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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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