Amongst public schools Eton admittedly occupies a unique position. Every one admires the beauty of its surroundings, whilst to those possessed of imagination—more especially, of course, if they are Etonians—the school and its traditions cannot fail to appeal.

In addition to many of its associations being connected with glorious chapters of English history, the old quadrangle, chapel, and playing fields possess a peculiar charm of their own, due to a feeling that the spirit of past ages still hovers around them. There is, indeed, a real sentimental pleasure in the thought that many of England’s greatest men laid the foundations of brilliant and successful careers amidst these venerable and picturesque surroundings. No other school can claim to have sent forth such a cohort of distinguished figures to make their mark in the world; and of this fine pageant of boyhood not a few, without doubt, owed their success to the spirit of manly independence and splendid unconscious happiness which the genius of the place seems to have the gift of bestowing.

No other school exercises such an attraction over its old boys as Eton, with many of whom the traditions of the place become almost a second religion. “I hate Eton,” the writer once heard an individual who had been educated elsewhere frankly say, “for whenever I come across two or three old Etonians, and the subject is mentioned, they can talk of nothing else.”

The affection felt for the school is the greatest justification for its existence; an educational institution which can inspire those sent there with a profound and lasting pride and belief in its superiority over all other schools, must of necessity possess some special and fine qualities not to be found elsewhere. The vast majority of boys experience a vague feeling of sentimental regret when the time for leaving arrives—they have a keen sense of the break with a number of old and pleasant associations, soon to become things of the past—the school yard and the venerable old buildings, so lovingly touched by the hand of Time, never seem so attractive as then, whilst the incomparable playing fields, in their summer loveliness, acquire a peculiar and unique charm. As a gifted son of Eton, the late Mr. Mowbray Morris, has so well said, “shaded by their immemorial brotherhood of elms, and kissed by the silver winding river, they will stand undimmed and unforgotten when the memory of many a more famous, many a more splendid scene has passed away.”

For the true Etonian there is no such thing as a final parting from these surroundings, the indefinable charm of which remains in his mind up to the last day of his life. Fitly enough, this love for Eton, handed on from generation to generation, and affecting every kind of disposition and character, has been most happily expressed by a poet who was himself an Etonian—John Moultrie. May his lines continue to be applicable to the old school for many ages to come!

The history of the College has been so ably written by Sir Henry Maxwell Lyte, that it would here be superfluous to do more than touch upon a few incidents of special interest.

Henry VI., unlike the warlike Plantagenets from whom he sprang, was essentially of studious disposition, and the foundation of a college—one of his favourite schemes, almost from boyhood—was a project which he at once gratified on reaching years of discretion. In 1441, when nineteen, he granted the original charter to “The King’s College of our Lady of Eton besides Wyndsor.”

This ancient constitution remained in force till the year 1869, when a new governing body was introduced, which drew up new statutes two years later. The last Fellow representing the old foundation, as instituted by Henry VI., was the late Bursar, the Rev. W. A. Carter, who died in 1892.

On the completion of the arrangements for the institution of the College, the old parish church, standing in what is now the graveyard of the chapel, was pulled down, and a new edifice of “the hard stone of Kent—the most substantial and the best abiding,” begun. Roger Keyes, before Warden of All Souls College, Oxford, was appointed master of the works, receiving a patent of nobility and a grant of arms for his services. At the same time the newly founded College was assigned a coat of arms, three white lilies (typical of the Virgin and of the bright flowers of science) upon a field of sable being combined with the fleur-de-lys of France and the leopard passant of England, to form the design with which Etonians have been familiar for more than four hundred and fifty years.

In 1442 came the first Provost, William of Waynflete, from Winchester, bringing with him, no doubt, some scholars who formed the nucleus of the new foundation. So much on the lines of the College on the banks of the Itchen was Eton founded, though from the first various differences prevailed—the number of commoners in college (commensales in collegio), for instance, was doubled, it being stipulated that they must belong to families entitled to bear arms.

The connection between the two schools was close. An alliance, known as the “Amicabilis Concordia,” pledging Eton and Winchester to a mutual defence of each other’s rights and privileges, was instituted—a bond of friendship and amity which has never been broken up to the present day.

The original design of Henry VI. had contemplated a huge nave for the chapel, which would have stretched right down what is now known as Keate’s Lane. This, however, was never completed, William of Waynflete eventually finishing the building with the present ante-chapel, built of Headington stone, for which, it should be added, Bath stone was substituted some thirty-four years ago.

There exists a legend that in the reign of Edward IV. Eton only escaped suppression owing to the intercession of Jane Shore. Though the story seems to rest upon no solid historical foundation, it is curious to note that two portraits of this Royal favourite are preserved in the Provost’s Lodge.

When Henry VII. escorted Philip of Castile “toward the seaside” on his return home in 1505, the two kings passed through Windsor—“all the children of Eaton standing along the barres of the Church yeard.”

Henry VIII. paid a visit to the school in July 1510, and made a monetary donation, as was customary in his day.

The College curriculum at that time seems to have been of a somewhat elementary kind: as late as 1530 no Greek was taught. Great stress was laid upon prayers and devotion, as the following description left to us by William Malim, Headmaster in 1561, shows:—

“They come to schole at vj. of the clok in the mornyng. They say Deus misereatur, with a colecte; at ix, they say De profundis and go to brekefaste. Within a quarter of an howere cum ageyne, and tary (till) xj. and then to dyner; at v. to soper, afore an antheme and De profundis.

Two prepositores in every forme, whiche dothe give in a schrowe the absentes namys at any lecture, and shewith when and at what tyme both in the fore none for the tyme past and at v.

Also ij. prepositores in the body of the chirche, ij. in the gwere for spekyng of Laten in the third forme and all other, every one a custos, and in every howse a monytor.

When they goe home, ij. and ij. in order, a monitor to se that they do soe tyll they come at there hostise dore. Also prevy monytores how many the master wylle. Prepositores in the field whan they play, for fyghtyng, rent clothes, blew eyes, or siche like.

Prepositores for yll kept hedys, unwasshid facys, fowle clothes, and sich other. Yff there be iiij. or v. in a howse, monytores for chydyng and for Laten spekyng.

When any dothe come newe, the master dothe inquire fro whens he comyth, what frendys he hathe, whether there be any plage. No man gothe owte off the schole nother home to his frendes without the masteres lycence. Yff there be any dullard, the master gyvith his frends warnyng, and puttyth hym away, that he sclander not the schole.“

Latin plays were acted during the long winter evenings. Several of these were written by Nicholas Udall (Headmaster, 1534-1541), the author of Ralph Roister Doister, the first English comedy.

For almost two hundred years, from 1563, when William Malim resigned (owing, it is said, to his severity having caused some boys to run away), comparatively obscure men held the office of Headmaster, and were overshadowed by Provosts who left their mark upon the school.

Henry VIII. was one day much astonished when informed by Sir Thomas Wyatt that he had discovered a living of a hundred a year which would be more than enough for him. “We have no such thing in England,” said the King. “Yes, Sir,” replied Sir Thomas, “the Provostship of Eton, where a man has his diet, his lodging, his horse-meat, his servants’ wages, his riding charges, and £100 per annum.”

During the troublous days of the Reformation Eton appears to have undergone little change; but a number of old Etonians and Fellows went to the stake for Protestantism under Queen Mary.

The names of the Etonians who underwent martyrdom for the reformed faith were John Fuller, who became a scholar of King’s in 1527, and was burnt to death on Jesus Green in Cambridge, April 2, 1556; Robert Glover, scholar of King’s in 1533, burnt to death at Coventry on September 20, 1555; Lawrence Saunders, scholar of King’s in 1538, burnt to death at Coventry on February 8, 1556; John Hullier, scholar of King’s also, in 1588, burnt to death on Jesus Green, Cambridge, on April 2, 1556. “Their faith was strong unto death and they sealed their belief with their blood.”

On the other hand, Dr. Henry Cole, appointed Provost in 1554, behaved in a disgraceful manner. Having advocated the Reformation, he became in Queen Mary’s reign a rigid Romanist, and was appointed by her to preach, before the execution of Cranmer, in St. Mary’s Church at Oxford. He became Dean of St. Paul’s in 1556, and Vicar-General under Cardinal Pole in 1557. Soon after the accession of Elizabeth he was deprived of his Deanery, fined 500 marks, and imprisoned. Whether he was formally deprived of the Provostship, or withdrew silently, does not appear. He died in the Fleet in 1561.

In 1563 and 1570 Queen Elizabeth paid visits to the College, and a memorial of her beneficence is still to be seen on a panel of the College hall.[1]

At that time the school seems to have been divided into seven forms; of these the first three were under the Lower Master—an arrangement which was only altered in 1868, when First and Second Forms ceased to exist and a Fourth Form was included as part of what now corresponds to Lower School. It is a curious coincidence that even in those early days Fourth Form during part of the school hours were under the Lower Master’s control.

Their two meals were dinner at eleven and supper at seven, bedtime being at eight. Friday, it is interesting to learn, was set aside as “flogging day.”

At a comparatively early period in the history of the school the tendency which within the last forty years abolished the First and Second Forms seems to have been in existence, no First Form figuring in the school list of 1678, in which its place is taken by the Bibler’s seat—the Bibler being a boy deputed to read a portion of Scripture in the Hall during dinner.

In Queen Elizabeth’s day the praepostors or “prepositores,” as they were then called, played a great part in the daily round of school life. There were then two of them in every form who noted down absentees and performed other duties such as the praepostors of the writer’s own day (1879-83) were wont to perform.

Up to quite recent years, it may be added, there was a praepostor to every division of the school, the office being taken by each boy in turn, who marked the boys in at school and chapel, collected work from boys staying out, and the like. Now, however, the only division which retains a praepostor is the Headmaster’s.

Eton was also connected with the Virgin Queen by its Provost, Sir Henry Savile, who had instructed her in Greek. Sir Henry is said to have been stern in his theory and practice of discipline respecting the scholars. He preferred boys of steady habits and resolute industry to the more showy but more flighty students. He looked on the sprightly wits, as they were termed, with dislike and distrust. According to his judgment, irregularity in study was sure to be accompanied by irregularity in other things. He used to say, “Give me the plodding student. If I would look for wits, I would go to Newgate: there be the wits.”

It would seem that at this time the custom of inscribing the names of noblemen at the head of their division—whether they deserved it or not—still flourished. Youthful scions of aristocracy enjoyed many privileges—young Lord Wriothesley, for instance, who was at Eton in 1615, had a page to wait upon him at meals.

Sir Henry Savile died at Eton on February 19, 1621, and was buried in the College Chapel. He was married, but left no family. An amusing anecdote is told of Lady Savile, who, like the wives of other hard-reading men, was jealous of her husband’s books. The date of the anecdote is the time when Savile was preparing his great edition of Chrysostom. “This work,” we are told, “required such long and close application that Sir Henry’s lady thought herself neglected, and coming to him one day into his study, she said, ‘Sir Henry, I would I were a book too, and then you would a little more respect me.’ To which one standing by replied, ‘You must then be an almanack, madam, that he might change you every year,’ which answer, it is added, displeased her, as it is easy to believe.”

The next man of note who became Provost was Sir Henry Wotton, who obtained the appointment in place of Lord Bacon, it being feared that the debts of the latter might bring discredit upon the College. Wotton it was who built the still existing Lower School with its quaint pillars.

Izaak Walton speaks of this in the Compleat Angler:—“He (Wotton) was a constant of all those youths in that school, in whom he found either a constant diligence or a genius that prompted them to learning; for whose encouragement he was (besides many other things of necessity and beauty) at the charge of setting up in it two rows of pillars, on which he caused to be choicely drawn the pictures of divers of the most famous Greek and Latin historians, poets and orators; persuading them not to neglect rhetoric, because ‘Almighty God hath left mankind affections to be wrought upon.’”

Izaak Walton and Sir Henry loved to fish together, and the spot where the two friends indulged their love of angling is well known. It was about a quarter of a mile below the College at a picturesque bend of the river which, once an ancient fishery, is still known as Black Potts.

Here the late Dr. Hornby had a riverside villa where he spent a good deal of his time.

Sir Henry was a great observer of boyhood, as certain quaint observations of his show:—

“When I mark in children much solitude and silence I like it not, nor anything born before its time, as this must needs be in that sociable and exposed life as they are for the most part. When either alone or in company they sit still without doing of anything, I like it worse. For surely all disposition to idleness and vacancie, even before they grow habits, are dangerous; and there is commonly but little distance in time between doing of nothing and doing of ill.”

He was besides a philosopher sagely writing:—

“The seeing that very place where I sate when a boy, occasioned me to remember those very thoughts of my youth, which then possessed me; sweet thoughts indeed, that promised my growing years numerous pleasures without mixture of cares, and those to be enjoyed when time (which I therefore thought slow-paced) had changed my youth into manhood. But age and experience have taught me that those were but empty hopes. And though my days have been many, and those mixed with more pleasures than the sons of men do usually enjoy, yet I have always found it true, as my Saviour did foretell, ‘Sufficient for the day is the evil thereof.’ Nevertheless I saw there a succession of boys using the same recreations, and questionless possessed with the same thoughts. Thus one generation succeeds another, both in their lives, recreations, hopes, fears, and deaths.”

During the Provostship of Wotton the tranquillity of Eton life was disturbed by troops being quartered in the town, whilst a number of French hostages had such a bad effect upon the boys, with whom they mingled, and upon the Fellows, whom they introduced to improper characters, that De Foix, the French Ambassador, was entreated to interfere.

Sir Henry Wotton’s successor as Provost, Stewart by name, took up arms for King Charles I. at Oxford, his example being followed by a number of loyal Etonians. With the triumph of the Commonwealth came a Roundhead Provost, Francis Rouse by name, who was afterwards Speaker of the Barebones Parliament and one of Cromwell’s peers. Eton did not fare badly under the Protector, but the spirit of loyalty to the king nevertheless seems to have continued dominant, and the “Restoration” was welcomed with joy.

Francis Lord Rouse had been buried with great pomp in Lupton’s Chapel, banners and escutcheons being set up to commemorate his memory, which is still kept green by the old elms he planted in the playing fields. All such insignia, however, were destroyed when the king had come into his own, and were torn down and thrown away as tokens of “damned baseness and rebellion” by the Royalist Provost and Fellows. In 1767 the irons which had kept these picturesque memorials in place were still to be seen, but all traces of them are now gone; probably they were torn out at the “restoration” of 1846. To us of a later and more impartial age, the insults heaped upon the memory of Provost Rouse seem to have been undeserved, and there certainly appears no justification for his having been called an “illiterate old Jew.” On the other hand, the imagination cannot be otherwise than stirred by the name of Provost Allestree, who had fought for King Charles in the students’ troop at Oxford and at the risk of his life conducted a correspondence for Charles II. His services to the Royalist cause would, nevertheless, in all probability not have been repaid had not Rochester introduced him to the frivolous king. Rochester had made a bet that he would find an uglier man than Lauderdale, and having come across Allestree, who was exceedingly unattractive in face, introduced him to Charles in order to win the wager. Charles then recalled the devotion of the individual with whom he was confronted, and with justice and good judgment made him Provost of Eton.

Allestree, though he resided a good deal at Oxford, did his best to set Eton in order, and, amongst other wise and useful acts, built Upper School. Owing, however, to defective construction, or to a fire, this had to be entirely rebuilt by subscription a few years later, when it assumed the form which it still retains.

Provost Allestree found the College in debt and difficulty, and the reputation of the school greatly decayed. He left an unencumbered and flourishing revenue, and restored the fame of Eton as a place of learning to its natural eminence. Besides building Upper School at his own private expense, he also erected the apartments and cloister under it, occupying the whole western side of the great quadrangle. It was at the instance of this Provost, it should be added, that the King passed a grant under the broad seal that, for the future, five of the seven Fellows should be such as had been educated at Eton School and were Fellows of King’s College.

In February 1666, in a coach with four horses—“mighty fine”—Pepys and his wife paid a visit to Windsor. After seeing the Castle, described by the famous diarist as “the most romantique castle that is in the world,” they went on to Eton. Here Mrs. Pepys—rather ungallantly, perhaps—was left in the coach, whilst her husband, accompanied by Headmaster Montague, explored the College and drank the College beer, both of which he set down in his diary as being “very good.”

By this time the Oppidans had increased to such an extent that they greatly outnumbered the Collegers. In 1614 there seem to have been only forty “Commensalls,” as the Oppidans were then called, although the more familiar term had also long been in use; but after the Civil War they ceased to board and lodge with the Collegers (the whole school dined in the College Hall as late as the beginning of the seventeenth century), and gradually grew in number to such an extent that in the school list of 1678, out of 207 boys, no fewer than 129 were Oppidans.

Zachary Cradock, Provost in 1680, it is said, owed his appointment to a sermon on Providence, preached before Charles II., to whom he was chaplain.

The first Headmaster of Eton of whom any satisfactory account has survived, was John Newborough, described as “versed in men as well as in books, and admired and respected by old and young.” Newborough numbered many who afterwards became celebrated amongst his pupils: Sir Robert Walpole and his brother Lord Walpole of Wolterton—ancestors of the present writer—Horace St. John, Townshend, and many other well-known public men, profited by his tuition. Of Sir Robert, Newborough was specially fond, being rightly convinced that he would rise to eminence.

Sir Robert loved Eton, and probably one of the proudest moments of his career was a certain Thursday in Election Week, 1735, when, with a number of other old Etonians, he went with the Duke of Cumberland to hear the speeches in the College Hall, and heard a number of verses recited, the great majority of which were in praise of himself. With Dr. Bland, his old friend, who was then Provost, he appears to have dominated the whole ceremony. So much so was this the case that a dissatisfied Fellow wrote:—

’Tis to be wished that these performances may be lost and forgott that posterity may not see how abandoned this place was to flattery when Dr. B—— was Provost, and when Sir Robert was First Minister.

The Eton authorities, no doubt, were very proud of Sir Robert, the first Etonian Prime Minister, and the first of a long series of eminent Etonians who were to shed lustre upon the school.

School life in the seventeenth century was a totally different thing from what it is to-day; all sorts of queer usages and ideas prevailed. In 1662, for instance, smoking was actually made compulsory for Eton boys. This was during the plague, when, according to one Tom Rogers, all the boys were obliged to “smoak” in the school every morning, and he himself was never whipped so much in his life as he was one morning for not “smoaking.”

As showing the school life of the period the following bill for “extras” is interesting. It was for a boy named Patrick, from April 1687 to March 1688, and bears Newborough’s receipt as Headmaster.

The “bat and ram club” was used in connection with an extremely barbarous custom of hunting and killing a ram at election-tide, the poor animal being provided by the College butcher. So popular was this brutal sport, that boys summoned home before the last day of the half wrote beseeching their parents to allow them to remain and see “ye ram” die according to custom.

This ram-baiting appears to have taken its origin from a usage connected with the Manor of Wrotham in Norfolk, given to the College by the founder. At Wrotham Manor during the harvest-home a ram was let loose and given to the tenants if they could catch him.

For many years later the brutal sport continued to flourish, a ram hunt in the playing fields being attended by the Duke of Cumberland on Election Saturday 1730, when he was nine years old. He struck the first blow, and is said to have returned to Windsor “very well pleased.”

Our ancestors held curious views as to the education of the young, and seem to have seen no harm in children being familiarised with the grossest forms of cruelty. Nevertheless the ram-hunting, after being modified, disappeared before the close of the eighteenth century. For some years, however, its recollection was maintained by a ram pasty served at election time in the College hall. We may regard the indigestion which must almost certainly have followed upon indulgence in such a dish as a mild form of retribution for the tortures which some of those present had formerly inflicted upon the poor rams.

In the early seventeenth century Shrove Tuesday was also marked by a barbarous usage. On that day no work was done after 8 a.m., and, as in other parts of England, some live bird was tormented. The usual practice was for the College cook to get hold of a young crow and fasten it with a pancake to a door, when the boys would then worry it to death.

Newborough, owing to failing health, resigned his headmastership in 1711 and died the following year. He was succeeded by Dr. Snape, a self-made man, whose mother and afterwards his sister kept the earliest recorded “Dames’” houses at Eton. On his resignation in 1720 the school had reached a total of 400 boys, though some alleged that one of these was a town boy whose name Snape had added to form a round sum.

Under his successor, Dr. Henry Bland, the numbers further increased to 425, one of whom was a boy, always playing upon a cracked flute, who was to be known to posterity as Dr. Arne.

After the South Sea Bubble had wrought widespread ruin the school shrank again to 325. Bland only remained at Eton eight years. Sir Robert Walpole, who never forgot an Etonian schoolfellow, presented him with the Deanery of Durham, besides offering him a bishopric, which was declined.

Dr. William George then became Headmaster. He was a very good classical scholar, and some iambics of his so charmed Pope Benedict XIV. that he declared that had the writer been a Catholic he would have made him a cardinal; as it was he had a cardinal’s cap placed upon the manuscript. Dr. George’s reign at Eton came to an end in 1743, when he was elected Provost of King’s.

At this period a very curious state of affairs prevailed at Eton in regard to the appointment of the teaching staff. The Headmaster was free to choose his own assistants, whom he paid himself; but he received numerous fees and presents from each boy under him. On the other hand, the Lower Master—who maintained a sort of preparatory school, to which came boys of very tender age—was able to sell his assistant masterships, like waiterships at a restaurant, as he left the fees and presents to his assistants.

This is shown by a quaint advertisement which appeared in the London Evening Post of November 9, 1731:—

Whereas Mr. Franc. Goode, under-master of Eaton, does hereby signify that there will be at Christmas next, or soon after, two vacancies in his school—viz., as assistants to him and tutors to the young gents: if any two gentlemen of either University (who have commenced the degree of B.A. at least) shall think themselves duly qualified, and are desirous of such an employment, let them enquire of John Potts, Pickleman in Gracious Street, or at Mr. G.’s own house in Eaton College, where they may purchase the same at a reasonable rate, and on conditions fully to their own satisfaction.—F. Goode. N.B.—It was erroneously reported that the last place was disposed of under 40s.

An assistant master, Dr. Cooke, succeeded Dr. George as Headmaster, but managed the school so badly that his tenure of office only lasted two years, during which time the number of boys decreased, and Eton fell into some disrepute. Cooke was a very unpopular man, dowered with a “gossip’s ear and a tatler’s pen,” and he seems to have possessed most of the worst faults of a schoolmaster and to have made many mistakes; this, however, did not prevent him being given a fellowship when Dr. Sumner, an able and active teacher, was put in his place. The efforts of the latter, however, were able to restore only a modified degree of prosperity to the school, which had fallen out of general favour owing to the misrule of his predecessor. A paragraph in the Daily Advertiser of August 11, 1747, shows this:—

King George II. visited the College and School of Eton, when on short notice Master Slater of Bedford, Master Masham of Reading and Master Williams of London spoke each a Latin speech (most probably made by their masters) with which His Majesty seemed exceedingly well pleased, and obtained for them a week’s holidays. To the young orators five guineas each had been more acceptable.

In 1754, however, the ancient fame of Eton began to revive owing to the appointment of Dr. Barnard—magnum et memorabile nomen! He was made Headmaster through the Townshend and Walpole interests, which were active on his behalf. Under his vigorous rule the school flourished; 522 boys, the highest number known up to that time, being on the list on his promotion to the Provostship in 1756. Barnard had no patience with fopperies in boys, and had occasional “difficulties” with the Eton “swells” of his day on the point of dress.

Charles James Fox gave him a good deal of trouble. His absence at Spa for a year sent him back to Eton a regular fop, and a very sound flogging appears to have done him but very little good.

Dr. Barnard also seems rather to have despised any tendency towards fine ways in his pupils. His old pupil, Christopher Anstey, alludes to this in his Bath Guide, in a portion of which a critical mother, “Mrs. Danglecub,” who has a son at school,

The “just such another” was Dr. Foster, who proved to be the very opposite of Barnard, and became highly unpopular, in great part owing to the considerable social disadvantage of his being the son of a Windsor tradesman. He was tactless and unfitted for his position, and the school did anything but prosper under his rule; indeed, the numbers dropped to 250. Meanwhile, the boys got quite out of hand, and several rebellions occurred, amongst them the famous secession of more than half the school—160 boys—to Maidenhead.

One of the ringleaders of the outbreak was Lord Harrington, a boy of much natural spirit. He was foremost amongst those who threw their books into the Thames and marched away. Like the rest of the rebels he took an oath, or rather swore, he would be d——d if ever he returned to school again. When, therefore, he came to London to the old Lord Harrington’s and sent up his name, his father would only speak to him at the door, insisting on his immediate return to Eton. “Sir,” said the son, “consider I shall be d——d if I do!” “And I,” answered the father, “will be d——d if you don’t!” “Yes, my Lord,” replied the son, “but you will be d——d whether I do or no!”

The revolt seems to have completely broken the Headmaster’s spirit; the school fell in numbers to 230, and in 1775 he made way for Dr. Davies, who ruled Eton for twenty years. Unlike his predecessor, Davies was not unpopular with the boys, but unfortunately he could not manage his assistants, with whom he quarrelled, and then attempted to manage the school alone. At that time Eton was largely composed of turbulent spirits, quick to see what glorious opportunities for riot lay at hand, and before long the unfortunate Davies was driven out of Upper School, pelted with books, and reduced to such a condition of despair that he was obliged to make terms with the other masters, who eventually did succeed in establishing something like order. His subsequent period of rule was more peaceful.

During the middle portion of the eighteenth century a number of still existing Eton institutions flourished, though generally accompanied by quaint usages now obsolete. Referring, for instance, to “Tryals,” in 1766, Thomas James, describing the school curriculum, says:—

If Boys gain their Removes with honour, we have a good custom of rewarding each with a Shilling (if higher in the school, 2/6d.), which is given them by the Dames and placed to the Father’s account.

This custom, though in 1879 it had fallen into complete abeyance, was still more or less extant twenty years earlier; for Mr. Brinsley Richards, in his most interesting recollections of his Eton days, mentions that, having gained promotion in Third Form by handing in three consecutive copies of nonsense verses, in which there was no mistake, the Captain of Lower School claimed an old privilege, and asked that the Lower School might have a “play at four,” the question also arising whether the writer of the verses was not entitled to receive 2s. 6d., which he eventually got. As a matter of fact, had the precedents been strictly followed, one shilling would have been the reward.

In the late eighteenth century, the holidays consisted of a month at Christmas, a fortnight at Easter, and the month of August. Then, as now, the Eton boys enjoyed more half-holidays than were granted at other schools. In 1776, however, the usual curriculum was interrupted by a day of “fasting and penitence” on account of British disasters in America, the colony beyond the seas, which, grown into a great country, has since sent many of her sons to be educated at the old school.

The last Headmaster of the eighteenth century was Dr. Heath. During the early part of his reign he raised the school to 489, but in the last year the numbers had sunk to 357. It was a very lax time, and the boys were allowed to do, and did do, many things which could hardly have been to the taste of a fond parent.

In 1786 seems to have been started the first school magazine—the Microcosm, the successors of which have been the Miniature (1804), the Linger (edited by G. B. Maturin and W. G. Cookesley, for collegers only, 1818), the College Magazine (John Moultrie, 1818), the Etonian (Praed, 1820), the Salt Bearer (1820), the Eton Miscellany (1827), the Oppidan (1828), the Eton College Magazine (1832), the Kaleidoscope (1833), the Eton Bureau (1842), the Eton School Magazine (1848), the Porticus Etonensis (1859), the Eton Observer (1860), the Phoenix (1861), and the still flourishing Eton College Chronicle (1863).

At various periods since the last date ephemeral publications have intermittently appeared. These, however, are scarcely of sufficient importance to require mention, the majority having enjoyed but a very brief existence. The most recent of these journalistic efforts was the Eton Illustrated Magazine, two numbers of which made their appearance at the beginning of the present year (1911). Though a third was announced, the magazine came to a premature end, owing, it was said, to the censorship exercised by the authorities. According to an unwritten law, no reference must be made to the Eton Officers’ Training Corps, and owing to this and the suppression of skits and humorous paragraphs, it was decided to suspend publication.

Towards the close of the eighteenth century one of the most prominent Etonians was William Windham, in after-life a powerful politician, and “the darling of Norfolk.” At school he achieved distinction as a fine scholar, besides being “the best cricketer, the best leaper, swimmer, rower, and skater, the best fencer, the best boxer, the best runner, and the best horseman of his time.”

The owner of a splendid estate—Felbrigg Hall—Windham was the beau-ideal of an English gentleman, whose merits were recognised alike by friend and foe.

Heath was succeeded in the headmastership by Dr. Goodall, under whose mild and easy-going rule discipline continued to be lax. Owing, however, to the warm affection and patronage of George III., the school continued to prosper, its numbers rising under Goodall to 511. Of fine appearance and courteous bearing, he is said to have looked every inch an Eton Headmaster. Devoted to the school where, as a scholar and assistant master, he had passed most of his life, he was an ultra-Conservative in everything which appertained to it; under his rule no changes took place.

Probably this Headmaster never appeared to better advantage when, after the glorious battle of Trafalgar, he publicly called up Horace Nelson, nephew of the immortal admiral, and in a kind and delicate manner informed him of his heroic uncle’s death. Though the tears were visible in the boy’s eyes, Dr. Goodall’s well-chosen words soothed his grief, and there lurked on his countenance a smile of delight at the greatest victory ever gained by this country in any naval engagement over a gallant foe.

“There was a pleasant joyousness in Dr. Goodall,” said one of his pupils, “which beamed and overflowed in his face; and it seemed an odd caprice of fortune by which such a jovial spirit was invested with the solemn dignity of a schoolmaster.” The blandness and good-nature which made him universally popular both as Headmaster and as Provost, were an element of weakness when he had to cope with the turbulent spirits; and Eton discipline did not improve under his rule. His rich fund of anecdote, sprightly wit, and genial spirit made his society very much sought in days when those pleasant qualifications were highly valued, and he was a great personal favourite with the king. It was not so much the fault of the individual as of the age, if he had a profound respect for the peerage, and could see few defects of scholarship in his more aristocratic pupils. Those were the days, it must be remembered, when the young peers, sons of peers, and baronets sat in the stalls in the College chapel, visibly elevated above their fellows. Then, too, it was not an uncommon thing for an Eton boy, whose friends were connected with the Court, to hold a commission in the Guards and draw the regular pay. Sometimes, if he obtained an appointment as one of the royal pages, he was gazetted while yet a mere child. “I had the honour this morning,” Goodall is reported to have said on one occasion, “of flogging a major in His Majesty’s service.”

With the death of this courteous pedagogue in 1840 old Eton may be said to have passed away; whilst he lived many alterations and reforms were delayed, no change whatever being made during his term of office as Provost.

Though he has been blamed for not having made some improvement in the lot of the collegers, he appears to have enjoyed great popularity at Eton, and to have been hospitable and benevolent. Glancing through a copy of Alumni Etonenses, enriched with a number of manuscript notes, appended by the late Reverend George John Dupuis, Vice-Provost, the writer came upon an enthusiastic tribute to the memory of Dr. Goodall, who is described as eminent for his talents, his benevolence, and charity. A somewhat touching eulogy, after a description of the old Provost’s funeral in the College chapel, concludes, “Farewell, kind and good old man.”