ; 
 
 The charms of Flesh, the potent pride 
 
 Of World for him is exercised. 
 
 The Devil's most aesthetic cult. 
 
 And was the blest result. 
 
 "SWAGGERS." 
 
 For a novice in Eton life it would not be an 
 easy matter to explain accurately and discrimi- 
 nately what is meant by the word "swagger," as 
 applied to the swell portion of the Eton com- 
 munity, nor to define its latitude. I propose to 
 do so, adopting as my plan of action a division
 
 "Swaggers." 137 
 
 into three sections. I would, however, make a 
 few preliminary remarks on the limitation of the 
 word. It is one which can by no means be 
 universally applied : on the contrary, it is the 
 prerogative of a few, and those not necessarily 
 in the same part of the school. A new boy re- 
 gards with intuitive respect all such exalted 
 personages, makes it his first point to become 
 acquainted with their names, looks upon it as 
 rather an honour to be " fagged " by them, speaks 
 of them with admiring awe. None but their 
 most intimate friends presume to speak to them 
 unless addressed in the first place. A place in 
 " Pop " is eagerly sought for, as being a sure 
 admittance to such a life ; still more so a cane. 
 Excellence in games is likely to procure this 
 celebrity. But I am encroaching on my first 
 section, to which I now proceed : — 
 
 I. — This consists of those who have fairly 
 earned the sobriquet by their acknowledged 
 superiority at cricket, boating, or football, as many 
 as have their Eleven, Eight, or Field Colours, 
 and, maybe, can appear in a different cap every 
 day of the week. These walk about arm-in-arm, 
 with slow and stately tread ; if overcome by heat,
 
 138 Out of School at Eton. 
 
 they may with impunity tilt the hat over the 
 back of the forehead ; they are neat in dress, not 
 gaudy : many of them assume " stick-ups/' as 
 soon as they have reached this the last stage of 
 their ambition at Eton. They are nearly all of 
 them members of "Pop," before which distin- 
 guished assembly they display their sparkling 
 eloquence in impromptu orations once a week. 
 They assiduously cultivate whiskers, if they can 
 findtheslightest sign of such capillaryappendages 
 on the cheeks. In fine, they are the Presiding 
 Spirit of Eton Society, which could not flourish 
 without them. 
 
 II. — In this section are enrolled all literary 
 " swells," fellows who have attained a high place 
 in the school, either by their natural talents or 
 by hard work ; and whose ambition it is to climb 
 the topmost pinnacle of Sixth Form honour. 
 In this position they are regarded with as much 
 admiration by small boys in general as that 
 attached to " Swaggers '' of the first order. 
 Those keep up the athletic, these the literary 
 repute of the school, as well here as at the Uni- 
 versities, to which the majority of them proceed 
 on leaving Eton. The ranks of this class are
 
 " Swaggers" 1 39 
 
 always well filled, volunteers never failing- to step 
 into the gaps caused by the departure of their 
 predecessors ; a contrast to those of No. i 
 Section, whose numbers fluctuate considerably, 
 there being always more aspirants to its mem- 
 bership in the summer half than at any other 
 time of the year. A character which combines 
 the essential components of both these classes, 
 is a rare occurrence, an adept at out-door pursuits 
 finding it hard to pay much attention to his 
 studies. 
 
 III. — I ought not, perhaps, to have included 
 the members of this division in my category of 
 " swaggers." I might, indeed, with a greater 
 show of truth, call them '' pseudo-swaggers," for 
 such is their proper appellation. I allude to the 
 " patent-leather-booted swell," if I can prefix such 
 an epithet to his name. He is more exalted in 
 his own estimation than in that of other people ; 
 no doubt he thinks himself infallible, an opinion 
 in which he has, fortunately, very fewconsentients. 
 Self-appearance is his chief study. Examining 
 him from head to foot, I find that as a rule he 
 wears a hat with a highly elevated brim, an ad- 
 mirably folded tie; his coat tightly buttoned across
 
 140 Old of School at Eton. 
 
 his chest with some four buttons, cuffs projecting 
 a good two inches beyond his coat-sleeve, pan- 
 taloons of gorgeous hue and surprising texture. 
 This is perhaps rather an exaggerated specimen 
 of his race ; smaller editions of the same are, 
 however, frequent. They are of neither intel- 
 lectual nor athletic tastes : they may have a 
 smattering of either, which, however, they do not 
 care to develope. 
 
 There is yet another class, which, however, I 
 have purposely omitted, as having no limitation : 
 it comprises fellows who are on their way to the 
 first section, but are as yet in the chrysalis state, 
 whence they will eventually emerge into the 
 full-grown butterfly. Its numbers are larger 
 than any of the three other classes, its members 
 more widely separated.
 
 From Oxford to Eton in Canoes. 141 
 
 FROM OXFORD TO ETON IN CANOES. 
 
 A Trip made by three Eton boys in the Summer 
 
 ^71875. 
 
 About eleven o'clock on one of the lovely morn- 
 ings in the early part of August, which formed 
 such a delightful contrast to the many rainy 
 days which this year immediately succeeded 
 St. Swithin, a party of three might have been 
 seen standing on one of the Oxford barges, 
 equipped in various extraordinary costumes, 
 such as are usually to be met with on our large 
 rivers at this season of the year. These three 
 individuals (a staid and respected schoolfellow 
 of mine, whom on the Incus a non lucendo prin- 
 ciple I shall call Easy, my minor, and myself) 
 were at length about to carry out a long-enter- 
 tained project of going from Oxford to Windsor 
 a la Canoe, having previously spent a very plea- 
 sant week in the Volunteer Camp at Claydon. 
 Easy being the eldest of the party, and of a 
 somewhat crotchety steadiness, was installed as 
 " leader," a position which he proved himself 
 well fitted to occupy ; for being a well-developed
 
 142 Out of School at Eton. 
 
 " wetbob " and afiflicted with slight temporary in- 
 sanity (which is indeed said by envious " dry- 
 bobs " to be a characteristic of the " wetbob " 
 community generally), it was some time before 
 he could be brought to see that, according to 
 our ideas, an enjoyable trip did not consist in 
 continually trying to ascertain the racing capa- 
 cities of the respective canoes. 
 
 None of us had ever been more than a hun- 
 dred yards in a canoe before, and our somewhat 
 unsteady gait and erratic course at starting 
 furnished material for sundry gibes and jeers to 
 certain evil-disposed urchins on the bank. We 
 got through our first two locks, Iffley and Sand- 
 ford, in good time, but between the latter place 
 and that most lovely spot Nuneham, whose 
 beauties must be seen to be realized, our pace 
 was but little faster than that of the current 
 
 One o^clock came, but with it, alas ! came no 
 signs of Abingdon, where we had determined to 
 lunch, and it was not until 2.30 that we found 
 ourselves on terra firma, and actually seven 
 miles on our water road. 
 
 " I don't know what you fellows were about 
 this morning," said Easy in an injured tone, as
 
 From Oxford to Eton in Canoes. 143 
 
 we sat down to lunch, " but if you don't make up 
 your minds to go rather faster than two miles an 
 hour, we shan't get to Wallingford to-night, nor 
 to Eton by Friday." " Well," said we, " we didn't 
 suppose we should, but we would try, and if we 
 didn't succeed, we could not help it." However, 
 we hurried over our lunch, and then went to see 
 the quaint old almshouses, near the river, which 
 well repaid a visit, enlivened as they were by the 
 " chatteration " of a friendly old dame, who told 
 us a little that was worth knowing and a great 
 deal that was not, about her charge. 
 
 Four o'clock found us a quarter of a mile 
 below Abingdon ; but after passing Culham 
 Lock the temptation of allowing the stream to 
 take us down without any exertion on our part 
 proved too much for two of us, and we accord- 
 ingly floated over the somewhat long reach that 
 intervenes between Culham and Clifton, amusing 
 ourselves meanwhile with singing, to the ap- 
 parent astonishment and disgust of sundry rustic 
 piscators. We had tea at the " Barley Mow 
 Inn," at Clifton — a quaint little hostelry, near 
 a most beautiful part of the river ; but our staid 
 leader — deaf to our pathetic entreaties and
 
 144 Out of School at Eton. 
 
 protestations that we should never get to Wall- 
 ingford without his protecting care — started off 
 by himself, before he had swallowed more than 
 a mouthful, muttering something unintelligible 
 about the evening vapours of a river, as if we 
 were in an African swamp, and followed by the 
 somewhat uncharitable observation that "two 
 are company, but three are none." 
 
 My minor and I left Clifton about seven, and 
 were unlucky enough to get into the next locks 
 with an unwieldly Leviathan, in the shapeof a tim- 
 ber barge, which delayed us considerably. The 
 mouth of the Thame, which we passed about a 
 mile below Day's Lock, was very like the entrance 
 to Cuckoo Weir stream, at " Bargemans ;" but 
 we had not time to explore it. 
 
 Dorchester, with its old abbey church and 
 Roman remains, we saw among the trees, but 
 dearly as we should have liked to prove our- 
 selves akin to that proverbial and much ma- 
 ligned personage, the British tourist, we had to 
 deny ourselves the pleasure of a visit to what 
 was once one of the chief Roman towns in 
 Britain. 
 
 On, on we went, passing the lovely four miles
 
 From Oxford to Eton in Canoes. 145 
 
 of river between Day's Lock and Bensington 
 in the calm stillness of an August evening ; on 
 past the eyots that abound in this part of the 
 river, under Shillingford Bridge, past many 
 "brethren of the angle," in punts, learning 
 patience, and perhaps at the same time 
 
 ' To read the words of love 
 That shine o'er Nature's page," 
 
 on past Rush Court and the Ferry — until just as 
 the church clocks around were striking eieht we 
 came in sight of Bensington Lock. " Mirabile 
 dictu,'' we were not kept waiting, and accom- 
 plished our lock before daylight failed, getting 
 to Wallingford, our halting-place for the night, 
 soon afterwards. Wallingford is a curious old 
 town, with some Roman earthworks that look 
 like a rabbit warren, and a bit of an old castle 
 that is locked up in somebody's garden, and can't 
 be seen, though in its day it did good service for 
 Charles L 
 
 About half-past ten the next morning I awoke 
 from a confused dream compounded of " Kay- 
 aks " and the falls of Niagara (this latter 
 ingredient being perhaps the offspring of the 
 
 L
 
 146 Oat of School at Eton. 
 
 foaming Weir at Bensington Lock), to the un- 
 pleasant consciousness that we ought to have 
 started an hour before ; that Easy had been up 
 for hours, and was in the state of mind usually 
 ascribed to impastus leo ; and that my minor 
 was still buried in oblivion and the bed-clothes. 
 However, soon after eleven we actually started, 
 to find the wind dead against us, and "way" 
 not nearly so easily made as on the previous day. 
 Having heard marvellous reports from a Walling- 
 fordian and the guide-book, about a certain 
 mineral spring en route, we stopped at a quaint 
 little apology for an inn, yclept ** The Leather 
 Bottle," in order to see what effect its supposed 
 salubrious qualities would have on the ollapodrida 
 in our heads of rhomboids, "variae lectiones," 
 historical facts and fiction and Greek particles, 
 the result of some three weeks' almost continu- 
 ous writing in the cause of certificates. Here 
 we were shown a grotto where the nymph of the 
 fountain was said to dwell ; and to which a 
 flight of steps gave access. Down these Easy 
 boldly made his way ; the next moment, how- 
 ever, he must have forcibly realized the truth 
 of the -words facilis descensus Averni, for without
 
 From Oxford to Eton in Canoes. 147 
 
 any warning he suddenly found himself up to 
 his knees in the much-talked-of water, which 
 had formerly been in request all over the coun- 
 try side, though now it seemed to be used for no 
 other purpose than to entrap the unwary. Close 
 to "The Leather Bottle" are Ewing and Streatley ; 
 the latter place famed for its soft and picturesque 
 scenery, as well as for its Roman road and ford. 
 Pangbourne Reach, too (about three miles further 
 down the river), as it appeared on that lovely 
 August morning, seemed " girt with a tranquil 
 glory," that made me wish I was artist enough 
 to sketch the natural beauties which might not 
 be there in such perfection on the morrow. 
 
 Between Mapledurham (one of the most 
 charming spots we passed) and Caversham, the 
 river runs parallel to the railway for some dis- 
 tance ; we passed Caversham Bridge, whence I 
 have started on many a water-party, about five, 
 and reached Sonning by 6.30. Here Easy 
 again deserted us, and went on to Henley, 
 having, as I said before, an idea that "twilight 
 on the Thames " and " malaria " were synony- 
 mous terms. We followed him about eight (my 
 minor cleverly contriving to leave his watch and 
 
 L 2
 
 148 Out of School at Eton. 
 
 purse at the " French Horn," where we had tea), 
 and soon had reason to wish we had been his 
 companions, for it got gradually darker and 
 darker, until after passing Shiplake Lock we 
 could not see two yards in front of us. Half-an- 
 hour afterwards my minor startled me by declar- 
 ing we were going over the same bit of river we 
 had passed some time before ; and on throwing 
 a piece of white paper into the stream (it was 
 too dark to distinguish the current by any other 
 means), we discovered to our horror that we 
 must have turned round an eyot, and that we 
 had been going up stream again for about a mile. 
 At Marsh Lock we had two narrow escapes 
 from going down a mill-race, and over the weir, 
 before we found the narrow and labyrinthian lock 
 cut; we did not reach Henley till 11.30, having 
 taken three hours and a half to do six miles. 
 By way of adding insult to the injury he had 
 done us by depriving us of his piloting aid. 
 Master Easy had thought fit to order no supper 
 for us : and having had his own very comfortably, 
 could afford to laugh at our objurgations at being 
 able to get nothing but bread and cheese. How- 
 ever, we paid him out by sleeping till eleven next
 
 From Oxford to Eton in Canoes. 149 
 
 morning, and had a laugh at him below Hamble- 
 don Lock, where he and his canoe stuck on an 
 eel-basket in a vain attempt to " shoot " what at 
 first looked like a substantial rapid, but was in 
 reality only a very chimerical one. Soon after 
 this little episode, we passed Medmenham Abbey, 
 which in bygone years has enjoyed a good deal 
 of notoriety, sometimes not altogether of an 
 enviable nature ; indeed, in the last century it 
 was the rendezvous of a club whose motto of 
 " Fay ceque Vondras " sufficiently sets forth the 
 character of its members : however, whatever 
 the monasterial and social aspect of the abbey 
 was in days of yore, it has pleasant associations 
 for many an Etonian, for was it not the spot 
 where one of the most enjoyable camps in which 
 the Eton Corps ever took part was held in 1873 ? 
 The scenery of the river about here, especially 
 on the Medmenham side, is strongly suggestive 
 of that in some parts of the Wye, though perhaps 
 it is hardly so wild ; the long reach below Mar- 
 low, the Cookham Weir, the overhanging woods 
 of Cleveden, Maidenhead Bridge, in fact the 
 whole length of river between Marlow and Wind- 
 sor, are too well known to Etonians to need
 
 150 Out of School at Eton. 
 
 any description. Suffice it to say, we arrived at 
 the well-known " raft " about six the third day 
 after leaving Oxford, having thoroughly enjoyed 
 ourselves.
 
 LONDON : 
 GILBERT AND RIVINGTON, PRINTERS, 
 
 ST. John's square.
 
 University of California. Los Angele: