Читать книгу Forty Years for Labrador - Wilfred T. Grenfell - Страница 7

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Marlborough 'College,' as we in England designate a large University preparatory school, is situated in Wiltshire, in a perfectly beautiful country, close to the Savernake Forest—one of the finest in all England. Everything and everybody was strange to me on my arrival. Some Good Samaritan, hearing that I was bound for a certain House, allowed me to follow him from the station to the inn—for a veritable old inn it was. It was one of those lovely old wayside hostels along the main road to the west, which, with the decline of coaching days, found its way into the market and had fallen to the hammer for the education of youth. The building formed the end of a long avenue of trees and was approached through high gates from the main road. It was flanked on the east side, somewhat inharmoniously, by other houses which served as schoolrooms, dining-hall, chapel, racquets and fives courts, studies, and other dwelling-houses. The whole was entirely enclosed so that no one could pass in or out, after the gates were shut, without ringing up the porter from his lodge and having one's name taken as being out after hours. At least it was supposed that no one could, though we boys soon found that there were more ways than one leading to Rome.

The separate dwelling-houses were named A, B, and C. I was detailed to C House, the old inn itself. Each House was again divided into three, with its own house master, and its own special colour and badges. Our three were at the time 'Sharps,' 'Upcotts,' and 'Bakers.' Our particular division occupied the second floor, and was reached by great oak stair-cases, which, if you were smart, you could ascend at about six steps at a time. This was a special desideratum, because, until you reached the fifth form, according to law you ascended by the less direct back stairway.

Our colours were white and maroon, and our sign a bishop's mitre. This effigy I still find scribbled all over the few book relics which I have retained. The emblem, when borne subsequently on my velvet football cap, proved to be the nearest I was ever to approach to that dignified insignia.

My benefactor, on the night of my arrival, having done more for me than a new boy could expect of an old one, was whirled off in the stream of his returning chums long before I had found my resting-place. The dormitory to which I at last found myself assigned contained no less than twenty-five beds, and seemed to me a veritable wilderness. If the coaches which used to stop here could have ascended the stairs, it might have accommodated several. The room most nearly like it which I can recall is the great dining-hall of an old manor, into which the knights in armour rode on horseback to meals, that being far less trouble than removing one's armour. More or less amicably I obtained possession of a bed in a good location, under a big window which looked out over the beautiful gardens below. I cannot remember that I experienced any of those heart-searchings or forebodings which sentiment deplores as the inevitable lot of the unprotected innocent.

One informal battle during the first week with a boy possessed of the sanctity of having come up from the lower school, and therefore being an 'old boy,' achieved for me a greater privilege than the actual decision perhaps entitled one to enjoy, namely, being left alone. I subsequently became known as the 'Beast,' owing to my belligerent nature and the undue copiousness of my hair.

The fact that I was placed in the upper fourth form condemned me to do my 'prep' in the intolerable barrack called 'Big School'—a veritable bear-garden to which about three hundred small boys were relegated to study. Order was kept by a master and a few monitors, who wandered to and fro from end to end of the building while we were supposed to work. For my part, I never tried it, partly because the work came very easy to me, while the 'repetition' was more readily learned from a loose page at odd times like dinner and chapel, and partly because, winning a scholarship during the term, I was transferred to a building reserved for twenty-eight such privileged individuals until they gained the further distinction of a place in the House classroom, by getting their transfer into the fifth form.

Besides those who lived in the big quad there were several Houses outside the gates, known as 'Out-Houses.' The boys there fared a good deal better than we who lived in college, and I presume paid more highly for it. Our meals were served in 'Big Hall,' where the whole four hundred of us were fed. The meals were exceptionally poor; so much so that we boys at the beginning of term formed what we called brewing companies, which provided as far as possible breakfasts and suppers for ourselves all term. As a protection against early bankruptcy, it was our custom to deposit our money with a rotund but popular school official, known always by a corruption of his name as 'the Slug.' Every Saturday night he would dole out to you your deposit made on return from the holidays, divided into equal portions by the number of weeks in the term. Once one was in the fifth form, brewing became easy, for one had a right to a place on the classroom fire for one's kettle or saucepan. Till then, the space over gas stoves in Big School being strictly limited, the right was only acquired vi et armis. Moreover, most of the fourth-form boys and the 'Shells,' a class between them and the fifth, if they had to work after evening chapel, had to sit behind desks around the house classroom facing the centre, in which as a rule the fifth-form boys were lazily cooking and devouring their suppers. Certain parts of those repasts, like sausages, we would import ready cooked from the 'tuck shop,' and hence they only needed warming up. Breakfast in Big School was no comfort, and personally I seldom attended it. At dinner and tea, however, one had to appear, and remain till the doors were opened again. It was a kind of roll-call; and the penalty for being late was fifty lines to be written out. As my own habits were never as regular as they should have been, whenever I was able to keep ahead I possessed pages of such lines, neatly written out during school hours and ready for emergencies. On other occasions I somewhat shamefacedly recall that I employed other boys, who devoted less time to athletics than was my wont, to help me out—their only remuneration being the 'joy of service'!

The great desire of every boy who could hope to do so was to excel in athletics. This fact has much to commend it in such an educational system, for it undoubtedly kept its devotees from innumerable worse troubles and dangers. All athletics were compulsory, unless one had obtained permanent exemption from the medical officer. If one was not chosen to play on any team during the afternoon, each boy had to go to gymnasium for drill and exercises, or to 'flannel' and run around the Aylesbury Arms, an old public-house three-quarters of a mile distant. Any breach of this law was severely punished by the boys themselves. It involved a fives batting—that is, a birching carried out with a hardwood fives bat—after chapel in the presence of the House. As a breach of patriotism, it carried great disgrace with it, and was very, very seldom necessary.

No punishments ever touched the boys one-tenth part as much as those administered by themselves. On one occasion two of the Big School monitors, who were themselves notorious far more for their constant breaches of school law than for their observance of it, decided to make capital at the expense of the sixth form. One day, just as the dinner-bell rang, they locked the sixth-form door while a conclave was being held inside. Though everyone was intended to know to whom the credit belonged, it was understood that no one would dream of giving evidence against them. But it so happened that their voices had been recognized from within by one of the sixth-form boys—and bullies and unpopular though the culprits were, they would not deny their guilt. Their condign punishment was to be fives-batted publicly in Big School—in which, however, they regained very considerable popularity by the way they took a spanking without turning a hair, though it cost no less than a dozen bats before it was over.

The publicity of Big School was the only redemption of such a bear-garden, but that was a good feature. It served to make us toe the line. After tea, it was the custom to have what we called 'Upper School Boxing.' A big ring was formed, boxing-gloves provided, and any differences which one might have to settle could be arranged there. There was more energy than science about the few occasions on which I appeared personally in the ring, but it was an excellent safety-valve and quite an evolutionary experience.

The exigency of having to play our games immediately after noon dinner had naturally taught the boys at the head of athletic affairs that it was not wise to eat too much. Dinner was the one solid meal which the college provided, and most of us wanted it badly enough when it came along, especially the suet puddings which went by the name of 'bollies' and were particularly satisfying. But whenever any game of importance was scheduled, a remorseless card used to be passed round the table just after the meat stage, bearing the ominous legend, 'No bolly to-day.' To make sure that there were no truants, all hands were forced to 'Hooverize.' Oddly enough, beer in large blue china jugs was freely served at every dinner. We called it 'swipes,' and boys, however small, helped themselves to as much as they liked. Moreover, as soon as the game was over, all who had their House colours might come in and get swipes served to them freely through the buttery window. Both practices, I believe, have long since fortunately fallen into desuetude.

To encourage the budding athlete there was an excellent custom of classifying not only the players who attained the first team; but beyond them there were 'the Forty' who wore velvet caps with tassels, 'the Sixty' who wore velvet caps with silver braid, 'the Eighty,' and even 'the Hundred'—all of whom were posted from time to time, and so stimulated their members to try for the next grade.

Like every other school there were bounds beyond which one might not go, and therefore beyond which one always wanted to go. Compulsory games limited the temptation in that direction very considerably; and my own breaches were practically always to get an extra swim. We had an excellent open-air swimming-pool, made out of a branch of the river Kennett, and were allowed one bathe a day, besides the dip before morning chapel, which only the few took and which did not count as a bathe. The punishment for breaking the rule was severe, involving a week off for a first offence. But one was not easily caught, for even a sixth-former found hundreds of naked boys very much alike in the water and the fact of anyone having transgressed the limit was very hard to detect. Nor were we bound to incriminate ourselves by replying to leading questions.

ESKIMOS AT A MORAVIAN STATION

Late for Gates was a more serious crime, involving detention from beloved games, and many were the expedients to which we resorted to avoid such an untoward contingency. I remember well waiting for an hour outside the porter's view, hoping for some delivery wagon to give me a chance to get inside. For it was far too light to venture to climb the lofty railings before prep time. Good fortune ordained, however, that a four-wheel cab should come along in time, containing the parents of a 'hopeful' in the sick-room. It seemed a desperate venture, for to run the gate was a worse offence than being late and owning up. But we succeeded by standing on the off step, unquestioned by the person inside, who guessed at once what the trouble was, and who proved to be sport enough to engage the porter while we got clear. Later on a scapegrace who had more reason to require some by-way than myself revealed to me a way which involved a long detour and a climb over the laundry roof. Of this, on another occasion, I was sincerely glad to avail myself. One of the older boys, I remember, made a much bolder venture. He waited till dusk, and then boldly walked in through the masters' garden. As luck would have it, he met our form master, whom we will call Jones, walking the other way. It so happened he possessed a voice which he knew was much like that of another master, so, simply sprinting a little, he called out, 'Night, night, Jones,' and got by without discovery.

Our chapel in those days was not a thing of beauty; but since then it has been rebuilt (out of our stomachs, the boys used to say) and is a model work of art. Attendance at chapel was compulsory, and no 'cuts' were allowed. Moreover, once late, you were given lines, besides losing your chapel half-holiday. So the extraordinary zeal exhibited to be marked off as present should not be attributed to religious fervour. The chapel was entered from quad by two iron gates, with the same lofty railings which guarded the entrance on each side. The bell tolled for five minutes, then was silent one minute, and then a single toll was given, called 'stroke.' At that instant the two masters who stood by the pillars guarding each gate jumped across, closing the gates if they could, and everyone outside was late. Those inside the open walk—the length of the chapel that led to the doors at the far end—then continued to march in.

During prayers each form master sat opposite his form, all of which faced the central aisle, and marked off those present. Almost every morning half-dressed boys, with shirts open and collars unbuttoned, boots unlaced, and jumping into coats and waistcoats as they dashed along, could be seen rushing towards the gate during the ominous minute of silence. There was always time to get straight before the mass of boys inside had emptied into chapel; and I never remember a gate master stopping a boy before stroke for insufficiency of coverings. Many were the subterfuges employed to get excused, and naturally some form masters were themselves less regular than others, though you never could absolutely count on any particular one being absent. Twice in my time gates were rushed—that is, when stroke went, such crowds of flying boys were just at the gate that the masters were unable to stop the onslaught, and were themselves brushed aside or knocked down under the seething mass of panic-stricken would-be worshippers. On one of these occasions we were forgiven—stroke was ten seconds early; and on the other, a half-holiday was stopped, as one of the masters had been injured. To trip one's self up and get a bloody nose, or possibly a face scratched on the gravel, and then a sick cut from the kindly old school doctor, was one of the more common ways boys discovered of saving their chapel half—when it was a very close call.

The school surgery was presided over in my day by a much-beloved old physician of the old school, called Fergus, which cognomen the boys had so long ago corrupted into Fungi that many a lad was caught mistakenly addressing the old gentleman as Dr. Fungi—an error I always fancied he rather appreciated.

By going to surgery you could very frequently escape evening chapel—a very desirable event if you had a big brew coming off in classroom, for you could get things cooked and have plenty of room on the fire before the others were out. But one always had to pay for the advantage, the old doctor being very much addicted to potions. I never shall forget the horrible tap in the corner, out of which cough mixture flowed as 'a healing for the nations,' but which, nasty as it was, was the lowest price at which one could purchase the cut. Some boys, anxious to cut lessons, found that by putting a little soap in one's eye that organ would become red and watery. This art they practised so successfully that sometimes for weeks they would be forbidden to do lessons on account of eye-strain. They had to use lotions, eye-shades, and every spectacle possible, but all to no avail. Sometimes they used so much soap that I was sure the doctor would suspect the bubbles.

I had two periods in sick-room with a worrying cough, where the time was always made so pleasant that one was not tempted to hasten recovery. Diagnosis, moreover, was not so accurate in those days as it might have been, and the dear old doctor took no risks. So at the age of sixteen I was sent off for a winter to the South of France, with the diagnosis of congestion of the lungs.

One of my aunts, a Miss Hutchinson, living at Hyères in the South of France, was delighted to receive me. With a widowed friend and two charming and athletic daughters, she had a very pretty villa on the hills overlooking the sea. My orders—to live out-of-doors—were very literally obeyed. In light flannel costumes we roamed the hills after moths and butterflies, early and late. We kept the frogs in miniature ponds in boxes covered with netting, providing them with bamboo ladders to climb and so tell us when it was going to be wet weather. We had also enclosures in which we kept bands of trapdoor spiders, which used to afford us intense interest with their clever artifices. To these we added the breeding of the more beautiful butterflies and moths, and so, without knowing what we were learning, we were taught many and valuable truths of life. There were horses to ride also, and a beautiful plage to bathe upon. It was always sunny and warm, and I invariably look back on that winter as spent in paradise. I was permitted to go over with a young friend to the Carnival at Nice, where, disguised as a clown, and then as a priest, with the abandon of boys, we enjoyed every moment of the time—the world was so big and so wonderful. The French that I had very quickly learned, as we always spoke it at our villa, stood me on this occasion in good stead. Better still, I happened, when climbing into one of the flower-bedecked carriages parading in the bataille des fleurs—which, being in costume, was quite the right thing to do—to find that the owner was an old friend of my family, one Sir William Hutt. He at once carried me to his home for the rest of the Carnival, and, of course, made it doubly enjoyable.

A beautiful expedition, made later in that region which lives in my memory, was to the gardens at La Mortola, just over the Italian border, made famous by the frequent visits of Queen Victoria to them. They were owned by Sir Thomas Hanbury, whose wife was my aunt's great friend.

The quaintness of the memories which persist longest in one's mind often amuses me. We used, as good Episcopalians, to go every Sunday to the little English Church on the rue des Palmiers. Alas, I can remember only one thing about those services. The clergyman had a peculiar impediment in his speech which made him say his h's and s's both as sh. Thus he always said 'shuman' for 'human,' and invariably prayed that God might be pleased to 'shave the Queen.'

About the middle of the winter I realized that I had made a mistake. In writing home I had so enthusiastically assured my father that the place was suiting my health that he wrote back that he thought in that case I might stand a little tutoring, and forthwith I was despatched every morning to a Mr. B., an Englishman, whose house, called the Hermitage, was in a thick wood. I soon discovered that Mr. B. was obliged to live abroad for his health, and that the coaching of small boys was only a means to that end. He was a good instructor in mathematics, a study which I always loved, but he insisted on my taking Latin and French literature, for neither of which I had the slightest taste. I consequently made no effort whatever to improve my mind, a fact which did not in the least disturb his equanimity. The great interests of those journeys to the Hermitage were the fables of La Fontaine—which I learned as 'repetition' and enjoyed—and the enormous numbers of lizards on the walls, which could disappear with lightning rapidity when seen, though they would stay almost motionless, waiting for a fly to come along, which they then swallowed alive. They were so like the stones one could almost rub one's nose against them without seeing them. Each time I started I used to cut a little switch for myself and try to switch them off their ledges before they vanished. The attraction of the act lay in that it was almost impossible to accomplish. But if you did, they scored a bull's-eye by incontinently discarding their tails, which made them much harder to catch next time, and seemed in no way to incommode them, though it served to excuse my conscience of cruelty. At the same time I have no wish to pose as a protector of flies.

Returning to Marlborough School the following summer, I found that my father, who knew perfectly the thorough groundwork I had received in Greek and Latin, had insisted on my being given a remove into the lower fifth form in absentia. Both he and I were aware that I could do the work easily; but the form master resented it and had already protested in vain. I believe he was a very good man in his way, and much liked by those whom he liked. But alas, I was not one of them; and never once, during the whole time I was in his form, did I get one single word of encouragement out of him. My mathematical master, and 'stinks,' or chemical master, I was very fond of, and in both those departments I made good progress.

The task of keeping order in a chemistry class of boys is never easy. The necessary experiments divert the master's eye from the class and always give opportunity for fooling. Added to this was the fact that our 'stinks' master, like many scientific teachers, was far too good-natured, and himself half enjoyed the diversion which his experiments gave. When obliged to punish a boy caught flagrante delicto, he invariably looked out for some way to make it up to him later. Thus, on one occasion, in most righteous anger, just as if a parenthesis to the remark he was making, he interposed, 'Come and be caned, boy. My study, twelve o'clock.' When the boy was leaving, very unrepentant after keeping the appointment, in the same parenthetical way the master remarked, 'Go away, boy. Cake and wine, my room, five o'clock'—which proved eventually the most effective part of the correction.

To children there always appears a gap between them and grown-ups as impassable as that which Abraham is made to describe as so great 'that they who would pass to and fro cannot.' As we grow older, we cease to see it, but it exists all the same. Sometimes grown-ups are apt to grudge the time and trouble put into apparently transient pleasures. A trivial strawberry feast, given to children on our dear old lawn under the jasmine and rose bushes, still looms as a happy memory of my parents' love for children, punctuated by the fact that though by continuing a game in spite of warning I broke a window early in the afternoon and was banished to the nursery as advised, my father forgave me an hour later, and himself fetched me down again to the party.

To teach us independence, my father put us on an allowance at a very early age, with a small bank account, to which every birthday he added five pounds on our behalf. We had no pony at that time, indeed had not yet learned to ride, so our deposits always went by the name of 'pony money.' This was an excellent plan, for we did not yet value money for itself, and were better able to appreciate the joy of giving because it seemed to postpone the advent of our pony. However, when we were thought to have learned to value so sentient a companion and to be likely to treat him properly, a Good Samaritan was permitted to present us with one, ever afterwards to be counted one of our most cherished friends. To us, she was an unparalleled beauty. How many times we fell over her head, and over her tail, no one can record. She always waited for you to remount, so it did not much matter; and we were taught that great lesson in life, not to be afraid of falling, but to learn how to take a fall. My own bent, however, was never for the things of the land, and though gallops on the Dee Sands, and races with our cousins, who owned a broncho and generally beat us, had their fascination, boats were the things which appealed most to me.

Having funds at our disposal, we were allowed to purchase material and, under the supervision of a local carpenter, to build a boat ourselves. To this purpose our old back nursery was forthwith allocated. The craft which we desired was a canoe that would enable us to paddle or drift along the deep channels of the river and allow us to steal upon the flocks of birds feeding at the edges. Often in memory I enjoy those days again—the planning, the modelling, the fitting, the setting-up, and at last, the visit of inspection of our parents. Alas, stiff-necked in our generation, we had insisted on straight lines and a square stern. Never shall I forget the indignation aroused in me by a cousin's remark, 'It looks awfully like a coffin.' The resemblance had not previously struck either of us, and father had felt that the joke was too dangerous a one to make and had said nothing. But the pathos of it was that we now saw it all too clearly. My brother explained that the barque was intended to be not 'seen.' Ugliness was almost desirable. It might help us if we called it the Reptile, and painted it red—all of which suggestions were followed. But still I remember feeling a little crestfallen when, after launching it through the window, it lay offensively resplendent against the vivid green of the grass. It served, however, for a time, ending its days honourably by capsizing a friend and me, guns and all, into the half-frozen water of the lower estuary while we were stalking some curlew. I had to run home dripping. My friend's gun, moreover, having been surreptitiously borrowed from my cousin's father, was recovered the following day, to our unutterable relief. Out of the balance of the money spent on the boat, we purchased a pin-fire breech-loading gun, the pride of my life for many days. I was being kept back from school at the time on account of a cold, but I was not surprised to find myself next day sitting in a train, bound for Marlborough, and 'referred once more to my studies.'

A little later, my father, not being satisfied, took me away to read with a tutor for the London matriculation, in which I received a first class.

A large boarding-school in England is like a miniature world. One makes many acquaintances, who change as one gets pushed into new classes, so at that stage one makes few lasting friends. Those who remain till they attain the sixth form and make the school teams probably form more permanent friendships. I at least think of that period as one when one's bristles were generally up, and, though many happy memories linger and I have found that to be an old Marlburian is a bond of friendship all the world over, it is the little oddities which one remembers best. I have the greatest love for the old school.

A new scholarship boy had one day been assigned to the closed corporation of our particular classroom. To me he had many attractions, for he was a genius both in mathematics and chemistry. We used to love talking over the problems that were set us as voluntary tasks for our spare time; and our united excursions in those directions were so successful that we earned our class more than one 'hour off' as rewards for the required number of stars given for pieces of work. My friend had, however, no use whatever for athletics. He had never been from home before, had no brothers and five sisters, was the pet of his parents, and naturally somewhat of a square plug in a round hole in our school life. He hated all conventions, and was always in trouble with the boys, for he entirely neglected his personal appearance, while his fingers were always discoloured with chemicals, and he would not even feign an interest in the things for which they cared. I can remember him sitting on the foot of my bed, talking me to sleep more than once with some new plan he had devised for a self-steering torpedo or an absolutely reliable flying machine. He had received the sobriquet of 'Mad G.,' and there was some justice in it from the opposition point of view. I had not realized, however, that he was being bullied—on such a subject he would never say a syllable—till one day as he left classroom I saw a large lump of coal hit him square on the head and a rush of blood follow it that made me hustle him off to surgery. Scalp wounds are not so dangerous as they are bloody to heads as thick as ours. His explanation that he had fallen down was too obvious a distortion of truth to deceive even our kindly old doctor. But he asked no further question, seeing that it was a point of honour. The matter, however, forced an estrangement between myself and some of my fellows that I realized afterwards was excellent for me. Forthwith we moved my friend's desk into my corner of the room, which was always safe when I was around, though later some practices of the others to which I took exception led to a combination which I thought of then as that made by the Jews to catch Paul, and which I foiled in a similar way, watchfully eluding them when they were in numbers together, but always ready to meet one or two at a time. The fact that I had just taken up racquets impressed it on my memory, for considering the classroom temporarily unsafe for prep work, I used that building as a convenient refuge for necessary study. It would have been far better to have fought it out and taken, if unavoidable, whatever came to me—had it been anywhere else I should probably have done so. But the classroom was a close corporation for Foundation scholars, and not one of my chums had access to it to see fair play.

My friendship for Mad G. was largely tempered by my own love for anything athletic, and eccentricities paid a very heavy price among all boys. Thus, though I was glad to lend my protection to my friend, we never went about together—as such boys as he always lived the life of hermits in the midst of the crowd. I well remember one other boy, made eccentric by his peculiar face and an unfortunate impediment of speech. No such boy should have been sent to an English public school as it was in my day. His stutter was no ordinary one, for it consisted, not in repeating the first letter or syllable, but in blowing out both cheeks like a balloon and making noises which resembled a back-firing motor engine. It was the custom of our form master to make us say our repetition by each boy taking one line, the last round being always expressed—that is, unless you started instantly the boy above you finished, the next boy began and took your place. I can still see and hear the unfortunate J. getting up steam for his line four or five boys ahead of time, so that he might explode at the right moment; which desirable end, however, he but very rarely accomplished, and never catching up, he used, like the man in the parable, always to 'begin with shame to take the lowest place.' Sometimes the master in a merciful mood allowed us to write a line, but that was risky, for it was considered no disgrace to circumvent him, and under those circumstances it was easy for the next boy to write his own and then yours, and pass it along if he saw you were in trouble.

There was, and I think with some reason, a pride among the boys on their appearance on certain occasions. It went by the name of good form. Thus, on Sundays at morning chapel, we always wore a button-hole flower if we could. My dear mother used to post me along a little box of flowers every week—nor was it by any means wasted energy, for not only did the love for flowers become a hobby and a custom with many of us through life, and a help to steer clear of sloppiness in appearance, but it was a habit quite likely to spread to the soul. Beyond that, the picture of my mother, with the thousand worries of a large school of small boys on her hands, finding time to gather, pack, address, and post each week with her own hands so fleeting and inessential a token of her love, has a thousand times arisen to my memory, and led me to consider some apparently quite unnecessary little labour of love as being well worth the time and trouble. It is these deeds of love—not words, however touching—that never fade from the soul.

Form is a part of the life of all English schools, and the boys think much more of it than sin. At Harrow you may not walk in the middle of the road as a freshman; and in American schools and universities, such regulations as the 'fence' laws at Yale show that they have emulated and even surpassed us in these. It was, however, a very potent influence, and we were ridiculously sensitive about breaches of it. Thus, on a certain prize day my friend Mad G., having singularly distinguished himself in his studies, his parents came all the way from their home, at great expense to themselves, to see their beloved and only son honoured. I presume that, though wild horses would not drag anything out of the boy at school, he had communicated to them the details of some little service rendered. For to my horror I was stopped by his mother, whom I subsequently learned to love and honour above most people, and actually kissed while walking in the open quad—strutting like a peacock, I suppose, for I remember feeling as if the bottom had suddenly fallen out of the earth. The sequel, however, was an invitation to visit their home in North Wales for the Christmas holidays, where there was rough shooting—the only kind I really cared for—boating, rock-climbing, bathing, and the companionship of as lovely a family as it was possible to meet anywhere. Many a holiday afterward we shared together, and the kindness showered upon me I shall never be able to forget, or, alas, return; for my dear friend Mad G. has long ago gone to his rest, and so have both his parents, whom I loved almost as my own.

We were taught that the only excuse that made the taking of animal life honourable was for some useful purpose, like food or study or self-preservation. Several cases of birds stuffed and set up when we were fourteen and sixteen years of age still adorn the old house. Every bit had to be done by ourselves, my brother making the cases and I the rock-work and taxidermy. The hammering-up of sandstone and granite, to cover the glue-soaked brown paper that we moulded into rocks, satisfied my keenest instinct for making messes, and only the patience of old-time domestics would have 'stood for it.' My brother specialized in birds' eggs, and I in butterflies and moths. Later we added seaweeds, shells, and flowers. Some of our collections have been dissipated; and, though we have not a really scientific acquaintance with either of these kingdoms, we acquired a hail-fellow-well-met familiarity with all of them, which has enlivened many a day in many parts of the world as we have journeyed through life. Moreover, though purchased pictures have other values, the old cases set on the walls of one's den bring back memories that are the joy and solace of many lonely moments later in life—each rarer egg, each extra butterfly, picturing some day or place of keen triumph, otherwise long since forgotten. Here, for instance, is a convolvulus hawk father found killed on a mountain in Switzerland; there an Apollo I caught in the Pyrenees; here a red burnet with a five-eyes captured as we raced through the bracken on Clifton Downs, and there are purple emperors lured down to meat baits in the Surrey Woods.

Many a Sunday at school have I stolen into the great forest, my butterfly net under my coat, to try and add a new specimen to my hoard. We were always supplied with good key-books, so that we should be able to identify our specimens, and also to search for others more intelligently. One value of my own specialty was that for the moths it demanded going out in the night, and the thrills of out-of-doors in the beautiful summer evenings, when others were fugging in the house or had gone to bed, used actually to make me dance around on the grass. The dark lantern, the sugaring of the tree-stems with intoxicating potions, and the subsequent excitement of searching for specimens, fascinated me utterly.